Once Upon a Spy: A Secrets and Seduction Book

by Sheridan Jeane

  Blast. His escape route was in the opposite direction.

  “We should avoid the residential wing,” he said, turning them around toward the servants’ staircase and his escape.

  "Oh, my. Are Ambassador Revnik’s rooms back there? I hadn't realized.” She widened her eyes, causing him to stare into them. Their not-quite-burnished color of a nearly new copper penny transfixed. It suddenly struck him that something about her seemed familiar.

  Despite his earlier flight of fancy, she hadn’t stepped from his dreams. He’d certainly remember any visions she might grace.

  “Have we met?” he asked. “Since we’re alone, I’m afraid I’m obliged to introduce myself. I’m Robert— Robert Woolsy, Earl of Wentworth.” Why on earth had he stumbled and offered her his given name? She’d think him a bumbling fool.

  Her eyes widened. Did she recognize his name? A blush suffused her face, making her seem even more vulnerable. “My, but we are alone, aren't we? You’ve reminded me of how inappropriate it is for me to be here with you, let alone to speak to you without a chaperone. I’m not in the habit of offering my name to a man without a formal introduction.” She pulled away from him, leaving his embrace empty of her.

  Robert stiffened. Why had he behaved in such a forward manner? And toward such a gently bred young lady. He dropped his arm as if caught in an illicit act.

  The copper-eyed young woman tensed, but after a moment, she inhaled shakily in an attempt to regain her composure. Taking another step down the hallway, Copper-Eyes kept reaching out and touching the wall as though she needed its solid reassurance to keep from falling.

  Robert kept pace with her. Eventually, she smiled up at him in a token of forgiveness. His chest tightened.

  She stumbled sideways into one of the shallow alcoves that held a door, and her hand gripped the knob as she steadied herself. Then she linked her free arm through his again, surprising him. As her eyes met his, her smile changed, somehow becoming more enticing— more inviting.

  He smiled back, entranced by her. Had this surprising and intriguing woman forgiven him so quickly for his breach of etiquette?

  Then her hand turned the white porcelain doorknob, startling him.

  What was this?

  She pushed open the door and plunged into the darkened room, dragging him with her. In the light from the hallway he could see a bed in the odd, windowless room. Her forwardness shocked him. She rose on her tiptoes, her breath hot on his neck, her hands caressing his chest as they slipped beneath his jacket. She reached around his back and slid her palms up his shoulders as she pressed herself against him.

  Robert was no novice in the ways of women, but this brazen behavior left him speechless and more aroused than he cared to admit. She seemed about to kiss him, so he leaned into her. An instant before his lips touched hers, Copper-Eyes shoved him hard in the chest with enough force to make him stumble back a step. She spun around and ran from the room, slamming the door behind her and leaving him alone in the pitch-black room.

  He heard a scrape of metal, and then she spoke through the door. “I’m sorry, my lord. Truly I am.”

  "Wait!” Robert jumped up and scrambled for the door. He located it in the darkness and rattled the doorknob.

  Locked.

  Where had she found a key? Even Frederick hadn’t been able to locate one.

  “Open this door!” he shouted, and then paused to listen. He held his breath, but heard nothing.

  Nothing at all.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Shallow men believe in luck. Strong men believe in cause and effect.

  - Ralph Waldo Emerson

  Antonia Winter turned the key in the lock, trapping Lord Wentworth inside. She trembled, hardly daring to believe she’d stolen the book.

  Thank the stars she hadn’t lingered downstairs. If she’d arrived a moment later, he could have already disappeared with the prize. It would be even worse if she’d arrived one minute sooner to discover him in the ambassador’s suite.

  She closed her eyes for a moment as she pressed her palm against the locked door. Of all the men in the world, why did it have to be Lord Wentworth who’d stolen the book?

  When he’d offered his name, he’d nearly startled her into abandoning her plan. She already owed him so much. Stealing from him must surely damn her for ingratitude. If she didn’t have her sisters to worry about—

  She tightened her grip on the innocent-looking book. She couldn’t believe she held it at last. Her entire future depended on it— on what the Russian Orthodox priest had recorded on its pages.

  Even so, she regretted deceiving Lord Wentworth. He’d been kind to her with no ulterior motive. She wasn’t used to that sort of solicitude. At least, not since the abrupt change in her social status.

  But, then again, he had stolen the church register. It saddened her to realize he must be yet another player in this elaborate game of nations.

  His expression of confusion and betrayal just before she’d slammed the door would haunt her.

  The odd bulge at the back of his coat had made her suspicious. At first, she could only guess at what lay hidden there. When her fingers grazed the tooled-leather cover, she’d immediately recognized the Russian Orthodox cross by touch, with its distinctive emblem of two parallel crossbeams and a third one at a slight downward angle.

  With it back in her possession, she’d be much more careful about who she trusted with its safekeeping.

  She wouldn’t let the Russians take it from her.

  Not again.

  “I’m sorry, my lord. Truly I am,” she murmured to the closed door, knowing he couldn’t hear her.

  A thrill shot through her as she recalled pulling him close, his breath warm on her cheek, just as it had been in her dreams. She’d nearly given in to a sudden impulse to steal a kiss from him, but she’d resisted. The book was too important to let herself be distracted by a man.

  Even if the man was Lord Wentworth.

  Antonia paused to lift the hem of her dress, exposing the large pocket she’d sewn into one of her many layers of petticoats. She quickly stashed the church register along with the key she’d brought.

  Although she owned one of the hoop skirts many of the ladies wore this season, she hadn’t worn it tonight. With tonight’s cold temperatures, her many petticoats with their stiffened layers of starched crinoline would keep her warm.

  They’d also do a much better job of concealing the book.

  She brushed her skirts back in place. The smooth shape of her gown drooped slightly from the book’s added weight, but she didn’t think anyone would notice.

  Wentworth banged against the door, startling Antonia. She took a quick step backward. What if he made enough noise to attract someone’s attention? But he wouldn’t, would he? After all, he couldn’t afford to be discovered here any more than she could.

  It struck Antonia that the children’s choir had stopped singing. How long ago had that happened? The orchestra played now, and the notes of a waltz drifted up from the ballroom below.

  She darted toward the main staircase, intent upon her escape.

  Antonia's feet flew down the treads. As she turned the corner on the landing, she spied the liveried footman with his back to her, guarding the stairs against intruders.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Boldness be my friend.

  - William Shakespeare

  A sudden bolt of awareness jolted through Robert.

  The church register. It wasn’t digging into his back. In fact, it was no longer tucked in his waistband.

  He patted the floor of the dark room, hoping to find the leather-bound book, but he already knew it was gone. He recalled the temptress’s hands caressing his back and pulling him closer.

  The little thief had stolen the church register right out from under him. Or to be more specific, right out from under his waistband.

  It couldn’t be a coincidence they’d met. Copper-Eyes must have planned it. There was no other explanation. She’d e
ven had a key. One she must have brought with her. Even Frederick, with all of his schemes and plans, hadn’t been able to obtain one for the embassy’s new door locks.

  Robert was a fool— a complete and utter fool. She’d played him from the beginning. Recalling her sudden change in demeanor when he’d first seen her, he realized he should have recognized it for what it was.

  Deceit.

  That initial flash of emotion had been her only mistake, and he’d ignored it because he’d pitied her.

  Robert shook his head, chiding himself. Honestly, it hadn’t been pity that had moved him, but something much more primal. He’d been attracted to Copper-Eyes. He’d wanted to protect her, to win her.

  She’d taken him in with her beauty and false frailty— more the fool him.

  An explosive sigh burst from his lips. Had there ever been a bigger fool? He knew better. Frederick would be furious, and rightly so.

  And where, precisely, was Frederick?

  He reached for his brother’s lock pick set.

  This is what came of breaking one of his rules. “Don’t involve yourself in other people’s problems,” he muttered under his breath. “It only leads to trouble. Will I ever learn?”

  Robert focused entirely upon the door’s lock. Since the tiny room had no windows to let in light, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of the lock.

  He’d opened many locks in the dark. When he’d honed the skill at Eton, he’d believed he’d been rebelling against his father’s ruthless manipulations; later, he’d begun to wonder if he wasn’t simply following in the man’s footsteps.

  His hand slipped and he let out a curse.

  He wiped his hand on his trousers and began again. After another moment, the lock gave way. He grinned. Perhaps he had a future in house-breaking.

  Now to find that thieving coquette.

  As Robert cracked open the door to peer out, a man in a black evening coat walked directly in front of the opening.

  Robert froze.

  Then he pulled the door wide open and stepped out into the hall, directly behind the man.

  “Frederick?” Robert took in his brother’s disheveled hair and rumpled clothes. “Where have you been?”

  Frederick whirled around to face him, his cheeks flushed with emotion. Had he escaped from attackers— or had a woman been running her fingers through his hair? One was infinitely preferable to the other.

  Frederick peered into the darkened room from which Robert had just emerged. “I should ask you the same question. Why were you in there?”

  “I’ll explain on our way downstairs. We need to hurry.” Little Miss Copper-Eyes was probably escaping at that precise moment.

  Robert sped toward the door leading to the servants’ staircase with Frederick right behind him.

  As he reached it, he heard the rattle of a doorknob behind him. Someone else was up here.

  In one smooth movement, Robert opened the staircase door and slipped inside with Frederick at his heels. He closed it most of the way, leaving a one-inch gap through which he glanced back down the hallway. He needed to be certain the person he’d heard opening the door wasn’t Copper-Eyes.

  A liveried footman stepped out of a room. Robert shut the door and raced down the staircase after his brother.

  Frederick waited for him at the bottom of the stairs. Robert peeked out to check the hallway.

  Empty. Finally, something happened in his favor. Perhaps his luck was turning.

  Now he simply needed to catch the thief before she escaped.

  Oh, and confess to his brother that he’d been duped.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Wisely, and slow. They stumble that run fast.

  - William Shakespeare

  Antonia slowed to a more sedate pace on the staircase in the main foyer.

  This was yet another excellent opportunity for her to employ her acting skills.

  Letting out a soft yet dramatic moan, she pretended to slump against the banister, clinging to it for support. The footman turned, startled by the sound, and immediately hurried up the staircase toward her, his face filled with concern.

  The poor man. He might be too gullible for his own good, but all the better for her.

  “Help me?” she said, gazing up at him with a pleading expression. “I’m feeling so lightheaded I’m afraid I’ll fall.”

  The man narrowed his eyes as he examined her face and then frowned. “Why are you here?” he asked in a thick Russian accent. “Is off-limits to guests. I am posted here for warning people away.”

  The words “off-limits” and “posted” sounded rather military. Perhaps he was more than an ordinary footman. She would need to play him carefully. “Off-limits?” Antonia said, widening her eyes. “I had no idea. I simply walked up here to escape the crowd. Why didn’t you stop me?”

  He looked stunned. Momentarily speechless at having her turn the blame back on him.

  She scrutinized him. “Did something distract you— or perhaps someone?” She smiled indulgently and patted his arm. “I promise I won’t tell the ambassador. I’d hate for you to be disciplined on my account.”

  “That— that is kind of you.”

  “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.” Antonia leaned to one side to look past him and into a room off the foyer, where she spied a rotund matron along the far wall. The woman would make the perfect stand-in as her mother.

  Antonia pretended to be relieved as she gestured toward the woman. "I should return to my mother. I’m sure she’s looking for me."

  The footman stepped aside to let her pass.

  As Antonia entered the opulent room, she took note of the other guests, but for the most part, everyone seemed oblivious to her. One elderly man leered at her. Had he recognized her? She avoided his gaze and pointedly began examining the room’s decor.

  Many paintings graced the golden-yellow walls, but one in particular caught her eye— so close she could have reached out and touched it.

  A painting by Vladamir Nevsky.

  Her grandfather.

  Memories of happier days and a better life engulfed her as she gazed at the vibrant canvas. The outdoor scene depicted Russian foot travelers on a country road wearing brightly colored clothing. Her grandfather had loved color. She smiled as she recalled him saying the world needed more purple. Standing next to it must be a good omen. She had no doubt that if he were still alive, he would have supported her decisions. He’d always been a practical man.

  She glanced up to find the footman staring at her again. Apparently she hadn’t completely allayed his suspicions. Rather than lingering at the doorway, she moved purposefully toward the woman she’d identified as her mother. Now, however, the lady chatted with a young woman, presumably her real daughter.

  “Excuse me,” Antonia said as she joined the pair, “but can you direct me to the punch table? I find myself quite parched.”

  The matron’s eyes widened in surprise at being addressed by a stranger.

  Antonia tried to appear forlorn in the hope of appealing to some motherly instinct. It worked. The woman’s expression softened.

  She gave Antonia a commiserating smile. “It is quite warm in here, yes?” she asked, her Russian accent thick. “Drinks are being served in next room, through door.”

  A wave of nostalgia swept over her. Mother’s accent had been much more subtle than this woman’s, but she’d never shaken the remnants of her Russian roots. Suddenly, Antonia missed her desperately.

  Antonia nodded and clasped the matron’s soft upper arm in thanks. The touch might be overdoing things a bit, but that excessively observant footman might still be watching. As she made her way toward the door to the adjoining room, she glanced back and found the footman’s gaze following her progress, but he seemed uninterested, as though dismissing her as a threat. She saw him glance back up the stairs to the second floor.

  Had something caught his attention?

  Or someone?

  If the Russians caug
ht Lord Wentworth escaping the room before she left, the footman might become suspicious of her again. That would be disastrous.

  She needed to disappear.

  Upon entering the adjoining room, she sidestepped the punch table and took a roundabout path to the cloakroom, avoiding the footman in the foyer. He might be distracted now, but she was certain his suspicions were on a low simmer. If he saw her leave, they’d boil over, landing her in trouble.

  Someone sneezed from inside the cloakroom as Antonia approached the door. She entered the small room and spotted a young woman dabbing at her nose with a handkerchief. She wore a neat black dress with a starched white cap and apron, and she appeared to be suffering from a cold. Maybe that would make her less likely to question Antonia’s early departure.

  “Bless you,” Antonia said.

  The woman looked both surprised and embarrassed to see her, but she still offered a faint smile. “Thank you.”

  “I need to leave,” Antonia said, handing over a numbered metal disk.

  The cloakroom attendant turned to locate the garment, passing it to Antonia with hardly a glance. Antonia counted herself fortunate the woman didn’t question her for collecting her own cloak rather than having her escort do so. The other servants in this household had been much more observant and suspicious.

  A moment later, Antonia stepped out the front door.

  She wasn’t safe yet, but luck was again in her favor. Instead of facing a gauntlet of servants, she discovered a group of young footmen standing huddled together against the cold January wind. One of them spotted her and broke away from the group to approach her. The others snapped to attention in a surprisingly military fashion. Or perhaps it wasn’t so surprising, considering the military bearing of the footman she’d deceived.