Once Upon a Spy: A Secrets and Seduction Book

by Sheridan Jeane

  “No!” she screamed, falling to her knees next to him as the first of the servants came charging into the room.

  As each new person entered the study, they came to a halt at the grisly sight that confronted them.

  Their butler Landon arrived, forcing his way past the footmen and housemaids who were blocking his path. He quickly took in the scene— Mother draped over Father’s body on the floor, the blood on the desk, and what Robert knew must have been his own stunned, pale expression.

  Landon’s face blanched momentarily and his jaw dropped, but then he lifted his chin and composed himself. With a deep inhale of breath, he took charge.

  “Clear the room,” he barked to one of the footmen. “Fetch the authorities,” he commanded another. Then his gaze caught that of their housekeeper. “Send for the doctor.” He glanced significantly at Robert’s mother. “The living have need of him.”

  He spared Robert a glance, but then turned to advance on Lady Wentworth’s sobbing form. Robert took a few tentative steps to follow him, rounding the corner of the desk.

  Landon dropped to one knee and pulled gently at Mother’s shoulders. “Shh, my lady. His physical form is beyond any help you might provide.” He was able to pull her back a few inches. Landon plucked a white handkerchief from his pocket and began wiping the blood from Mother’s hands. The red streaks were garish against the white cloth.

  Robert looked away, but his gaze landed on the top of the desk. The gore he saw there was much more distressing, so he closed his eyes for a moment to suppress his rising nausea.

  It helped only slightly. A loud ringing filled his ears, obliterating everything around him. He focused on that sound, letting it consume him.

  “Robert,” Landon said sharply.

  The ringing sound ceased, and Robert’s eyes flew open. He saw Landon staring at him questioningly and realized he must have spoken.

  “Can you escort your mother upstairs and stay with her until the doctor arrives?” Landon repeated.

  Robert felt numb. Could he even move? Could he control his own body? He tried, and managed to force out a stiff nod.

  Landon rose to his feet and then helped Mother stand.

  She slid her hand around Robert’s slim arm, her grip tightening so that she was clinging to him as though she was afraid he’d disappear from her life as well. Her touch served to bring Robert back to himself. She needed him, and he’d be there for her no matter what.

  Her stunned gaze locked on Robert. “What will we do? What will we say?”

  Before Robert could reply, Landon said, “We’ll tell them the truth. Lord Wentworth suffered a tragic accident while cleaning his gun.” Then Landon crossed the room toward a bookcase, plucked a wooden box from the shelf that contained supplies for cleaning handguns, set it on the desk, and opened it.

  Robert’s free hand crept into his pocket and he touched the envelope concealed there. He kept one hand on it as he escorted his mother up the stairs and into her bedroom.

  He sat on the chair at her dressing table while she paced. He watched her as he rubbed his thumb against the envelope’s sharp corner, trying to make his scattered thoughts obey his will so he could think logically. Rationally. Then he pulled out the letter and began to read.

  His father’s death may have changed his world, but the contents of his note utterly destroyed it.

  Just as Robert finished the last line of the letter, Dr. Samuels arrived. He looked grim, his lips pressed thin and his shoulders sagging under the weight of his role in this tragedy’s aftermath. In one hand he held a satchel, and in the other he gripped an envelope.

  Mother approached him, but the doctor cleared his throat and glanced away. “I found this letter in Lord Wentworth’s coat pocket and thought it best to bring it to you, my lady.” The man’s Scottish lilt immediately calmed Robert, as it had throughout the years during which Dr. Samuels had cared for them all.

  Mother held out her hand, silently entreating him to pass it to her. She must have assumed it was a suicide note. But since Robert was already privy to the contents of the other letter, he knew this to be the decoy Father had written to him about. He stayed silent, watching as the scene Father had set in motion began to unfold.

  Dr. Samuels cleared his throat again and tightened his grip on the envelope. “It’s sealed, and I’m afraid it’s addressed to a Mrs. Eastland.” The corners of his mouth turned down severely, and Robert knew the inarticulate look of censure was meant for his father, not his mother. “I haven’t mentioned it to anyone.”

  Mother’s hand dropped to her side like a dead thing, but then she lifted her chin and reached for the envelope again. “Thank you, Dr. Samuels.”

  Robert rose to his feet, his attention on the letter his mother now held. Its contents would devastate her, and Robert already knew the words it contained weren’t true. As he approached her, the doctor intervened, placing a restraining hand on Robert’s shoulder. “You must allow your mother to read the letter.” The doctor’s tone was well meaning, but chiding. “Stand here with me for a moment, son. I’m afraid she’ll be needing your help and support.”

  She moved woodenly toward a small table and chair sitting in front of her bedroom window. When she sat down, she stared at the handwriting on the envelope for a long moment before finally flipping it over and tearing the seal. As her eyes darted back and forth, racing to read the words on the page, the doctor eased his grip enough that Robert was able to break free and hurry to stand next to her. When she finished the letter, her hand dropped to her lap and she let the sheets flutter to the floor, like dead autumn leaves. She was so pale. It was as though the life had bled from her as well.

  Robert thrust the other letter into her limp hand. “Read this,” he said.

  She didn’t respond. Didn’t take the letter from him.

  “Mother, you must read this. It explains everything. All is not as it appears.”

  He didn’t know if it was because of his words, or the calm intensity of his voice, but she lifted her head to gaze at him, and then she tightened her grip on the new letter and began to read. The look of dread on her face caused a sharp pain to rip at Robert’s heart.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks and she suddenly grabbed Robert’s hand in a fierce grip as she continued reading. When she finished it, she pulled Robert closer.

  He leaned down to accept her desperate embrace.

  “Thank god for your quick thinking,” she murmured into his ear. “What’s in this letter must remain between us and no one else.” She turned and gave him a tear-dampened kiss on his cheek and released him. Then she folded the secret letter and tucked it into her bodice.

  As Robert stepped away, Mother scooped up the first letter from the floor. Robert noticed that he’d accidentally trod upon one of the pages and marred it with his footprint.

  Mother brushed it off, folded it, and handed it back to Dr. Samuels. “Although I shouldn’t have read this, I believe it offers an explanation as to why my husband suffered such an unfortunate— accident. When the constable arrives, can you please ensure this is delivered to him? I trust he’ll bring it to Mrs. Eastland’s attention.”

  Grim-faced, Dr. Samuels accepted the letter and tucked it in his pocket. “Lady Wentworth, if you’ll permit me, I’d like to offer you something for the shock.”

  She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. She didn’t seem to notice Dr. Samuels shooing Robert from the room.

  Robert was at a loss as to what to do, so he went to his bedroom. What should he say to his brother and sister? Neither the truth nor the lie that Father had fabricated were suitable for their ears. They were much too young. Perhaps it would be best to feign ignorance.

  He closed his bedroom door firmly behind him and crossed to the fireplace, where he began the slow work of reviving the nearly dead fire. It was a task that had always soothed him, and he would grasp at anything at this moment to center his mind and calm his raging thoughts.

  At least he and his mother kne
w the truth regarding Father’s death. But that was small comfort. In fact, he wondered if he would have been better off not knowing. Not only had he lost his father today, he’d also lost his idealized image of the man. He wasn’t certain which blow was more crushing. The longer Robert pondered this unwanted knowledge, the more certain he became that no one else should ever learn the truth behind what his father had done. It would be best to allow London to gossip about Father’s letter to Mrs. Eastland and speculate about their relationship. Father believed that the lie about an affair was better than the truth they might otherwise discover.

  The truth that Father had committed treason.

  Robert fervently thanked whatever instinct had caused him to slip that letter into his pocket. The one addressed to Mrs. Eastland was bad enough, with its story of unrequited love and despair. But that part of the story was all a fabrication.

  The truth was that Father’s vast fortune had been built on lies and treachery. For a man whose public persona had become the embodiment of truth, integrity, and public service, this revelation was catastrophic.

  Now Robert and his mother were the keepers of Father’s secrets. Whether they wanted to be or not.

  Father had avoided paying for his crimes by escaping into death. He’d run from his problems rather than face them.

  Antonia sighed in her sleep and slid her arm across his chest, pulling him back to the present. He stroked her hair.

  He refused to follow his father’s path. He’d stand up for what he believed was right, and helping Antonia was the right thing to do. If Frederick and the Foreign Office didn’t agree with him, then to hell with them. He’d face those consequences. But he wouldn’t take a coward’s path and simply ignore this situation. He’d spent his life avoiding this sort of entanglement because he was afraid that he’d someday collapse under the weight of the lie, just like his father had.

  But he wasn’t his father. He was better than that.

  Frederick would rail against his decision once he learned of it— and Robert had no doubt he’d soon know. There was no question about it. Frederick could never let go of a problem once he got hold of it. He was like a terrier with a rat. There was no backing down or giving up once he set his teeth into a problem.

  The best Robert could do on that front would be to postpone having his brother find out. He needed time to help Antonia, and he needed to know more.

  He pressed a kiss to the top of Antonia’s head. She was his now. She might not know it yet, but they were bound to one another. The rightness of them as a pair centered him. Helped him stay focused on the path he’d chosen.

  He’d do what was right and what was best for Antonia, and then he’d see what he could do to save England.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  There is frequently more to be learned from the unexpected questions of a child than the discourses of men.

  - John Locke

  Robert gently disentangled himself from Antonia, taking care not to wake her. She stirred as he slid away, but then nestled back onto the sofa, never quite waking from her deep sleep. She had to be exhausted. Her skin seemed to glow in the gaslight, but its valleys and secrets remained hidden in shadow.

  He turned away and strode over to a nearby chest to pull a blanket from it. Not only would the throw keep her warm, it also would hide her tempting curves from his gaze. Even now, he wanted to waken her with kisses and continue what he’d stopped.

  He tugged open the drawer and extracted the soft-brown throw, and the clean scent of lavender came with it. Many a night he’d fallen asleep on that sofa, and one of his servants— probably Landon— had draped this throw over him.

  As he placed it over her slumbering form, his hand brushed her upper arm and he noticed it was cool to his touch. He pulled the blanket up to cover it.

  He intentionally turned his back to her as he crossed the room and gazed down at the pile of garments he’d tossed there. They told a story of reckless abandon, with recklessness being key to what had transpired between them. His shirt clung suggestively to her discarded bodice, reminding him of their entwined bodies, and he forced himself not to glance back at her.

  Clear-headed reason was called for now. His earlier deplorable lack of self-control must have been triggered by the stress of the past two days. He might sometimes be short-tempered and mercurial, but never before had he flagrantly ignored the rules of propriety and come so close to deflowering a virgin.

  He sorted through the pile of clothing, folding hers neatly and donning his own. He couldn’t help but note the frayed edges on the cuffs of her sleeves. Her items were well made and well cared for, but worn.

  He wondered if, in righting his father’s wrong, he could have unintentionally set her current situation into motion. A few years ago, he’d helped Squire Winter recover his losses. The squire had been ecstatic when the investments Robert suggested had proven to be lucrative. He’d been able to generously fund all three of his daughter’s dowries, make overdue repairs to his house, and make general improvements to his other holdings. Had that sudden influx of money drawn the attention of his brother?

  Robert let out a heavy sigh. That sort of thinking could drive a man mad and freeze him in a state of inaction. A man had to make the best decision possible given the information before him. That was the only way to make a difference and do some good in this world.

  Since meeting Antonia, his life had changed. With the flash of her copper eyes, she’d cut him free from his narrowly defined world and woven him into this new one. In this new reality, he willingly reached out and helped someone in need, not simply because he felt duty-bound to do so, but because he genuinely wanted to help. He liked this change— this new pattern of existence. He liked being someone who took a chance on trusting another person and willingly keeping her secrets.

  He’d never felt more alive. More vital.

  This had nothing to do with danger or excitement, and everything to do with the way Antonia looked at him— not simply her seductive gaze that had almost undone him— no— it was her perception of him. In her eyes, he could see the man he’d once believed he’d become. The revelation of his father’s dark secrets had barricaded that path for him, preventing Robert from evolving into that particular version of himself. But now that he was with Antonia, he’d simply become that man. Not merely in her perception of him, but by his deeds as well.

  He needed to protect her from any consequences that might arise from their reckless behavior tonight. No one would criticize him— he lived a life of privilege reserved to men of rank and fortune. But the same rules didn’t apply to Antonia.

  If anyone found her here, she’d be ruined.

  He stuffed his neckcloth into his jacket pocket and then strode back to where Antonia lay sleeping. She had shifted since he’d left her, and now she lay sprawled across the sofa in an attitude of wild abandon— her arm flung above her head, one nearly bare breast peeking out from beneath the blanket, and a soft, delighted smile on her lips. It was as though she had frozen in mid-motion while dancing a tarantella.

  He lifted her into his arms, tucking the blanket around her. She was so small that holding her took hardly any effort. A whiff of the lavender-scented throw filled his senses, bringing with it a rush of warmth and security.

  At first she snuggled against him, leaving him wondering if she’d been in the habit of falling asleep on the sofa as a child and having her father cart her off to bed. But then she went rigid in his arms.

  “What are you doing?” she asked in a tone that matched the tension in her body.

  “I’m carrying you to your bed.” He kept his voice soft and soothing, and he felt her relax slightly. “The house is silent. Now is the perfect time.”

  The clock struck three.

  “My bodice,” she said.

  “I have it,” he said, lifting the neatly folded item he held so she could catch a glimpse of it. “I hoped I could carry you up to your room without waking you.”

  She snuggled
deeper into his arms. “That sounds heavenly.”

  As she relaxed, her body melted into his in a way that took his breath away. It took all of his self-control not to kiss her again right then and there. But if he kissed her now, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

  He glanced away from her.

  If he kissed her now, he’d be lost.

  With an almost herculean force of will, he hurried into the dark hallway and headed toward the staircase. It was nothing for him to navigate the house in the dark, and less than a minute later, he pushed his way into the bedchamber Landon had said was available.

  In the moonlight, he was able to see the bed and deposit her on it. He fumbled for the matches he knew were in the drawer of the bedside table and then lit the small lamp.

  He continued to avert his gaze, but she reached out and took his hand. “Robert.” Her voice was soft, and he immediately glanced at her.

  He sucked in his breath.

  Her hair spilled down around her shoulders, and her lips looked tender and slightly swollen from his kisses. She looked like a woman who’d just been made love to. It was even more dangerous to realize that he wanted nothing more than to finish what they’d started.

  He closed his eyes, if only to save his own sanity. “Tomorrow I’ll make sure you have something proper to sleep in.”

  She was silent. When he glanced at her, she appeared confused. A look of hurt began to cloud her eyes.

  “Not that I don’t enjoy seeing you this way. You’re breathtakingly stunning.”

  She blushed.

  He couldn’t manage to utter another word. Anything of significance would prolong their time together, and he didn’t think his self-control could withstand further temptation. Nor could he bear to say something banal.

  Silence was the best alternative.

  He turned and walked from her room.

  §

  After a few scant hours of restless sleep, Robert rose early. He had a great deal to do today, so he’d best get started.