Regency Spymasters 01 - Spy Fall

by Diana Quincy

  “How?” he said again, turning to face her.

  She dragged her eyes upward, hoping he hadn’t caught her staring at his buttocks. “Let us say I have made excellent use of the secret chambers.” She held his gaze. “Not only here, but also in the study.”

  He dragged in a breath. “If you know where the document is, why haven’t you taken it?” At her silence, his eyes lit up. “Ah, you know I have it, but you’ve no idea where it’s hidden.”

  “I should like you to give it to me.”

  He clenched his teeth. “Why would I do that?”

  She considered standing up. It was far too distracting to remain seated while he stood naked a few paces from her. “We are on the same side.”

  “No, we are not. You’ve done nothing but lie to me since your arrival at Langtry. You said Marcel and Maxim weren’t part of this, yet their names are on that list.”

  “I could not compromise them.”

  “How does that work? Is Marcel in charge?”

  She suppressed a twinge of annoyance. “You assume this because he is a male.”

  “As an older brother, I would have difficulty taking orders from my little sister.”

  “I am in charge of this operation.” Was he ever going to put some clothes on? “I report only to Will.”

  He sat on the side of the tub, facing her, completely unconcerned with his nudity. “What is Marcel’s role?”

  “I sometimes suspect Marcel began working for Will solely for the purpose of looking after me.” She licked her lower lip, trying not to stare at the semi-aroused man parts dangling between his brawny thighs. “But my brother is excellent at ferreting out information.”

  “And Maxim?”

  “Max is foremost an aeronaut and a scientist. He assists us primarily with planning and strategy.”

  “What is your specialty?”

  “My mind has a way of taking different pieces of information and putting them together in a way that makes sense.”

  “And, voilà, the mission is solved.”

  “Something like that.”

  “You’re the brains. Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Weariness deepened the fine lines around his eyes. “You know about this business of Elinor’s boy.”

  “Yes.” She leaned forward and put a hand on his bare knee; his skin was warm under her touch, his scent clean from his bath. “I am sorry. I cannot imagine.”

  He traced her fingers with his own. “The worst part is not knowing.” Pain shone in his eyes. “What if the child is out there? What if he’s been unloved and neglected all of these years?”

  “Let us help you.” She spoke with urgency. “We will tell Will. He has resources.”

  He stood abruptly, causing her hand to drop off his lap. “No. I mean it, Mari. No one else must learn of Aldridge’s involvement. I won’t have his legacy tainted.”

  “He thinks his illness is more serious than the doctor says.”

  “You heard that, did you?” He rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know what to think. He seems unwell, yet the doctor says it will pass.”

  She came to a decision. “Very well. As you like. We will work together, just you and I, to find your sister’s child, if he still lives.”

  He gave her a regretful look. “No, Mari, in this we are adversaries.”

  “You cannot do it without me. I already have information you need.”

  “What is it?”

  “Pertaining to your sister’s maid.”

  He straightened, his gaze alert. “What of her?”

  Triumph shot through her. She had him now. “I know where she is.”

  Astonishment slackened his features. “Don’t tell me you’ve already spoken with her.”

  “No, I thought we could do it together.”

  Sitting back down on the tub’s edge, he leaned forward with interest, his elbows on his thighs. Still wearing not a stitch of clothing. “Where is she?”

  She leaned toward him, trying to ignore the broad swath of golden skin. “Partners?”

  “Yes.” The words were emphatic. Impatient. “Now tell me. Where?”

  “Oxford.”

  “Oxford?” he repeated, puzzled. “What’s a French lady’s maid doing in Oxford?”

  “She is not French. Your sister’s attendant was—is—English.”

  He pushed to his feet, restless again. “It is no wonder we couldn’t locate her. I’ve been looking in the wrong place.”

  “Did Darling ever actually say she was French?”

  He frowned in concentration. “I suppose not, but I should have thought he’d mention she was English at some point.”

  “Perhaps he assumed you knew.”

  He rubbed his hands together, bringing them—prayer-like—to his nose. “It is of no matter. If we ride out in the morning, we can be in Oxford in under two days.”

  “We’ll have to take the carriage since I cannot ride astride. Thanks to you, I might add.”

  He gave a stubborn shake of his head. “A carriage is not as fast.”

  “It can be if the roads are good, which they appear to be at the moment,” she said, equally adamant. “And we have an agreement. We do this together.”

  He held up his palms in surrender. “Very well.”

  She stood. “Good night, then.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “We have a long journey on the morrow and you have just returned from London. You will be no good to anyone if you are fatigued in the extreme.”

  He appeared uncertain for a moment. “You could stay. Just to sleep. I could use the company. I don’t care to be alone this evening.”

  Her chest contracted. He wanted her company, and not for bed sport. “Yes, I will stay.” When his smile widened, she held up her finger. “On one condition.”

  “Which is?”

  She ran a look over his broad chest to the contoured planes of his belly, along the trail of fine hair, which led to his masculine parts. “You put some clothes on.”

  “Perhaps it is for the best. If you keep looking at me like that, certain things on my person might become alert.” His lips curved up. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

  A trill of arousal lanced through her, but she needed him well rested and focused for the trip. She forced out the firm words. “No, we would not.”

  Shrugging, he disappeared into his dressing room, only to reappear a minute later wearing his smallclothes. She suppressed a groan. It was possible he looked even more appealing. Although baggy in the crotch, the smallclothes gloved his strong thighs in a loving caress which highlighted their musculature. “That is what you consider dressed?”

  “In the summer I usually sleep as God made me. It is warm and if I leave the window ajar, I can sometimes feel a bit of breeze from the water.”

  The image of Cosmo sleeping, unclothed and uncovered, with a warm breeze floating over all of that bare skin settled in her mind. She pushed it away.

  He watched her intently. “I don’t suppose you are wearing men’s smalls under there?”

  She was. “Why do you ask?”

  “I recall you promised to wear nothing but smalls for me one day.”

  “That would hardly be conducive to our getting a good night’s rest.”

  He held up one hand, palm facing her. “I give you my word as a gentleman that we will just sleep.” He gestured toward her shirt and breeches. “You won’t be at ease wearing your clothes.”

  She wouldn’t be comfortable out of them either. “I think it is not a good idea.”

  “I see.” He gave a knowing nod. “You’re afraid you won’t be able to resist me.”

  “I?” She knew what he was doing, but accepted the challenge anyway. “Very well.” Kicking off her ankle boots, she undid the placket of her breeches and pushed them down over her hips. Balancing on one leg at a time, she pulled them off. “Abstaining will not be a problem for me.”

  His dark eyes glowed with appreciation. “Good girl.” He moved toward her, but
she stopped him with a censorious look. “I’m just going to help you unbind those glorious breasts of yours.”

  She shrugged her shoulders and pulled her shirt over her head. “As you like.” Clad only in the white linen smallclothes and the binding around her breasts, she gave him her back. His warm fingers skated over her sensitive skin while he worked on the tight knot.

  Feeling it loosen, she moved away, but he held on, tugging gently so that she twirled, as though this were some dance, which in a way it was, she supposed.

  “It’s like unwrapping the most divine present,” he murmured. On a final turn, he pulled the binding away, and she stood bare before him, wearing only the smallclothes. His unabashed gaze ran over her. “You look even more heavenly than I imagined, Angel.”

  Arousal burned low and deep in her belly. The cool air tickled across her naked skin, prompting gooseflesh to erupt along on her flesh. The tips of her breasts stretched to life.

  The telltale bulge in his smallclothes caused her breathing to accelerate. “You said we would sleep.”

  He sighed his resignation. “And we will.” He adjusted his masculine equipment. “I am still a man, after all, and the sight of you in those clothes with those luscious breasts—” He stopped abruptly, the tendons in his throat sliding up and down. He turned to the bed and drew back the counterpane. “Come along. You are cold.”

  She walked to the opposite side of the bed and climbed in, enjoying the cool slide of the bedclothes against her bare skin. He got in on his side, the mattress giving way as his large body came down on it. He pulled the cover over them both. She lay stiff and straight, as close to her edge of the bed as possible, trying not to touch him.

  He laughed softly and drew her to him. When she stiffened, he said, “If you are going to be all the way over there, you might as well have gone back to your chamber.”

  She relented, allowing him to pull her against his chest, her back to his front as they lay on their sides. “There,” he said, “that’s better.”

  It was. Much. With his skin against her back, his large arms holding her, virile warmth blanketed her. She felt cherished and protected. It would be easy to become accustomed to sleeping with Cosmo Dunsmore. The proximity to him, the bare slide of skin on skin did feel languidly sensual, but it was also incredibly relaxing to be cocooned in all of that male strength. For the first time, she began to believe they would really just sleep.

  Tranquility settled into her limbs. Feeling his chest moving at her back with each breath, she savored the sense of being in rhythm with him. This, she thought vaguely, was something she would be deprived of by never marrying. After a few minutes of this quiet harmony, she felt rather than heard the vibration of his quiet laughter.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  His warm breath tickled her ear. “I’ve never done this before.”

  “Done what?”

  “Slept with a woman in a bed.” At her quiet snort, he continued. “No, what I mean is actually sleep. Usually, if I am in bed with a woman, we are not sleeping.”

  “Why does this not surprise me?” she murmured drowsily, too tired to be jealous.

  Pulling her closer, he tucked her against him and brushed a kiss along her earlobe. “To my surprise, it is rather gratifying.”

  “Hmmm,” she hummed in response. Her mind drifting, she floated off to sleep with a smile on her lips.

  “There it is,” Mari said as the coach pulled to a stop up the street from the small row of cottages.

  The spires of the university had first alerted him that their destination neared. They’d rolled past limestone hills and fertile farms with grazing animals before finally reaching the small cottage where Elinor’s maid resided. Mari tapped on the roof, alerting the coachman to halt the carriage.

  Cosmo peered out the window. “Why are we stopping so far from the cottage?”

  “It is better if we approach on foot. This coach might frighten or intimidate her.”

  Impatient, Cosmo threw open the door and jumped down, taking in the row of modest honey-colored stone cottages with thatched roofs. Some had green vines crawling over their façades. Nervous anticipation twisted in his stomach. They were about to meet the woman who had attended Ellie in her final hours, who likely knew whether Ellie’s son had survived his birth. Eudora Rumbold was the only link they had to the boy.

  Mari alighted, smoothing away the wrinkles of her traveling clothes in an absented-minded fashion.

  “What else do you know about her?” Cosmo asked, not taking his eyes off the dwelling.

  “She never married. No children. She’s lived here since shortly after your sister’s death.”

  “So she likely lives alone.” Perhaps that explained why the place seemed strangely quiet. “Nothing further?”

  “We have not been able to establish her source of income, but Marcel is working on it.”

  He strode toward the cottage. Falling into step beside him, Mari said, “Have a care. You must not seem overanxious.”

  “I won’t forget.” He struggled to contain his nerves. “I do know what is at stake here.”

  They stopped in front of door and Cosmo tapped on it, careful to keep his knocking polite.

  No answer. He exchanged a look with Mari, who remained expressionless, thoroughly professional. His second knock was a bit more insistent. Silence.

  “Perhaps she is out,” Mari said.

  Unease slithered through his gut. “Perhaps.”

  “You there, can I help you?”

  They turned toward the sound of the woman’s voice. She was of middle age, with gray streaks in her brown hair, which was gathered in a tight knot at the nape of her neck. She marched toward them, straight-spined, carrying a basket laden with fruits and vegetables, her sharp, dark eyes regarding them with suspicion.

  Cosmo drew off his hat, his nerve endings tingling with anticipation. “Good afternoon. Miss Rumbold, I presume?”

  “You presume wrong. And who might you be?”

  “I am Martha, her sister,” Mari said, her French accent gone. Stunned, Cosmo marveled at how her speech now mirrored the older woman’s. “And this is my betrothed, Mr. Dunsmore.”

  “Sister, you say?” The woman shifted her basket to the other hand. “Eudora never mentioned no sister to me.”

  Mari smiled. “In truth, I am her cousin.” Her easy, guileless air gave the appearance of youthful earnestness. She even stood differently, her shoulders a bit hunched, her manner completely respectful of the older woman. The subtle affectations transformed her entire demeanor. “Eudora and I grew up together so I’ve always thought of her as my sister.”

  The woman’s shoulders relaxed. “Eudora did mention a cousin.”

  Had she now? He had to admire Mari’s technique. She certainly came prepared. He hadn’t even known she intended to use a cover story. “Is Miss Rumbold at home?” he inquired politely, masking his growing edginess.

  “Can’t say. She don’t live here no more.”

  “What?” Cosmo burst out.

  Mari’s hand tightened on his arm. “That is distressing news,” she said. “ Mr. Dunsmore and I had hoped to invite her to our nuptials. You wouldn’t happen to have her direction?”

  The woman shook her head. “Can’t say as I do. One day she was here, the next, she up and left. Two strange culls came and packed her things into a cart, and she went away with them.”

  Cosmo’s blood turned cold. “When did this occur?”

  The woman ran a narrowed eye over him. “You just missed her by a few days.”

  Mari interjected. “Did she tell you why she was moving?”

  “No. She just said something about unexpectedly coming into some money.”

  Mari looked down the street. “Perhaps one of the other neighbors will know where she went?”

  “I doubt it. Eudora was a quiet thing. Kept to herself most of the time. I knew her better than most.”

  “Are you’re certain she didn’t tell you where she
was going?” Cosmo asked urgently, ignoring the death grip Mari had on his arm.

  The woman walked past them to the house next door. “Told you I didn’t know, didn’t I?”

  “Thank you for your time,” Mari said. Hearing that crisp English accent come out of her mouth unnerved Cosmo. It was like being with a stranger. “You have been most helpful.”

  The woman mumbled something in response before pushing the door open and disappearing inside.

  “Hell’s breath.” He wanted to hit something. “Someone got to Eudora Rumbold before we did.”

  Tapping a finger to her lips, Mari appeared pensive. “It would appear so.”

  “So we’re back where we started. We’ve learned nothing.”

  Contemplation swirled among the vivid flecks of greens, browns, and violets in her eyes. “Oh, we’ve learned quite a bit.” She spoke slowly, her familiar accent restored. “Someone doesn’t want us to find Miss Rumbold. There must be a reason for that.”

  “Which is?”

  “Someone has something to hide, and it seems to involve your sister, and possibly her child.”

  Emotion twisted in his chest. “You think it means the boy is alive?”

  “I can conceive of no other reason to pay Elinor’s maid and make her vanish. If the boy had died in childbirth, Eudora Rumbold would have just confirmed the story everyone already believes.”

  Hope pressed heavy on his chest at the possibility of holding Elinor’s living child in his arms, a boy with laughter-filled silver eyes like his mother’s. For the first time, he let himself believe the possibility could be real. Blinking hard against the ache in his throat, he made a pledge to himself. Nothing and no one would keep him from bringing Ellie’s son home to England, to his family. Where he belonged.

  Tense expectation settled over Langtry during the next couple of days. Preparation continued apace for the fast-approaching London exhibition while Cosmo awaited word from his runners in Paris and London. Meantime, they looked for any sign of the French contact, whose communication could come any day.

  Through it all, Mari attempted to continue with her normal daily activities, which included her riding lessons. Rosie often came along when she and Cosmo took the horses out. It seemed plain to Mari that the young lady, with her lingering looks and flushed cheeks, cared for Cosmo as more than a friend, but he seemed oblivious to it.