The Spy's Revenge

by Nadine Millard

  Then she’d moved to pour herself a finger of brandy and tossed it back before turning back to them, her deep brown eyes brimming with excitement as she had debriefed them on a case involving Englishmen carrying information to the French.

  It seemed a lifetime ago. A life where he’d arrogantly assumed that they were all untouchable, despite the danger they found themselves in regularly.

  Even after he’d tumbled desperately into love with her, he hadn’t worried overly much. She was as good a spy as any he’d ever worked with, and probably more so given her French roots and the fact that she made a man want to spill his secrets with just one smile.

  As it turned out, she had been too good. She’d obviously gotten too close to something or someone, and she had paid for it.

  They were waiting for him to speak, he knew. But he didn’t have a damned clue what to say.

  There were so many layers to this thing, and he couldn’t think straight, not until he got his emotions under control. And he couldn’t do that with the captain sitting as close to Gabby as he was.

  Really, they should wait and discuss this with Piers, but that meant either waking the man from his sleep, which Jonathan didn’t want to do, since there wasn’t any immediate emergency, or asking Townsend to come back tomorrow. And he definitely didn’t want to do that.

  “So,” he said, breaking the taut silence, “I suppose we should start with Captain Townsend telling us who he is exactly, and what he was doing sneaking around Paris on the night Gabrielle was shot.”

  Captain Townsend leaned back in his seat, a small smile playing around his mouth.

  Jonathan would take great pleasure in wiping it from his face.

  “You really don’t know who I am?” he asked casually.

  Jonathan raised a brow at the man’s cockiness.

  “No. Should I?”

  Townsend’s eyes flashed with something Jonathan couldn’t quite decipher. Anger, perhaps?

  “No, I don’t suppose you should. Given who you are.”

  The cryptic remarks were starting to wear thin.

  Townsend must have thought so, too, for he sighed then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

  “Look, as I said, I knew your father and sister. I grew up in the same village as you, for God’s sake.”

  Jonathan frowned. He surely would have remembered a well-respected Naval officer living in their small village.

  “I see you’re confused. I was a nobody back then, Mr. Spencer. Not worthy of the notice of the mighty Spencers.”

  “I don’t like your tone, Captain,” Jonathan growled.

  Townsend merely grinned. “I did return a few years ago. Still, our paths didn’t cross.”

  “But ours did.” This from Andrew, who was leaning against the fireplace, watching the proceedings rather than getting involved. At least until now.

  “He came to Spencer Park. I met him when he was manhandling Eve.”

  Townsend rolled his eyes toward heaven.

  “I was taking my leave of the countess in an entirely appropriate manner,” he corrected. “I had come to see An—”

  He came to an abrupt stop, and Jonathan could see his features close to a mask of indifference. He recognised it as a mask since he wore his own frequently.

  “I had come to see Mrs. Grant since we’d known each other as children.”

  “I didn’t know you,” Jonathan said, still unsure about the man sitting across from him.

  “Well, you weren’t as interesting to me as your sister.”

  Jonathan scowled at the man then turned to do the same to Andrew, whose sudden cough sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

  “None of this explains why you were in Paris,” Andrew said after he’d recovered.

  “No, it doesn’t,” answered Townsend.

  He obviously didn’t mean to elaborate further. The man kept his cards close to his chest.

  Well, two could play at that game. And Jonathan would sit here all night if that was what it took.

  So, giving off as casual an air as he could muster, he sat back in his seat and settled in to wait.

  GABBY HAD REMAINED silent throughout the exchange between the men in the room, but this was becoming ridiculous.

  She expected them to start measuring sword lengths any moment now, and frankly, she didn’t have time for that.

  Besides, hers was probably the longest.

  “That’s enough nonsense,” she said, standing so as to look down at them with her best governess stare. “If you are quite finished acting like children, we may be able to get to the bottom of this.”

  She turned to Jonathan, using iron self-control not to react as his amber eyes bored into her.

  She wished she could just crawl into his lap and relish feeling safe and looked after. But she prided herself on being a woman who could look after herself, and she wouldn’t stop now.

  “Captain Townsend works for the Home Office. He was there that night because he suspected something. He—”

  “Gabby.” Lucas’ warning tone brought her to a stop.

  “Her name is Miss Dumas,” Jonathan snarled.

  Gabby refused to feel even remotely impressed or elated by his obvious jealousy.

  “Jonathan,” she admonished quietly.

  He looked up at her then sighed and nodded but proceeded to sulk like an overgrown infant.

  Shaking her head at his antics, Gabby turned to Lucas.

  “I trust the men in this room with my life. All of you,” she emphasised. “And I don’t think there should be any more secrets if we’re to get to the bottom of this.”

  Lucas studied her for a moment, and Gabby bit her lip, hoping he would agree with her.

  After a moment, he nodded, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I started working for the Home Office about five years ago,” he said. “My swift rise to captaincy, especially given my inauspicious beginnings, drew the attention of the right people.”

  “Mostly I was requested on missions that coincided with my sailings… pirates, slave trades, that sort of thing.”

  Gabby moved to sit back down as Lucas spoke. She knew all of this already, but Jonathan and Andrew didn’t, and she was interested to see what their reactions would be.

  “I was in London during the time you travelled to Paris. I heard Peter Grant’s name come up. And, well, I had an interest in him. In what he was up to. So I travelled to Paris.”

  Peter Grant? Anna’s husband, who’d killed Evelyn’s father at his own father’s behest?

  “Why would you have an interest in Grant?” Jonathan asked.

  “I had my reasons,” Townsend answered sharply.

  “Anna.” Andrew said it not as a question, but as a statement.

  The captain stiffened slightly, telling Gabby that Andrew was right.

  “It doesn’t matter what my reasons were,” Lucas finally bit out. “All that matters is that you understand my reasons for being there weren’t nefarious, and I didn’t go there to hurt Gabby.”

  Gabrielle could hear the pain Lucas tried to keep a rein on, and she dearly hoped the other two men would let the matter drop.

  Jonathan stood and moved to refill their glasses yet again.

  “I’ll be honest,” he said. “Any other time, and I’d be interrogating you about my sister and whatever it is that’s happened between the two of you. But, well, truth be told, I can’t think of anything past making sure Gabby is safe. So, to that end, let’s assume I believe you. What did you see or hear that night?”

  Gabrielle couldn’t help but smile at Jonathan’s words. She already knew how important this was to him, but it certainly didn’t hurt to hear him say it every now and then.

  The gentlemen talked and talked, and Gabby grew steadily more tired.

  Truth be told, she still wasn’t entirely back to full strength. She needed to begin training again, and soon. Though she was thrilled to have Jonathan’s help, this was still her problem.

 
In the end they all agreed that the culprit, the one who had shot Gabby or paid someone else to shoot her, must be connected to the Home Office in some way.

  And that idea left them all decidedly uncomfortable.

  For who else could have known where they would be that night? Who else would have known to lure them to the abandoned street?

  Still the question remained. Why?

  To Gabby’s knowledge, she’d never done anything so bad that somebody would want her dead for it.

  These questions had been plaguing her for years, and she was no closer to an answer than she had been since the shooting.

  Suddenly bone weary, she stood, bringing an end to the quiet but intense conversation.

  “I’m afraid that if I do not retire, I shall fall asleep where I sit,” she said with an apologetic smile.

  The men in the room had risen with her, and Gabby looked at them all — tall, strong, brooding.

  A lady could get very distracted in such company.

  Yet the only one to whom her eyes went was Jonathan. Inevitably. Naturally.

  “I’ll walk you to your bedchamber,” he said softly, his eyes not once leaving hers.

  “As long as it’s only to the door, Jon. I’m not sitting down here waiting for you to — well, not when my own wife is abovestairs.”

  Gabby’s face flamed at Andrew’s words. He was incorrigible.

  “I won’t be long,” Jonathan said, seemingly intent on ignoring Andrew’s juvenile baiting.

  “I didn’t think you would be. I’d still rather you stayed in the hallway,” the other man responded.

  Jonathan’s answering oath was enough to have the other two men laughing as he took Gabby’s elbow and led her swiftly from the room.

  They walked in silence. Jonathan kept one hand on the small of her back, which played havoc with her already-fraught nerves. His other hand was gripped tightly round the candleholder lighting their way.

  As they reached the top of the stairs, close to her room, Gabby couldn’t hold back a sigh of frustration, though whether it was the need for Jonathan tingling along her nerve endings, or the convoluted mystery she was in the middle of, she couldn’t be sure.

  Jonathan stopped Gabrielle and turned her to face him.

  “We will get to the bottom of this, Gabby,” he said softly, his amber eyes shining in the candlelight.

  He was so handsome. And so close.

  Gabby’s breath hitched.

  “I know,” she whispered. “I just wish I knew what I had done to make someone want to kill me.”

  Jonathan placed the candle on the occasion table holding a huge oriental vase and grasped her shoulders. He bent slightly so he was eye-level with her.

  “You have done nothing wrong. Absolutely nothing,” he said with sincerity.

  Gabby couldn’t speak. Not with his hands on her, radiating heat through the thin material of her evening gown.

  “Tomorrow, when your friend, the captain, is gone…”

  Gabby narrowed her eyes at the scowl on Jonathan’s face when he spoke of Lucas.

  “…we will speak to Piers and fill him in with what little we know.”

  “Why do you still dislike the captain so? He saved me, Jonathan,” she reminded him softly.

  “I think the better question is why he dislikes me so. Though by all accounts, it is involving Anna, and I am probably better off not knowing about that.”

  His hands were still upon her shoulders, but now his thumbs were stroking the skin at the edge of her gown, and Gabby could barely breathe, let alone concentrate.

  “I-it does seem as though something happened with your sister,” she managed to get out, hearing the breathiness of her tone but unable to help it.

  “Hmm,” Jonathan agreed, though he didn’t seem terribly interested. “I am grateful to him for keeping you safe. For keeping you alive,” he said, and now his hands smoothed their way down her arms to grip her hands.

  He must have felt the speed of her pulse, must have felt the gooseflesh on her arms.

  “But I do not like the way he looks at you, the way he smiles at you. The way he watches you.”

  Gabrielle couldn’t contain the unladylike snort.

  “He looks out for me as you would do for a friend,” she said, her body swaying toward him, craving the heat of his. “But that is all.”

  “I don’t like it.” He scowled.

  “You’re just jealous,” Gabby teased.

  “Of course I am,” he responded without hesitation. “How could I not be? All those weeks alone with you on the open waters, with no prying eyes around to keep watch?”

  Gabrielle felt her stomach sink. “I told you, nothing happened,” she bit out.

  Jonathan frowned at her words, then suddenly his arm snaked out to grasp her around the waist and pull her flush against his body.

  “I know nothing happened with him, sweetheart,” he said, his mouth inches from her own. “But had it been you and I, something definitely would have happened.”

  Jonathan’s lips crushed her own in a kiss that set her whole body aflame. It was instantaneous and powerful enough to have her trembling within seconds

  Heat pooled in Gabrielle’s abdomen as her arms snaked up to cling to his neck.

  She was pressed so tightly to him, she could feel his heartbeat hammering rapidly against her and knew he must feel hers.

  The heat from his palm resting against her waist was searing.

  His other hand moved to cup her face, keeping her in place whilst he continued his exquisite exploration of her mouth.

  Gabby thought she would expire soon from want.

  Suddenly, he pulled his mouth from hers and set her gently away from him.

  “Christ, Gabby. The things you do to me.” He panted, his breathing as laboured as her own.

  She didn’t know what to say in response, didn’t even know if she could manage to speak, so she simply stared at him.

  Jonathan ran a hand through his dark blond hair and groaned as though he were in pain.

  “Please, don’t look at me like that if you want me to keep acting like a gentleman,” he warned gruffly, sending yet more sparks of excitement darting through her blood.

  “Who says I want you acting like a gentleman?” she asked before she lost her nerve.

  Such banter had always been a part of their relationship, and Gabby was thrilled that it was so again.

  Jonathan’s eyes narrowed, and Gabrielle was reminded suddenly of a dangerous animal hunting its prey. Rather than feel any sort of fear, however, she felt unbridled excitement.

  “You play a dangerous game, Gabby,” he drawled as his hand reached out to once again pull her closer.

  Gabby couldn’t help the smile nor the shiver of excitement that coursed through her.

  “I’m not afraid of you, Jonathan,” she said, hearing the husky tone in her voice but unable to do anything about it.

  His answering grin was positively wolfish. “Perhaps you should be, sweetheart,” he answered.

  His lips came down to press soft kisses to her neck, and Gabrielle shuddered in response to them.

  “Jonathan,” she whispered frantically, gripping the smooth lapels of his dinner jacket. Her voice seemed to break whatever spell was weaving its way around them.

  He stood back abruptly yet again. “I have to stop,” he said, sounding so desperate she almost laughed.

  But all she could do was stare.

  “I’m leaving,” he said firmly, in a tone that brooked no argument, sounding as if he were scolding a naughty child.

  “You go to your room,” he commanded as though he were her governess.

  Gabby felt her temper flare at his demand, at the same time as amusement rose at the ridiculousness of his demand.

  Something of what she was feeling must have showed in her face for he immediately looked contrite.

  “Sorry, I do not mean to bark orders,” he said wryly. “But, well… I don’t have the strength not to touch
you, so you need to go and lock yourself away. I have things to finish discussing.”

  Gabby couldn’t help but find him endearing when he said such things.

  Dear Lord, how she loved him.

  “All right,” she said softly. “Goodnight then.”

  “Goodnight, sweetheart,” he said.

  She turned to go to her room just feet from the top of the staircase and heard him bound down the stairs as though the hounds of hell were chomping at his heels.

  It gave her a thrill to know he felt he had to run from their attraction to each other.

  Gabby couldn’t help but sneak back to the edge of the staircase to try and catch a glimpse of his broad, muscled back, or his dark, golden hair.

  She sighed at how fanciful she was being but couldn’t dredge up any disgust with herself over it.

  She loved him. Ogling was permitted.

  Just as Gabby decided Jonathan had been right, and it was time to go to sleep, she felt a sudden, sharp push at her back.

  She had a brief half second to think Dear God, I’ve been pushed before she fully slipped, and the staircase loomed ever closer as she went crashing down.

  JONATHAN SPENT THE briefest of seconds adjusting himself before going back into the study to Andrew and Townsend.

  The last thing he needed was evidence of what Gabrielle did to him. He’d never live it down.

  He swept into the room, surprised to see only Andrew seated on one of the chairs.

  “Where’s Townsend?” he asked without preamble.

  He couldn’t claim to like the captain, but the man had a quick mind, and the more help on this case the better.

  Jonathan had pride, but it wasn’t more important than Gabby’s safety.

  “Gone,” answered Andrew, swirling the contents of his glass. “Said he wanted to return to the Inn so he could make an early start tomorrow.”

  “He certainly left qui—”

  Jonathan’s response was cut off by a scream and series of crashes from above their heads.

  “Gabby!” he yelled, jumping up from the seat he’d just taken.

  He moved immediately on instinct, his hand going to the dagger he kept in his breast pocket, Andrew at his heels.