The June Bride Conspiracy

by Regina Scott

  Allister sat beside her, one arm draped about her shoulders. Ever since he’d come for her, she’d sensed the change in him. Before, intrigue flowed from him like smoke from a tallow candle. Now tension coiled around him. She felt it ensnaring her as well. He was so certain she was endangering her life. Surely he knew more about these matters than she did. He’d lived in this kind of danger for ten years. What was she doing here?

  He shifted in the seat so that he could see her face, and it was the most natural thing in the world for her to lean against him. His lips brushed hers in a gentle kiss, promising untold pleasures. If this was her last moment in life, she wanted to savor it. She ran her hands down the soft wool of his navy coat, feeling the muscles that lay beneath it. She breathed in, hoping to catch the scent of his cologne, something to help etch the moment in her mind. But she only smelled leather and damp wool and dry straw. Even Allister’s scent was a secret. She sighed.

  “It’s not too late to change your mind,” he murmured.

  She shook her head and leaned back, hoping he hadn’t felt her trembling. “No. I promised.”

  From outside came a sharp whistle. Allister stiffened. “That’s the signal. Be careful, Joanna!”

  She started for the door, and fear seized her. What if the Skull killed her? What if the villain killed Allister? She couldn’t let this be their last moment before eternity. She whipped back and threw her arms about him, kissing him with all her heart. She felt his arms come around her, his cool lips warm beneath hers. A few moments ago he had kissed her gently. Now he took everything she offered. She gave herself up to the feelings of joy, delight, desire.

  The shrill whistle repeated.

  She broke away with difficulty. Allister caught her shoulders.

  “Forget the lot of them,” he growled. “We’ll run away—to Naples, or America. Don’t go, Joanna. If anything happens to you, I’ll never be whole again.”

  She could feel tears starting and blinked them forcefully away. Her plan was working. He had admitted he cared for her. She could not damage that fragile care by turning back now.

  “It will all come out right,” she promised, praying that she spoke the truth. “Just remember: I love you.” She pulled out of his grip and stepped from the carriage.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Joanna waited nervously in line in the little bakery. Somewhere in front of her, beyond the women and gentlemen waiting their turn, was the Skull. Once away from the narrow front window, it was amazing how dark the wood-paneled room became. She could barely make out the chubby baker behind the chest-high row of glass-front display cases, dwarfed as he was by the fellow on whom he waited at the moment. Somewhere between that mountain of a man and her stood the Skull. Of course, she didn’t have to see the bread, pastries, and cakes that rested temptingly in the cases—the sweet smell of sugar and spices permeated the shop. To her left, a gangly apprentice helped a tall thin gentleman to a set of hot cross buns, steam still rising from them in a heady aroma. To her left a woman shifted a crying baby in her arms and pulled out a plump purse to pay another waiting apprentice.

  From behind her came a giggle. Joanna did not have to turn to know it came from the woman from Lord Hastings’ staff who was posing as her maid. The apprentice on her left was reddening, and Joanna would have bet the woman was flirting with him. Allister had explained that this supposedly flirtatious nature was an act to provide an easy excuse for her to lag behind and let the spy reach Joanna. At the moment, Joanna would rather the woman was an Amazon of legend, here to protect her. Her fashionable rose-striped jacket seemed to tighten around her ribs with each second. Her feet seemed to grow heavier below the ruffled skirts of her muslin day dress.

  “Smile,” the woman hissed behind her as the burly customer completed his business and they took another step toward the counter.

  Now at last Joanna could see the man directly in front of the baker. A poke in her back told her this was their quarry. He accepted his package of honeyed rolls and turned toward them. Joanna pasted on a smile and willed herself to gaze at the villain.

  He was not nearly as fearsome as she had expected. Indeed, she would never have suspected him for a spy or any other kind of criminal. The man before her was wizened in his rumpled brown coat and breeches, his head bent so that all she could see easily was the brim of his top hat. One hand trembled as he held the bread; the other clutched a book of poetry to his chest. He appeared no more dangerous than a minister out for an afternoon stroll or a college don skipping class. Joanna blinked, and disappointment shot through her. Could they have been mistaken? Could this be a fool’s errand?

  The woman nudged her in the back again. No more time for questions. She took a deep breath, then stumbled, fetching up against him. The package of rolls slid from his hand to bounce once on the flour-speckled wooden floor.

  “Oh, pardon me,” she gushed.

  Black eyes gazed into hers, cold and fathomless. And absolutely without recognition. She blinked again, then smiled graciously, praying he could not hear the uneven cadence of her pulse.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” she said by way of explanation. “I’ve been out shopping all day, and I’m afraid I’m tired. May I buy you another package?”

  “That would be very kind,” he replied in a quiet, gentle tone that sounded very much like every other Englishman she’d ever met.

  She nodded and motioned for her maid to step forward and conduct the transaction. “Buy this gentleman a two dozen rolls, Maudie, and don’t forget a dozen for Lord Trevithan.”

  “Yes, mum,” the supposed maid replied, scurrying around them. Joanna glanced at the man in time to see a look of speculation cross his dark gaze. Anticipation replaced the disappointment in her veins. This was almost like a game of chess. Move, counter move, position, counter position. Her father had taught her to play when she was very young, but she liked to think she had gained some mastery of the game since. Perhaps this adventure would not be any different.

  “I suppose I’m going to have to find a cook who makes those rolls once we’re married,” she confided, smiling at him. “My fiancé, Lord Trevithan can’t seem to get enough of them. Ah, here we are.”

  The maid handed the man another package with a hurried curtsey, then turned to Joanna. “And did you want to pick out the jellies for your wedding breakfast, mum?”

  Joanna shook her head and laughed, fairly confident that only those who knew her well would hear how forced it sounded. “My word, where is my mind today? Thank you for reminding me, Maudie. Excuse me, sir.”

  He bowed and turned to leave. Joanna stepped up to the counter with mixed emotions. Had she been too obvious? Why didn’t he make another move? Then she shook her head. His next move would be to attack her. Of course he could not do that in public. The woman with her baby was still being assisted by the young apprentice. The baker was waiting with a scowl to help her and Maudie. She had nothing to fear. She spoke confidently to the baker, asking after prices and how he managed deliveries. When he turned away to pick up another batch of pastries to show her, Maudie nudged her elbow.

  “You’re doing fine,” she whispered to Joanna, who felt as if her limbs were about to turn to the same apricot jelly visible in the pastries. “Now we see whether he takes the bait. Tell me to pay for this, and you start for the door.”

  She wanted more than anything to look back and see where the man had gone, but that would have given away the game. “That will be sufficient for now, sir,” she said to the baker. “Pay the man, Maudie. I’ll wait outside in the carriage.”

  Turning, she scanned the dim room. Nowhere did she see the Skull, if that was who the little man really was. She still couldn’t help wondering whether it was all a mistake. Of course, that was probably the part of her that didn’t want to admit she was about to tempt a dangerous criminal to take her life. She made a show of flouncing to the door. When Maudie turned to nod to her, she swept out into the sunshine.

  There she paused to blink
in the sudden light. Ladies and gentlemen strolled past. On the street beyond, carriages and lorries vied for space. Street vendors trundled by, shouting the praises of their wares. It was all disgustingly normal. Joanna took a deep breath and forced her shoulders to relax.

  “I believe I know your fiancé,” the Skull said quietly beside her.

  She jumped, then smiled stiffly, hand to her chest to cover the wild beating of her heart. “Really?” she asked, hoping she did not sound as startled as she felt. “Then perhaps you’d like to accompany me. He is to meet me just down the street to help pick out linens for our new home. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.”

  He smiled sadly. “No, my dear, I’m afraid he won’t.”

  What happened next was a blur. Something silver flashed in his hand, and Joanna only had enough time to blink before she was struck from the side and flattened into the building. She braced her fall with her hands, feeling the brick bite through her kidskin gloves even as a powerful male shape pressed against her back. Around her, cries echoed and footsteps thudded. It would all have been quite alarming if she hadn’t recognized the voice in her ear as Allister’s.

  “Don’t move,” he cautioned. “They nearly have him in hand.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of moving,” she replied, feeling his strong arms around her. Indeed, if the brick hadn’t been pressed nearly to her nose, she might have enjoyed the touch of his body to hers. She closed her eyes and let her pulse slow to a lazy beat. He released her just as slowly.

  “Are you all right?” he demanded as she righted herself. He put his hands on her shoulders and peered into her eyes as if suspecting she had somehow damaged her soul. Funny how she’d never noticed how tender his gaze could be. She could easily lose herself in the blue depths.

  “I’ve never been better,” she murmured.

  Davis dashed up beside them. “We got him, Trev! In the act. It’s Newgate for certain, if not the rope.”

  Joanna felt chilled suddenly as the reality hit home. Someone had tried to kill her. Yet the little man she had spoken to had disappeared, and the street once more looked normal, save for the curious stares of passersby. It was as if her near brush with death had never been.

  Allister was scowling at his friend. “Enough, Davis. I’m taking Joanna home.”

  Davis bowed, but he could not seem to contain his enthusiasm. “Yes, yes, of course,” he chattered as he straightened. “Nice job, Miss Lindby. We may call you for the trial.”

  “You will not,” Allister informed him icily. “She is out of this, as of now. I’ll see you later at the Office.”

  He hustled Joanna away before she could say anything.

  Once they were in the carriage, heading for Mayfair, he once more enfolded her in his arms. “What a nightmare,” he said, cuddling her against his chest. “I’ll wager you’re glad it’s over.”

  She hated to argue with him when she was in the most satisfactory position of his lap, but she couldn’t stay silent. She had gone through with the deed to prove her valor; negating it now would spoil everything.

  “Actually, I rather enjoyed it,” she replied.

  He pulled back to stare into her face. “Enjoyed it?”

  She traced the paisley pattern on his waistcoat with her finger, suddenly embarrassed to admit it in the face of his surprise. “Yes, Allister, truly. I know that will seem strange to you, but there was a certain thrill knowing that I could best an infamous French spy, that every move and every word counted. It was very much like a game of chess.”

  “Not so strange,” he murmured. “I’ve often thought of it as a game. That’s the only way to stay sane sometimes. But the excitement can be a drug, Joanna. You can become addicted or worse: You can come to take the danger for granted and lose your life in the process.”

  She swallowed. “Well, neither of us has to worry about that. This is our last case.”

  He was silent, and alarm rose in her. “Allister? This is our last case, is it not? We’ve caught your Skull. What more must be done?”

  He pressed a kiss against her temple before answering. The sweet touch brought her no comfort. “I must go by the Office and interrogate him,” he said soothingly. “Once I know he acted alone, I can be satisfied.”

  Somehow, Joanna was afraid neither of them would be satisfied.

  –

  Once Joanna was safely home, Allister hastened to the War Office. Every time he replayed the scene outside the pastry shop, he grew cold inside. He’d seen the flash of the knife. She had nearly been killed, would have been killed had he not leaped to push her aside. As he strode down the marble halls to Lord Hastings’ office, his fists balled at his sides. The Skull would pay.

  Davis glanced up from his questioning as Allister entered. Daremier sat calmly in a high-backed wooden chair, a hardened soldier on either side, a bored expression on his cadaverous face. Lord Hastings stood nearby, mouth set in grim lines.

  Davis hurried to Allister’s side. “You won’t like this,” he said without preamble.

  “He had conspirators,” Allister guessed, feeling his body chill all over again.

  “Worse,” Davis replied. “We can’t hold him. He is completely innocent.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Allister stared at Davis. “Are you mad? Since when is threatening a woman with a knife innocent?”

  Davis grimaced. “We thought we saw a knife, old chap. But we searched him thoroughly. He carried no weapon.”

  “Then he threw it away, stuck it in a wall, passed it to a friend,” Allister ranted. “Davy, we can’t let him get away again!”

  “I told you that you wouldn’t like it,” Davis replied. “We have no evidence he was armed.”

  “We all saw something flash in the light,” Allister countered.

  “What we saw,” his friend said, “was apparently this.” He handed Allister a slender silver case. Allister took it, watching it flash obligingly in the lamp light. Flipping open the lid, he found simple calling cards, black ink on embossed linen. He pulled out several, only to find that each bore a different name. The top card had a small hand-drawn skull in the corner.

  “Quite a catch,” Davis commented. “Several of the lads are chasing down those names. We know one belongs to a prominent eastside physician. Explains how the fellow slips in and out so easily. He has English as well as French citizenship.”

  “And this isn’t enough?” Allister demanded.

  Davis shook his head. “Nothing illegal about using more than one name, Trev. And you know we have no witnesses to his earlier crimes, just supposition. In this case, apparently all he was going to do was give Joanna a calling card, the one with the skull on it. He says he merely wanted her to pass it on to you. The miscreant probably thought to shake you up a bit. Face it—the villain has us.”

  “I want to talk to him,” Allister said.

  Davis glanced over his shoulder to where Daremier sat with pursed lips. “Are you sure that’s wise? You are a bit involved in this case, as his lordship has pointed out.”

  Allister didn’t repeat his request. He pushed past Davis to confront his enemy of so many years.

  Daremier raised his head to meet Allister’s gaze. His black eyes sparkled with malevolent amusement; his thin lips curled in a sneer.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Trevithan,” he said in perfect English. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  Allister glared down at him. Every other time he’d been close to the villain, he’d been calm, cool, ready for the deadly game they played. Now his anger boiled within him, clouding his mind, hampering his reasoning. Some part of him recognized the problem and cautioned retreat. The rest of him cried out for blood.

  He put his hands on the arms of the chair and bent to put his face within six inches of the Skull’s.

  “I want you,” he spat out, “to stay away from Joanna Lindby.”

  Daremier didn’t even blink. “Your charming fiancée? Certainly, my lord. And may I wish you every happiness.�
�

  “Don’t wish me anything,” Allister told him. “Don’t come near me, don’t even think about me. From now on, as far as you’re concerned, me and mine cease to exist.”

  Daremier smiled. “I could only hope.”

  Allister’s fists tightened on the arms of the chair. Lord Hastings stepped forward and laid a hand on his shoulder.

  “That’s enough, Trevithan. Let us carry on from here.”

  There was nothing left for him. He had no choice. The fact was totally unsatisfying. He forced himself to straighten.

  Daremier watched him. “It would give me great pleasure to leave you with your doubts, but I’ve enjoyed our association over the years. It’s rare one meets a truly worthy gamesman. I offer you this gift to consider. If I am the spy you all think I am, why would I oppose your wedding? You obviously love this woman. Britain’s most talented intelligence agent, safely married and raising a family? Unable to continue his work? Surely your enemies would only breathe a sigh of relief.”

  Allister stared at him, emotions warring. His instincts said the man was right, but how could he fully believe a spy who’d made a career of lying? Was there such a thing as honor among thieves?

  “Come on, Trev,” Davis urged at his elbow. “I’ll walk you out.”

  Allister turned on his heel and left.

  In the corridor, Davis pulled him up short. “Did you hear the arrogance? You can’t let him get away with it, Trev! You can’t leave us now. We must stop him.”

  Allister shook his head. “I’m done, Davy. This whole mess proves it. I’ve lost the knack.”

  “Nonsense,” Davis argued. “You’re just frustrated. The answer isn’t to relax; it’s to go after the villain.”

  “My heart’s not in it,” Allister replied with a sigh. “I can’t run the risk of anything happening to Joanna.”