Lady Harrington’s gaze sought Robert’s and she raised one eyebrow in a question, but he simply shrugged. “The injury’s making him short-tempered.” She narrowed her eyes, and Robert could tell she thought he might be hiding something from her, but rather than arguing with him, she nodded and followed Frederick.
He turned to join them, but someone laid a heavy hand on his arm.
“Lord Wentworth,” Ambassador Revnik said from directly behind him, “I’m so pleased you could join us tonight. Excuse me for asking, but what is your brother’s fault?”
Robert tensed, but then forced himself to relax as he turned to face the ambassador. “Pardon me?”
“Your brother said ‘Eto moya vina,’ did he not?” the ambassador asked, stroking his thumb and forefinger down his dark horseshoe-shaped mustache to smooth it down the sides of his chin. “What is his fault?”
“I— I’m sorry. My brother and I argued. I apologize for being disruptive.”
“Ah, yes. Brothers. They can anger us greatly, can they not? I didn’t realize either of you spoke Russian.”
“I don’t speak it well. We both studied it years ago at Eton, but I was never a good student.”
Revnik gave him a condescending smile. “You must visit us again so you can practice. It is a beautiful language. Such a shame to let your skills decline. Did you enjoy our children’s choir?”
“Very much so,” he said with more enthusiasm. “They were exceptional.”
Revnik dipped his head slightly in thanks for the compliment, but he seemed wary. “I hoped to speak to your brother as well, but he rushed off too quickly. Will he return?” Judging by the twitch in Revnik’s cheek and his narrowed eyes, there was more behind his question.
“No,” Robert replied, wondering how long Revnik had been observing them. Had they been overheard? “He’s sending for our carriage. The burns he received are troubling him.”
Revnik narrowed his eyes and he stroked his mustache again. “I also hoped to convince you to sing for us. Will I be disappointed in that as well?”
“Now?” Robert asked, startled. But he shouldn’t have been. After all, he received these requests fairly often. He slid his hand along the ebony finish of the grand piano. “I’m not certain— that is, I don’t think I’m up to it this evening.” He searched for an excuse that would satisfy the ambassador, and chose the same one he’d used with the footman. “You see, I’m not quite feeling myself.”
It was as though he’d uttered the magic words Revnik had been anticipating. “Ah, yes. Your ‘bad shrimp’?”
“You heard about that?” Robert blurted in surprise.
Revnik’s dark mustache partially obscured his smile. “My footmen always inform me of unusual incidents involving my guests.” He peered into Robert’s eyes more intently. “I don’t recall that we served any shrimp this evening.”
“I ate some at home before coming here. One didn’t taste quite right.” Robert swallowed hard, and the ambassador’s gaze focused on his Adam’s apple as it bobbed up and down. “I hoped to avoid mentioning such an unpleasant subject. Please forgive me.”
Revnik nodded and peered at him more closely. “It appears both you and your brother are out of sorts this evening. Is that why you argued?”
Robert smiled. “How did you guess?” He swallowed again.
Revnik twitched one shoulder as though embarrassed. “I am a student of human nature. I must admit, his irritation with you perplexed me. I couldn’t resist investigating. Please allow me to ensure your carriage arrives promptly.” Revnik nodded at a footman lingering at his elbow. The man turned to fulfill the order with military precision.
Robert observed the man as he walked away. “Your footmen are a bit older than most.”
“That’s because they’re soldiers, assigned to the embassy. When I host events such as these, they double as footmen. But you already guessed as much, didn’t you?” Revnik’s stared at him again, more closely. “You’re an observant man.”
Robert swallowed yet again. Would Revnik take his frequent swallowing as an indication of nausea? “A habit, I’m sure. One which annoys my brother to no end. Perhaps that’s why I developed it.” Robert glanced up and saw Frederick beckoning him from across the room.
The ambassador glanced between the two brothers suspiciously.
Robert quickly covered his mouth and widened his eyes, as though suddenly overcome by his illness. “I believe our carriage is ready. And just in time, I fear.”
“Make haste,” Ambassador Revnik said, unable to hide his grimace of distaste. “I insist.”
Robert nodded and hurried into the foyer to grab his cloak, hat, and cane from Frederick before following his companions toward the large double doors.
He glanced over his shoulder to the balcony above the foyer just in time to witness the ambassador’s secretary barreling down the staircase with the diplomatic pouch in his hand.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot.
- William Shakespeare
Antonia gathered her scattered thoughts. Where could she tell the driver to take her? Someplace on the far side of the palace grounds and Hyde Park. That would do. And then she’d find another carriage to take her the rest of the way.
Wait. Hadn’t her friend Zelda mentioned something about a soirée tonight in— “Grosvenor Square,” Antonia blurted, before her hesitation became too obvious.
“Yes, miss.” The footman didn’t bat an eye. “Grosvenor Square,” he called to the driver.
The carriage took off with a lurch, throwing Antonia back against the cushions. Could her escape be this easy? She held her breath as they passed through the gate and didn’t exhale until her carriage was safely on the main road.
British soil.
She settled against the comfortable cushions and grinned.
She’d done it. She’d retrieved the book. She vowed this time would be different. This time she’d hide it someplace where no one would ever think to look for it. The Russians would not take it from her again.
How on earth had Lord Wentworth ended up with her church register? She’d been so startled at seeing him she’d come close to forgetting her goal. It had taken every ounce of willpower not to steal a kiss from him. But she couldn’t. Not in good conscience. Stealing the book from him was already a terrible betrayal.
“Right, Antonia. Go ahead and lie to yourself,” she mumbled. Conscience wasn’t the real reason she hadn’t kissed him. No, it was doubt about her own willpower that had checked her. If she’d kissed him, she might never have been able to stop. Not after fantasizing about him for the past five years.
Why did it have to have been Lord Wentworth? Why had she been forced to betray the one man to whom her family owed so much? She’d been dreaming of meeting him face-to-face for so long. In her fantasies, she’d always behaved in a perfectly proper way. And he’d always found her fascinating. Never once had she imagined shoving him into a bedroom and betraying him.
She tried to imagine how he’d react to seeing her now— his pale-blue eyes hard with anger. That he’d be furious went without saying. He’d never forgive her for what she’d done.
She forcefully pushed all thoughts of Lord Wentworth from her mind. The night wasn’t over yet.
Her anxiety began creeping back.
How would she manage to arrive at her true destination on time with this added detour to Grosvenor Square? Suddenly, the pleasant carriage felt like it was crawling along slower than an inchworm. She’d simply have to hail a different cab once she arrived.
As the carriage rattled along Park Lane, Antonia glanced out into the darkness of Hyde Park to her left. If only she could slip into that darkness. But no. Sneaking through a deserted park at night would be even more foolish for a solitary woman.
There were predators out there— of the two-footed variety.
When the carriage finally drop
ped her off in front of a brightly lit residence in Grosvenor Square, a number of other guests were arriving as well. It only took a moment for Antonia to procure one of the vacant hansom cabs.
“Haymarket Theatre, please,” she said. “Can you take me to the rear entrance?”
The driver nodded and helped her into the open cab before climbing back up to the driver’s seat behind her. It might be a chillier ride than the one provided by the more lavish carriage she’d just exited, but it was going in the right direction.
Antonia pulled her small watch from its little pocket at the waist of her dress and checked it in the dim light of a gas lantern along their path. It was later than she’d thought. She hoped the stage manager wouldn’t be furious with her. Claude was notoriously short-tempered.
She imagined the stocky Frenchman’s reaction to her late arrival. Claude would remind her that there was a line of women waiting to take her place. He would rail and panic. He would threaten and cajole. And he’d be right. She’d never have taken this risk under normal circumstances. She couldn’t afford to lose this job. Not now. Not yet.
She slid her hand over her skirt to feel the book tucked away in the secret pocket. It was the key to solving all her problems.
As the carriage approached Piccadilly Square, she checked her watch again. She’d arrive in time, but just barely.
The traffic became thick and impassable as they neared the theater. Antonia paid the driver and hurried ahead on foot. She absolutely could not be late.
She flew through the stage door, bringing a gust of frigid air inside with her. It swept away the odors of greasepaint, fresh lumber, and dust that normally greeted her.
“Antonia, you’re here! Merde!” Claude’s French accent was thick, a sure indication of his anger. He scrubbed his hands over his round belly before shaking a finger at her. “This is inexcusable. I had Pamela put on your costume. Hurry! Go change with her so everyone’s in place before the curtain rises.”
“Yes, sir.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Antonia caught the stricken expression of her understudy. Pamela’s normally pale face was covered with face powder, and she wore her blond hair artfully arranged in a neat chignon, but her borrowed gown was too short since she was four inches taller than Antonia.
Antonia noted the girl’s irritated expression. There was always someone waiting to take your place, hoping for their big chance at success. If things worked out the way Antonia hoped they would, Pamela might end up taking over her role on a permanent basis.
Claude braced his hands on his hips and spread his feet wide. He narrowed his eyes. “You know I don’t tolerate lateness. I expect the cast to be here early every single night. No exceptions.”
Antonia nodded, trying to look as contrite as she felt.
Claude continued to glower at her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I won’t let it happen again.” His scowl seemed to follow her as she hurried off to the dressing area below stage. There was a similar room in the wings, but it was small and she only used it during scene changes. When changing in and out of her street clothes, she preferred to use the larger area below stairs.
The moment she stepped into the room, she stripped out of her cloak, dress, and petticoats. As she hung her petticoats on pegs, she kept the church register well hidden. A moment later, her understudy handed her the costume and then slipped away.
Antonia hurriedly donned the old-fashioned wide panniers and gown. After checking her reflection one last time, she hurried upstairs toward the stage.
When Claude caught sight of her in the wings, he turned and walked out onto the apron in front of the curtain. From her vantage point, she could see him raise his arms, and the crowd fell silent.
“Thank you for your patience. It’s my pleasure to inform you that contrary to what you may have been told when you arrived, Antonia Winter will be performing the title role in tonight’s performance of Westland Marston’s play, Anne Blake.”
Enthusiastic applause greeted the announcement. Claude’s stage smile still plastered his face as he brushed past Antonia, but then he paused to look at her, his face stern. “They might applaud you tonight, but in time they could come to love Pamela even more. Audiences are fickle.”
Antonia nodded as her stomach clenched. She couldn’t afford to lose this role. It paid her room and board, and kept her sisters clothed and fed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Divide each difficulty into as many parts as is feasible and necessary to resolve it.
- Renée Descartes
Just as the double doors of the embassy began to close behind Robert, pounding footsteps thundered toward the entrance. A man’s voice said, “Shut the doors and keep them locked.”
The doors slammed as though someone had shoved them.
Robert felt momentarily stunned. If the man issuing orders had instead said, “Don’t let anyone leave,” they would have been dragged back inside and searched. The lock picks he carried would have damned him even without the church register.
Rather than pausing to wonder at his good fortune, Robert tucked his cane under his arm at a jaunty angle and glanced around in time to notice a departing carriage. Had someone else left the ball early? His stomach tightened. Could it have been the thief?
He ignored the possibility for a moment. They weren’t safe yet. That gate still separated the Russian embassy from Lyall Street and from British soil.
Robert’s carriage awaited them, ready to whisk them away.
Frederick shot him a worried glance. He’d obviously heard the order to close the doors. It might be true they needed to leave quickly, but it couldn’t appear as though they were rushing.
Robert leaned on his cane in a casual pose as Frederick insisted on helping Lady Harrington into the carriage using his better hand.
“Thank you, Frederick,” she said softly.
Frederick’s face turned red.
What was this? Robert narrowed his eyes as Frederick followed her inside.
“Why did you revert to calling me Lady Harrington?” she asked Frederick, her voice soft and beguiling. “I much prefer it when you call me Josephine.”
“I’d thought to protect your reputation, but you seem firmly committed to tarnishing it. Nearly everyone at the ball must have seen you leave with me.”
“Fiddlesticks. As I already explained, a widow has much more latitude than does a debutante.”
“Not this much.”
“Your brother is with us, and neither of you is reputed to be a rake. My reputation is safe enough.”
Robert listened with curiosity, beginning to suspect Frederick cared much more for Josephine than he’d admit even to himself.
As Robert climbed into the carriage, she glanced at him. “You should call me Josephine as well,” she said in a more matter-of-fact tone.
“Thank you. You must call me Robert.” He’d be seeing more of this woman— that much was obvious.
Through the window, Robert scanned the courtyard, noting two men opening the gates leading to the street. Robert slumped back in the seat opposite Josephine and Frederick. “It’s quite kind of you to offer your assistance, Josephine.”
She smiled at his use of her name.
“She didn’t offer. She insisted,” Frederick said, obviously displeased.
“Fiddlesticks. You know this will be more expedient. My carriage can pick up my housekeeper and bring her to you. You wouldn’t have me wasting my time sitting outside in the cold, would you?”
Frederick’s face softened. “Of course not.”
One of the footmen stepped forward to close the carriage door and then slapped the side of the coach, signaling their coachman that he could leave.
Robert rested his hand on his cane, using it as a barrier between himself and his brother. He liked the smooth texture of the silver pistol-grip handle against his palm, but even more, he liked the security of knowing that it concealed a slim sword, or more precisely, an épée.
He stared out the window, too tense to speak until they’d left the embassy’s grounds and were safely back on British soil. His eyes tracked the cast-iron streetlamps as they seemed to glide past the window. They burned with a steady glow, as if they were sentinels watching the night’s events unfold. It was as though they had wills of their own and wanted to ensure that all was well and proper in England.
“Robert, what did the ambassador want?” Josephine asked, breaking the silence. “He seemed quite intent on speaking with you.”
Robert glanced at Frederick, uncomfortable with her question. “Nothing in particular.”
At his cryptic reply, she narrowed her eyes. “He seemed insistent.”
“He witnessed our argument and came over to investigate.”
“Were you able to explain everything to his satisfaction?” Frederick asked in a sharp tone.
“I mentioned I’d eaten a bad shrimp and had an urgent need to return home. It turned out he already knew about it, which I found peculiar. He assumed you were in a temper because of your burned hand.”
“In a temper?” Josephine retorted. “Is that how he characterizes a man who is injured during his ball?” If she could sprout thorns, she’d pierce the ambassador with them.
“That’s the proper term to use when anyone lets their anger take control of them in a public setting,” Robert replied.
“You’re one to talk,” Frederick muttered. “I can’t count the number of times I’ve seen you lose your temper.”
Robert ignored the comment. “We need a plan.”
Frederick glanced at Josephine and inhaled deeply, obviously trying to control himself. He held his breath for a moment and then exhaled slowly. “I’d have thought you’d prefer to be quit of me and tonight’s entanglements. I know how much you dislike being involved in my work.”
“Unfortunately, I have the disadvantage of being largely responsible for— for what went wrong. I’m already involved, and I plan to see things through until I’ve rectified my error.”
Once Upon a Spy: A Secrets and Seduction Book Page 5
