Once Upon a Spy: A Secrets and Seduction Book

by Sheridan Jeane

  She leaned toward Robert. She wished she could draw out this moment of closeness a little longer. They’d forged a tenuous bond in the past half hour, and she hated the idea of breaking this fragile connection with him.

  Antonia glanced at Robert, but kept her face still, trying not to let him read anything in it. “I hope you’ll understand my need for secrecy. My friend also knows Father Sergey. He knew exactly where I could find the church register last night.”

  Robert gazed off into the trees for a moment. “You’ve mentioned France quite a few times. Is this man French?”

  Antonia’s jaw went slack before she snapped her mouth closed. Robert was much too clever. How had he guessed?

  Robert nodded, apparently taking her surprise as confirmation. “So the French are helping Father Sergey, and they want to help you recover the church register, is that correct?”

  She stared stonily ahead. How could she have been so careless? She was an actress, for heaven’s sake. She should be able to keep her features composed. Unfortunately, she’d never been good at lying. “I won’t discuss him with you. He helped me and I won’t be responsible for leading you to him.”

  “Fair enough,” Robert said. “Trust needs to be earned, after all, and you’ve already put a great deal of trust in me. I can’t blame you for being cautious.”

  The wave of relief that swept through her was enough to make her stumble. She clutched at Robert’s arm more tightly to regain her balance. “Do you believe I’m not working against the crown?”

  “Oh, yes. I’m quite convinced.”

  She smiled with relief.

  “But my brother won’t be. He’ll still want to have you arrested for treason. You’ll need to help me recover that church register. Otherwise, Frederick won’t stop until he puts you in prison.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Tricks and treachery are the practice of fools, that don't have brains enough to be honest.

  - Benjamin Franklin

  Upon seeing Antonia’s stricken expression, Robert’s stomach sank to the path beneath his feet where her clever little booted heels could stomp on it. It was no more than he deserved.

  He’d pushed too hard, that much was obvious.

  Her gaze became unfocused. “You’ll do what you must, as will I.” Her words were soft, but they hit as hard as fists.

  Why had he threatened her? She’d been entirely frank and open with him, and he’d repaid her with words as cruel as the blunt force of a truncheon. Could he fault her for being loyal? Of course not. Hadn’t his own loyalty to his family driven him to lengths he never would have imagined?

  Now she refused even to look at him. What other reaction could he have expected? That she’d smile sweetly at the prospect of Frederick having her arrested her for treason?

  He was much too blunt. Too direct. He also happened to be excellent at avoiding situations that might force him to become involved with other people’s problems. It had been his chosen tactic over the years. Avoid and conquer. Or perhaps it was, avoid and avoid.

  Since they’d met, he’d come to realize she saw him in a way that was much different from the way he saw himself. It was as though she viewed him as some sort of heroic figure.

  Heroic.

  Him.

  He shook his head.

  He knew instinctively that Antonia’s story was true. Even so, he forced himself to examine it rationally, sifting through the details and searching for any contradictions or inconsistencies.

  She’d endured an appalling year— one that might break a weaker woman. Her story might sound outlandish, but it provided a solid and logical explanation for why she’d stolen the book. All the particulars she’d provided seemed to hold together except for the part about Russian soldiers searching for the arsonist. But she’d admitted straightaway that their involvement seemed odd, so why would she have mentioned it if it hadn’t been true?

  “I’m sorry, Antonia, but I can’t keep this from Frederick. I’d be committing treason,” Robert said as the silence stretched between them.

  She gave a sharp nod, but kept her lips pressed tightly together and fixed her stare at some point in the distance. She’d been so relaxed only a moment ago. How could he recover what they’d had together? Was it even possible?

  His gaze fell to the gardenia pinned to her cloak, causing a flash of embarrassment to stab him at the reminder of his plan to manipulate her. Had he truly been attempting to deceive her, or had he merely been deceiving himself? Indecision tore at him. How could he reconcile duty and loyalty to the crown with his need to do right by the woman standing before him?

  For form’s sake, he’d investigate her story. He was certain it would hold up to his scrutiny— but what if it unraveled? Would he be able to turn her over to Frederick?

  Robert shook his head. It would never come to that. He already knew she was telling the truth. He almost laughed at himself. He believed her. Deep down, something about her resonated within him, and he had the sense that what they might create together could be sweet and harmonious.

  As he watched Antonia, a realization swept over him. The silence between them pressed on him. “I just realized that isn’t true,” he said. “Treason be damned— I could never betray you to my brother. Not when it’s so obvious you’re telling me the truth.”

  She spun to face him, her face revealing her surprise and elation. She closed her eyes as a smile of relief spread across her face.

  He wanted to pull her into his arms.

  Antonia blinked her eyes open. “That means the world to me, but— your brother— treason— I can’t let you put yourself at risk.”

  A connection tightened between them, its spun filaments strengthening as the seconds ticked by.

  “I’ll find a way. Your goals and Frederick’s don’t have to be mutually exclusive. First, we’ll use the book to recover your inheritance, and then we’ll hand it over to the Queen.”

  He just had to figure out how to make it happen.

  She squeezed his arm. “The measure of a man can’t be taken by the beauty of his words, but by the path he chooses when faced with a difficult decision.”

  Self-confidence welled up within Robert. She inspired him. Made him want more— want to be more. He wanted to be the man she believed him to be.

  She came to a stop, and he realized they’d reached the park entrance.

  He wanted nothing more than to continue spending time with her— to learn more about her— explore what was growing between them. But he realized that not only were all the matrons in the park watching them, Antonia’s cheeks and nose had turned pink with the cold. “I’ll escort you back to your lodgings.”

  Antonia glanced at their audience. “That would be for the best. I need to write letters to my sisters and Miss Galloway before I leave for the theater.”

  “Are your sisters living with a relative?”

  Antonia shook her head. “Miss Galloway is our former governess. She found a position teaching at Miss Hermitage’s Collegiate School for Girls, and my sisters are permitted to share her living quarters. They don’t attend classes or mix with the students. Miss Hermitage wouldn’t allow it. But at least Stephanie and Eva are safe and living with someone who loves them as much as I do.”

  “Isn’t that a burden for Miss Galloway?” He used his cane to snag a bit of soggy, crumpled newspaper that had blown across the sidewalk and was now stuck in a melting pile of snow. With a deft move, he lifted it and flung it into a nearby waste bin. It landed with a satisfyingly wet plop.

  She smiled at his bit of showmanship. “I do what I can to lessen her load, but I don’t know how I’d manage without her. I send her all the money I have left after paying my bills each week. Mrs. Hill is not only my landlady, but also my governess’s sister. I know she seems gruff, but she’s generous enough to rent me a room despite her intense dislike of theater people. Miss Galloway insists I live at a respectable address so she and my sisters can visit without risking a scandal.” />
  Robert nodded slowly. Miss Galloway probably also wanted to ensure that Antonia lived someplace safe. It was unlikely that Miss Hermitage would allow an actress to cross her boarding school’s threshold, even to visit her sisters. What if irate parents learned of her presence there and yanked their precious daughters from the school? It could drive Miss Hermitage to ruin.

  Antonia was in a precarious situation.

  Near the entrance to Mrs. Hill’s boardinghouse, a cluster of three mothers stood watch over their little ones. The babies slept in their perambulators, and each mother held a parasol to shield her precious bundle from the weak winter sunlight.

  As Robert glanced beyond the small group, a man emerged from the front door of Mrs. Hill’s rooming house and quickly ducked into a waiting carriage. His face was partially obscured by the shadow his top hat cast across his eyes, but Robert found him strikingly familiar.

  A tingle of foreboding swept over him.

  The man’s carriage began moving toward them. In a moment, Robert would have a clear view of the passenger. Of course, that meant that the man would have a clear view of Robert as well.

  “This way,” Robert said, guiding Antonia around the cluster of parasols. He lifted his hand to acknowledge the women as they passed by and to block his face from view. He glanced at the man in the carriage.

  “Is something wrong?” Antonia asked.

  Robert instantly recognized him. He’d been among those who’d attacked him in front of the theater last night.

  Had he followed Robert here? That seemed unlikely. His experience in front of the theater had left him cautious. Wary. He would have spotted anyone trailing him.

  Then another thought gripped him. What if someone had seen Antonia at the ball and had tracked her here— was she in danger as well?

  “I think we may have a problem.”

  Antonia peered up at him and her brows dipped into a V, like the dark, graceful wings of a bird. “What’s wrong?”

  Robert quickly told her of the attack from the previous night, and her eyes widened with horror.

  “Are you certain he’s one of your attackers?” she asked.

  Robert gave a sharp nod. “Definitely.”

  She looked doubtful. “He must have followed you here. I don’t think I could have been traced. I’m certain I didn’t leave a trail anyone could follow. I even switched carriages after leaving the ball.”

  Doubt began to creep in. Had he been too careless? Had he been followed after all? “No,” he finally said, “I’m certain I wasn’t followed. There must be some other explanation.”

  “Let’s speak to Mrs. Hill. She’ll tell me if anything is amiss. I hope you’re mistaken. I was extremely careful last night.”

  “I found you easily enough. You already stole the book once, and they know it. They’d suspect you whether they saw you at the ball or not. Have no doubt about that.” Robert pushed open the door of the boardinghouse, standing to one side to allow Antonia to precede him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being with an independent will.

  - Charlotte Brontë

  Antonia hung her cloak on one of the hooks by the entrance, grateful to have Robert at her side.

  The house was unusually quiet, and Antonia felt a chill of foreboding whisper down her neck. Had something happened to Mrs. Hill?

  Her quick glance assured her that everything in the foyer was as she’d last seen it. Nothing was out of place. Her gaze caught on the cane in the umbrella stand that she’d inspected last night. Perhaps she could use it as a makeshift weapon. She avoided looking at Robert as she plucked the cane from the midst of the bouquet of umbrellas and then brandished it as she turned to face the drawing room doors.

  He seemed at ease as he hung his hat on the rack next to her cloak, but she noticed he kept his cane firmly in his grasp. She ached for the comfort of his hand in hers, but ignored the urge. This past year of living on her own taught had her much, not the least of which was the saving grace of being free to move quickly when necessary. Holding his hand might slow her down.

  She raised a shaking hand and knocked on one of the pocket doors.

  There was no response.

  “Mrs. Hill?” she called out. The double doors weren’t closed all the way, and the opening between them was a scant inch wide. It didn’t offer Antonia much of a view of the interior of the room. “I’d like to speak with you for a moment.”

  The woman didn’t answer.

  Robert moved to open the door, but she held up her hand to forestall him. “You might frighten her. Let me.”

  He paused, but then nodded. “Stay close.”

  Antonia knocked again. Her entire body was a tightly coiled spring, ready to explode with energy at the slightest touch. What if Robert had been right? What if the same man who’d attacked him outside the theater had tracked her here— and what if Mrs. Hill had fallen victim to him?

  With the sound of her heart pounding in her ears, Antonia gingerly slid open the drawing room door, afraid of what she might find.

  Her gaze skimmed the drawing room, but it was empty— or rather, empty of people, not of the clutter of objects.

  The late Mr. Hill had filled every surface with items he’d collected during his travels, and now his widow lovingly preserved them. The hodgepodge of knickknacks nearly burst from the room— ivory carvings, Japanese swords, China dolls, blue and white plates of Delftware from the Netherlands, and a glass case on an ornate gold stand that contained a lush green fern.

  What had Mrs. Hill said the container was called? A Wardian Case, named for the botanist who’d first invented it. Mother had owned one of those cases. It belonged to Uncle Walter now, just like everything else in her childhood home.

  She saw no sign of Mrs. Hill. Not even this jumble could have concealed her.

  “Mrs. Hill!” Antonia called out. She held her breath as she listened.

  A clattering of china and a muffled outburst came from the adjoining room.

  Antonia rushed toward the sound, her wide skirts brushing against the large pieces of furniture that attempted to slow her. She accidentally bumped an ivory figurine with the tip of the cane. It teetered precariously, but Robert reached out and snatched it before it could fall.

  Before she could reach the door, Mrs. Hill stepped through it carrying a tea tray. Antonia stumbled to a halt, nearly colliding with her.

  The woman’s eyes widened in surprise. “What’s all this caterwauling? I know my sister taught you better. That’s what comes from spending time with those theater people. They teach you to make your voice so loud it can be heard in the back row of the theater, don’t they? Well, stop doing it inside my house.” She continued on past them and set down the tea tray with a clatter on the small table in front of the sofa.

  Antonia set the tip of the cane on the floor as she reached out with her other hand and gripped the back of a nearby chair for support. She mussed the frilly, white antimacassar as her fingers dug into the upholstery.

  Robert stood close to her. He’d followed her headlong rush to rescue Mrs. Hill— from a teapot. As she released her grip and lowered her arm to her side, her shoulder brushed against his chest, causing her to become suddenly and intensely aware of him.

  Mrs. Hill shot Antonia a sharp glance, and then turned to glare at Robert.

  Antonia mastered herself. She glanced up at Robert. “I think I might have overreacted.” She smoothed the antimacassar she’d mussed, arranging it so it matched the other squares of lace adorning the backs of Mrs. Hill’s sofa and chairs.

  “Understandably so,” he replied, setting the small figurine he’d rescued on the nearest table.

  Antonia glanced at the floral tea tray Mrs. Hill held. It bore two Delftware cups and a pot.

  Two?

  Mrs. Hill huffed. “What’s all this about?”

  “I thought I recognized a gentleman who just left your house,” Robert said. “D
id you have a visitor?”

  Mrs. Hill glowered at him and then abruptly turned away and plopped onto the sofa. Was that a look of disappointment? As soon as Mrs. Hill realized Antonia was watching her, the expression disappeared.

  Antonia crossed the room to get a better look at Mrs. Hill. Now she looked affronted. “Was he looking for me?” she asked.

  “Who?” Mrs. Hill asked as she poured her tea.

  “The man who just left,” Antonia explained. “The one who rode away in the carriage.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said in tones that brought with it the chill of the London winter. “If someone came here asking for you, I’d tell you.” She slipped her hand into the pocket of her dress as though reassuring herself of its contents. “If you did, indeed, see someone leave, perhaps he was visiting one of my other tenants. I do have other tenants, you know. And I don’t keep track of everyone’s comings and goings.”

  Antonia stared pointedly at the second teacup as she clenched the cane in her grip. “And for whom did you bring out that second teacup if not the visitor who just left?” Antonia asked, her voice oozing false sweetness.

  “Miss Winter!” Mrs. Hill snapped. “There’s no need for you to take that tone with me. I’m under no obligation to explain myself to the likes of you. If you don’t like it here, you’re free to move out. I’ll even refund the rent you paid in advance.”

  Return the rent money? Mrs. Hill, the most tightfisted woman she’d ever met, offered to return the rent money? She’d never before mentioned the possibility. What if Mrs. Hill’s next step would be to evict her?

  Antonia couldn’t let that happen. She simply couldn’t.

  “Well, Miss Winter? Would you like to leave?” The steely glint in Mrs. Hill’s eyes underscored her ruthlessness.

  Antonia shrank back. Leave? She couldn’t leave. Where would she go? She couldn’t afford to pay more than she already gave Mrs. Hill each week, and besides that, what respectable boardinghouse would permit an actress to live there? “I— I’m sorry I offended you,” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth in a rush. “I’m perfectly happy here. Content. I know you’re doing your best to watch over me. I’d very much like to stay. I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.”