Table of Contents
Front Matter
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ALSO FROM BLUE TULIP PUBLISHING
The Spy’s Revenge
The Revenge Series, Book 2
By Nadine Millard
Blue Tulip Publishing
www.bluetulippublishing.com
Copyright © 2016 NADINE MILLARD
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
THE SPY’S REVENGE
Copyright © 2016 NADINE MILLARD
ISBN-13: 978-1-942246-94-7
ISBN-10: 1-942246-94-3
Cover Art by Jena Brignola
DEDICATION
To my wonderful mum. For everything. Forever.
CHAPTER ONE
THE THEATRE WAS packed, as Jonathan Spencer had known it would be. It wasn’t the actors or the play that drew the audience; it was the desire to see and be seen. Nothing ever changed in London, where matters of national security were yawned about, but Caroline Lamb’s latest fashions were discussed in great detail. Where every year, people from all over the country flocked to the capital in order to catch themselves a wife or, in the case of the ferocious mothers, a son-in-law.
It had been three years. Three years in which so many personal changes had taken place for him that Jonathan barely recognised his own life anymore. Three years of meeting women whose names he couldn’t remember, and who, he was quite certain wouldn’t be able to pick him out of a crowd. Three years of nightmares, drenched in a cold sweat reaching for her. Three years of waking every morning and forgetting for one sweet, blissful, fleeting moment that he had watched her body crumple, had watched the blood and life ooze from her, had left her lying there in a cold, rainy street.
“Mr. Spencer, I shall begin to think you aren’t interested in my story.”
The flirtatious tone of Jon’s companion brought him back to the present with a jolt.
It never got easier, though everyone assured him it would. The memories of her — her laugh, her smile, her smell — would slam into him without a moment’s notice and, fast on their heels, would come the pain, the horror, the guilt.
It was exhausting. And even sitting here in a crowded London theatre there was no escape.
“A thousand apologies, Miss Devlin. I’m afraid that my mind was elsewhere.” With herculean effort, Jonathan managed the smile that had allowed him to get away with worse crimes than ignoring a theatre partner. As expected, its effect on Miss Devlin was immediate and predictable.
Jonathan watched with a detached sort of interest as her cheeks flamed, her pretty blue eyes widened, and her breath hitched.
And he remained steadfastly unmoved.
Thankfully, the curtain was soon drawn for intermission, and Jonathan was able to make his escape.
“Miss Devlin,” he said as he stood, “allow me to make up for my unpardonable actions by fetching some refreshments. Would a glass of ratafia absolve me of my sins?”
Gabrielle, he knew, would have made a cutting remark in response. But predictable Miss Devlin batted her lashes and smiled coyly.
Jonathan was left to interpret her actions as a desire for refreshments That happened frequently with debutantes, he mused. They were harder to get a straight answer out of than one of Boney’s best men.
It was exasperating, to say the least.
“I’ll join you.”
Jon turned to his best friend and brother-in-law with a smile, tamping down his irritation at the earl’s offer. Strictly speaking, Andrew’s wife, Evelyn, wasn’t Jon’s sister. She was his cousin, but she had come to live at Spencer Park at only ten years of age, so they had grown up together.
Evelyn’s life had been less than easy with Jon’s cruel parents and then, of course, Andrew and Evelyn had discovered that Jonathan’s father was responsible for her father’s death. It had been a mess, and something that had taken them all years from which to recover.
The stress and living conditions in Newgate prison had claimed Geoffrey Spencer’s life two years ago.
Jonathan hadn’t been home for it, and he could not claim to be mourning the loss of his murderous father.
Jon nodded his acquiescence then waited at the door of the earl’s box for Andrew to finish manhandling Evelyn. Apparently, they couldn’t even spend two minutes away from each other without indulging in an embarrassing goodbye.
Miss Devlin’s wistful sighs and covetous glances did nothing to improve Jonathan’s mood. If the lady started getting ideas because of such a display, Jonathan would put a bullet through his ex-partner without a second’s hesitation.
Get a hold of yourself, Jon.
It wasn’t Andrew’s fault that Jon was feeling decidedly less than friendly.
Besides which, Jon had been in Belgium when Andrew’s father had passed away and then in India when his nephew William had been born. And neither Andrew nor Evelyn had ever held it against him, so the least he could do was enjoy the time he had with them before the Home Office sent him off on a new mission.
“When you’re quite ready,” he drawled from the doorway, making sure to keep his grin firmly in place.
Evelyn had the grace to blush, but Andrew merely grinned unapologetically, as Jonathan knew he would.
Jonathan couldn’t blame his oldest friend for the other man’s smug satisfaction. If he, Jonathan, had married the love of his life, he’d be smug too.
As they stepped out of the box, the corridors of the theatre were packed with people vying for attention.
Since Andrew’s father had passed away and Andrew had become the earl, his popularity had increased tenfold. And with Evelyn now not only being something of an enigma, since nobody knew what had really happened at Spencer Park three years ago, but a countess to boot, she too was in high demand.
“A genius idea to escape before the hoards descended upon us in the box.” Andrew bent to speak quietly as the two gentlemen nodded their greetings but refused to stop for anyone.
“I have been known to have them,” Jonathan stated.
“Just not frequently,” Andrew quipped in response.
The men procured some drinks then moved to as quiet a corner as they could find in the melee.
“So,” Andrew began, swirling the brandy in the tumbler he held. His casual
tone immediately put Jonathan on his guard. “Miss Devlin.”
Jonathan took a swallow of his own brandy before holding up a finger to signal that he wanted, nay, needed a refill and he led the way back to ensure he got one.
“Don’t start, Drew.”
Andrew blinked innocently.
“Start what?”
Jonathan swore softly.
“Even if I were interested in getting caught in the parson’s trap, which I most definitely am not, my interest wouldn’t lie with Miss Devlin.”
“I do not see why not. She is a pleasant sort of girl.”
Andrew didn’t sound remotely convincing, so Jonathan did not even bother to reply. He merely raised a brow and stared down his friend.
After a moment or two of tense silence, Andrew finally huffed out a breath and threw back the rest of his own drink.
“Fine. A pleasant sort of girl is not exactly enticing.”
“Why are you doing this? Matchmaking? I expected more of you,” Jonathan said sternly.
“Eve,” Andrew responded as though that one word was all the explanation necessary.
And it was, in a way. Andrew was notorious for pandering to his wife’s every whim. It had nauseated Jonathan, but never really bothered him. Not until he’d become a whim.
“You can tell my interfering little cousin that I have no interest in being set up and even if I did, boring chits like Marissa Devlin aren’t going to entice me.”
“She’s worried about you,” Andrew responded quietly.
Jon’s gut clenched. He knew Evelyn and his sister Anna were worried about him. He saw it in their every sympathetic smile or concerned frown, and he hated causing them any sort of distress, but they were laughably naïve if they thought marrying him off would help his mood.
No, until they learned to bring young women back from the dead, he would remain as he was: a cold, unfeeling shell of the man he used to be.
It was unfortunate for the people who remembered the Jonathan of old. But this was who he was now, and they all needed to accept it.
“Can’t she marry off Anna?” Jonathan sulked.
“Anna’s not ready to enter the fray again, Jon. You know that.”
Jon did know. Knew and didn’t blame his younger sister in the slightest.
Anna’s husband had been the one whom Mr. Spencer had paid to get rid of Evelyn’s father. Not only that, but he’d been selling information to the French and had been involved in all sorts of unsavoury situations in his quest to become all powerful.
Andrew had been trying to take the other man down for years, and when he’d ended up threatening Evelyn’s safety, all bets had been off.
Unfortunately, the cowardly snake had taken his own life before he’d ever been brought to justice and, though he’d left Anna an extremely wealthy widow, his actions and treatment of her had left the young woman scarred and terrified of giving herself to someone ever again.
For Jonathan’s own part, he had quite simply hated the man for what he’d done to Anna and Evelyn.
Theirs was a complicated and unpleasant history to be sure. It was no wonder he and Anna would likely remain forever alone.
“I’m not ready either, Drew. And you should know that.”
Jonathan sensed the other man still beside him, but he refused to look at him. He could handle a lot of things from Andrew, since the men had been partners in their work for the Crown and were the best of friends. But one thing he could not handle was pity. Pity that was sure to be dulling Andrew’s green eyes even now.
“I do know. I really do. But, Jon—”
Jonathan knew from the hesitation in Andrew’s tone that he was about to hear something he didn’t want to hear.
“—she’s gone. As painful as that is for you, she’s gone. And she isn’t coming back.”
Jonathan took a deep breath to stop himself from roaring at Andrew, at the injustice of it all.
“I’m aware of that,” he bit out, holding onto his temper by a thread.
“Well, perhaps it’s time to move on,” Andrew said gently.
Jonathan knew he had two choices. He could argue with his oldest friend, land him a facer, even threaten to shoot him. Or he could try to get him to understand enough that he would back off and leave Jonathan to his grief.
“If Evie had died that night three years ago, if my father or Grant had managed to kill her, would you get over it?”
Jonathan knew before Andrew even spoke what his answer would be. The other man’s face paled, and his green eyes darkened with immediate, albeit imagined pain.
Finally, after what seemed like an age, Andrew reached out and grasped Jonathan’s shoulder.
“We won’t speak of it again,” he muttered quietly.
Jonathan merely nodded his thanks then led the way back to the ladies, armed with the ratafia he had promised.
He may have gotten Andrew to understand, but he would still have to contend with Miss Devlin’s simpering silliness and Evelyn’s less-than-subtle attempts to get him leg-shackled.
Suddenly, the thought of staying in Town was abhorrent to him. Countless numbers of these silly society events: plays and operas, musicales and soirees, routs and balls. He needed to get out.
He hadn’t been home since everything had happened with Evelyn and his nefarious father and, although Evelyn had assured him that she had no interest in the family seat, although he had repaid every single penny his father had swindled from her trust, the place didn’t feel the same anymore.
He used to return home to find some peace of mind, even though it had always come at the price of his rather hysterical mother. But he hadn’t been able to find any sort of real peace since Gabrielle.
And now it seemed Evelyn had gotten it into her head to marry him off.
No, he would have to escape for a while.
The Home Office had forced him to take some time off since he’d been like a man possessed, hunting down French spies and worse, English spies who had betrayed the Crown, so it would be weeks at least before he could lose himself in work.
He thought of Gabrielle yet again. She was half French but had helped him along with other English agents to fight against enemies of the Crown.
“The crazy Corsican needed to be stopped,” she used to say in that voice that made his heart slam in his chest.
Well, now he was on forced leave from the only thing that distracted him from the sheer, unadulterated horror of his own thoughts.
But where should he go?
Piers.
The name was a welcome relief.
Piers Casings, a legend in the Home Office, had been like a father to both Jonathan and Andrew when they joined the service. He had guided them, mentored them, cared for them, and when he’d retired to his quiet country estate in Norfolk, he had extended an open invitation to them both to join him whenever the mood took them.
Piers knew as well as anyone how important it was to disappear sometimes.
And now, Jonathan would take the man up on his offer.
The men arrived back at their box to see Evelyn and Miss Devlin in deep conversation. When his cousin looked up, she had the gleam of determination in her deep brown eyes.
Oh, dear God.
It was going to be a long night.
CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS ALWAYS, always cold in England, Gabrielle Dumas decided as she strolled around the beautifully kept gardens of Piers Casings’ vast estate.
When she arrived in England six months ago, half-starved and hell-bent on destroying the men who had left her for dead, she knew of only one place she could come.
Piers was one of the most trustworthy people she knew. He had been a friend and mentor to her for as long as she’d been in this game. She and Jonathan had trusted him implicitly.
As usual, her breath hitched when she thought of Jonathan Spencer, and her heart stuttered with pain.
Do not think of him, Gabby, she told herself fiercely. It will do you no good now.
/> Throughout her long, painful recovery in a secluded farmhouse on the outskirts of Paris, Gabrielle had thought of Jonathan. Had wanted him with a desperation she had thought at times would kill her.
The bitter sting of his betrayal hadn’t even been as hard to stomach as missing him… missing his charm, his smile, the strength of his arms as they pulled her close.
She had tried valiantly to put him from her mind. But after a few weeks, she knew she couldn’t fight it anymore. Even if she could force her mind to forget about him, her heart would forever remember and forever crave his touch.
Her heart was an idiot.
The man had left her bleeding on a cold Parisian street.
As the fog of pain and hurt had slowly dispersed, the awful truth had made itself glaringly obvious — Jonathan had wanted her dead. Perhaps he hadn’t pulled the trigger, but he may as well have.
Someone had betrayed her.
At the time, she had assumed that Jonathan and Andrew had been betrayed right along with her. But then, since they were nowhere to be found, it became apparent that they had both survived. Survived and left her.
Yes, she had survived too. But only just.
Jonathan had been shot, so Captain Townsend had told her, but not enough to even slow him down on his cowardly dash for safety.
But he’d never been remotely cowardly, and that was when she’d known; he was running to escape, not because he was in danger, but because he was part of whatever was going on and needed to flee the scene.
It had been the only logical explanation.
Gabrielle came to a stop at her favourite bench in the garden and sat to sort through her jumbled thoughts. Even now, after all these years, the pain of his betrayal was as strong as ever.
Captain Lucas Townsend had been the one to pluck her body from the street in Paris and carry her to safety. He had been the one to pay a humble farming family to nurse her back to health. He had been the one to visit often, encourage her to walk, to train as she regained some strength. And he had been the one to eventually bring her here, to England, on one of his ships.
The journey had taken its toll on her still-healing body, more than she’d expected, but the captain had ensured that she was looked after, had kept her alive really, not for the first time.
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