The Spy's Revenge

by Nadine Millard

  “We’ve taken too long to figure this out already,” Jonathan bit out.

  He knew the man standing before him had no idea what Jonathan was talking about. But he wasn’t inclined to waste time explaining.

  “We can discuss all of this later,” Andrew said firmly.

  “Yes, of course,” answered Jonathan.

  He held out his hand to the surgeon who was becoming an extremely familiar face.

  “Thank you. Again,” he said.

  The other man nodded his head, shaking Jonathan’s hand then bidding a general farewell. Evelyn offered to walk him out, no doubt to discuss Gabrielle’s care further.

  As soon as they were out of earshot, Jonathan turned to the other two men.

  “What the hell are we supposed to do now?” he demanded.

  He felt trapped by his inability to keep Gabby safe. Like a caged animal, prowling and desperate to be free.

  This was almost as bad as when he had thought her dead.

  Because now he lived with the constant knowledge that she could very soon be dead, and he was doing nothing to stop it from happening.

  “Right now, you do nothing,” Andrew answered. “Nothing except going to her. Everything else can be discussed later. We don’t have to go to London in the morning.”

  “But we do.” Jonathan was adamant. “Of course we do. Only one of our senior agents would have the power and ability to do something like this. And they’re all in London.”

  “And we will sit down and discuss our next steps. But not now. You need to see her, and I’m sure she wants to see you. So go.” Andrew nodded toward the closed door behind which Mrs. Bryan was, no doubt, sitting with Gabrielle. “All of this can be dealt with later.”

  Jonathan felt so torn.

  His heart was begging to go to her. To just hold her in his arms and never leave.

  His head was demanding that he go and finish this so she would be free at last.

  But Andrew was right. He wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything if he didn’t assure himself that she was well, or that she would be soon.

  With a murmured thanks, Jonathan turned and, taking a deep breath, entered Gabrielle’s room.

  He swore, as his heart splintered looking at her lying so still, so pale in the big bed, that he would kill the man who had done this to her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  GABRIELLE HAD NO idea how long she spent in the dreamlike state she found herself in. Occasionally, there were moments of lucid clarity where she would open her eyes and really see. Sometimes Daisy, sometimes Evelyn. Most times Jonathan.

  More often than not, however, all she saw were flashes of bright, blurry colours, snatches of thoughts too vague to understand, voices from far away mumbling incoherently.

  Her limbs felt heavy, so heavy, as though she were pressed to the bed by an invisible force, unable to move, too tired to try.

  Eventually, after what could have been years or seconds, Gabrielle began to slowly come back to consciousness.

  Her eyelids, although they felt heavier than she could bear, she eventually managed to lift, blinking a few times to clear her vision.

  The first thing she noticed was how the bright sunlight streaming through the open window hurt her eyes, making her wince.

  But once she became accustomed to the startlingly bright light, she noticed the man sitting by her bed.

  Jonathan.

  Her heart soared at the sight of him, as it always did.

  He hadn’t yet noticed that she was awake.

  His hand, she realised, was wrapped around her own, his thumb making lazy circles across her skin.

  But his thoughts were obviously elsewhere; the tension in his jaw was apparent from his profile as his face was turned away, seemingly focused on an innocuous spot on the wall.

  No doubt he was concentrating very deeply on something. And whatever it was, he wasn’t happy about it.

  “Jonathan.”

  Her voice came out as a harsh rasp, barely above a whisper.

  But he’d heard nonetheless. His head whipped round, and his amber eyes, so unusual, so uniquely Jonathan’s, burned into her own.

  His grip on her hand tightened, and he closed his eyes momentarily, whispering “Thank God” before opening them again and once more ensnaring her in his gaze.

  “You’ve finally decided to join us,” he quipped, the tender smile on his face making her stomach dance.

  “I thought I may as well,” she answered croakily.

  He laughed softly and leaned over to brush a strand of hair from her brow. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  His voice was soft and gentle. She wasn’t sure she liked it. It sounded like the voice one would reserve for dying relatives, and she wasn’t dying. Was she?!

  Suddenly it dawned on Gabby that she had no idea what had happened to her, or how long she’d been out.

  “I’m not sure,” she answered now, feeling scared and anxious.

  She remembered feeling absolutely fine. Then she’d begun feeling nauseous and dizzy before the excruciating pain started. After that, there was nothing but hazy half memories that she wasn’t even sure were real.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  Before answering, Jonathan released her hand and leaned over to ring the bell. Then he poured some water from a jug on the bedside table before holding the glass out to her.

  “Drink some water,” he said gently, still in that overly careful voice.

  She was starting to really hate that voice.

  But she did as she was told and sat up obligingly, allowing him to hold the water to her lips.

  What she really wanted to do was snatch it from him and tell him she wasn’t a child.

  But her arm refused to cooperate, so she said nothing but gave him her best scowl nonetheless.

  Jonathan smirked as though he knew exactly what she was thinking, which he probably did.

  Her fierce independence had often caused arguments between them.

  When she had drunk her fill and felt a lot better for it, Jonathan placed the water on the table then turned back to her.

  “How much do you remember?” he asked.

  “Not much,” she responded with a frown. Her head hurt, even trying to remember. “I started to feel unwell, but not enough for any concern. But then the pain was so bad. That’s all, though. I really can’t remember anything else, at least not clearly.”

  “You had a fever,” Jonathan explained. “You were in and out of consciousness for a few days.”

  “Days?” she exclaimed in surprise. “How many days?”

  “Three,” he answered grimly.

  Gabrielle absorbed this information.

  If it had been three days, then he hadn’t left for London, obviously.

  “I remember seeing you a lot,” she said now, softly, trying to gauge his feelings.

  “Of course you did,” he answered straight away. “I barely left your side.”

  Gabrielle smiled as her heart warmed. “You didn’t go to London,” she stated. Ridiculous, really. The man knew he hadn’t gone!

  “How could I?” was his answer.

  Lord, he was handsome.

  It was clear that he hadn’t slept very well. Nor shaved. And his clothes were crumpled. His poor valet must be turning grey with anxiety.

  But even unkempt-looking, he was the handsomest man she’d ever met and the only man she’d ever met who could make her heart gallop.

  Before the conversation could continue any further, there was a subtle knock on the door, and Daisy appeared in the room.

  “Oh, ‘tis good to see you awake, miss,” the young maid exclaimed, rushing over to the bed. “Everyone has been worried about you. Mr. Casings has been beside himself, wanting to know how you were.”

  The maid looked set to continue rambling on, and Gabby couldn’t help but smile at the girl’s happy chatter.

  “Daisy,” Jonathan interrupted.

  “Yes, sir?”


  “Would you be so kind as to organise a tea tray for Miss Dumas and perhaps, if she’s feeling strong enough, a bath?”

  He turned to Gabby as he said this, and she almost groaned aloud at the thought of being able to sink into a nice, hot bath and feel clean and fresh again.

  “That would be lovely,” she rasped, her voice still hoarse from lack of use, no doubt.

  Jonathan smiled then turned back to Daisy.

  “And please send for Dr. Finlay immediately.”

  When Daisy left to tend to her errands, closing the door behind her, Gabby turned to Jonathan with a rueful smile.

  “I think I can assume that my reputation has been rather dented if you’ve been in here alone for the past few days?”

  Jonathan had the grace to look abashed.

  “I was warned by Evelyn that the servants’ chatter would be rampant. But I’m afraid I didn’t care. Not then. Now that you’re starting to look well again, and assuming you will recover all of your strength and your talent with a dagger, I am regretting my attitude to it.”

  Gabrielle couldn’t help but laugh at his words.

  He was an incorrigible rogue, but how could she possibly be angry with him?

  He somehow managed to look both contrite and completely nonchalant. It was quite a feat.

  “Will we leave for London now?” she asked, bringing the conversation back on track before she did something silly like throw herself into his arms.

  Or try to.

  She didn’t think she’d have the strength to actually do it, but she could give it a good try.

  The shutters came down instantaneously. She saw it in the set of his jaw, in the blank expression of his eyes.

  And she knew that meant she wouldn’t like what was coming next.

  “I had planned on leaving as soon as you were well enough for me to go.”

  Gabrielle had interviewed enough people and talked around enough issues to listen very carefully to the words he was using.

  “You?” she repeated. “Just you?”

  “Sweetheart,” he began, but she held up a hand to stop him.

  “I can tell by your tone that you are going to attempt to distract me or convince me. I just want to know what you’ve decided.”

  Jonathan sighed as he stood and moved to the window.

  With his back to her, she had to command herself not to be side-tracked by the breadth of his shoulders or the hard muscles she could see in his back through the fine linen of his shirt.

  “If we are sure that the culprit is in Town, and I don’t see how he couldn’t be, then I need to get there as soon as possible,” he said to the window.

  Gabrielle struggled to sit up a little straighter in the bed, wishing she had the strength to march over to him.

  “I am aware of that, Jonathan,” she said waspishly. “What I do not know is why you’ve decided to go alone. To leave me here.”

  Jonathan whipped back around and came to the bed, dropping back into the chair he’d just vacated and grasping her hand.

  “Gabby, you are nowhere near strong enough to travel right now and getting to the bottom of this is a priority. You must know that.”

  He was right.

  She knew it.

  But suddenly, she didn’t care. It was all too much. She had nearly killed herself, dragging her battered and broken body across the ocean to confront him, only to find out he had never betrayed her.

  The tumble back into love with him had been as swift as it was inevitable, and she had begun to believe they could truly be happy.

  And now, he was leaving again.

  Gabrielle knew she was being entirely unreasonable, but she wanted to rail against him. To cry, to scream, to beg him to stay, to demand he leave.

  Her heart was pounding, and her emotions were overwhelming her.

  And they needed an outlet.

  “I know that someone here is trying to kill me. And you’re leaving. That is what I know,” she yelled. Attempted to yell, really, since her throat was still parched.

  “Gabby.”

  She ignored the surge of guilt at the shock in his face, the hurt in his tone.

  “What? What can you possibly say to make up for the fact that you are breaking all of your promises to me?” she demanded.

  Inside she knew that she should stop. She was hurting so much — from everything that had happened, from what could still happen, from the knowledge that she had allowed herself to depend on him once again for her happiness — and now he was leaving, and she couldn’t go with him. He was leaving her behind. Again.

  “Gabrielle, I have to go. You know I must. We need to find out who is behind all of this and why.”

  She turned her head away from the pleading in his eyes, worried that the tears she was desperately fighting would spill out.

  “Then wait until I am well enough, and we can both go,” she rasped.

  She heard his deep sigh and finally turned her eyes back to look into his.

  “This is my life, Jonathan. Mine. And I should be the one to end this thing.”

  “It’s not just your life. It’s mine too. Because you are my life. Do you not think I will do everything in my power to finish this?”

  He would, of course. Just as she would do so for him.

  But still. It hurt.

  “I don’t want you to go,” she admitted, feeling more vulnerable than she’d ever felt in her life.

  “And I don’t want to leave you, sweetheart, but it’s the only way.”

  Her temper flared once again.

  “So I am to be left here where there is danger around every corner, too weak to protect myself?”

  “No, of course not. Do you really think I would leave you unprotected?”

  “You are leaving me unprotected,” she retorted.

  “Andrew has agreed to stay, as has Evelyn. And Piers will still be here,” Jonathan said.

  He reached for her hand once more, but she snatched it away.

  If he touched her now, she would sob and beg him not to leave her.

  His words penetrated the fog of her anger, and she looked sharply at him.

  “You’re going alone?” she asked.

  He nodded but said nothing, watching her closely as though afraid of her reaction.

  “You cannot go alone,” she insisted now. “It is far too dangerous. We have no idea who this could be.”

  “I’m not concerned about that,” he said with a wave of his hand.

  “Well, I am,” she responded mutinously. “You cannot keep taking over my life like this. You cannot just decide that I am staying locked away here while you go and — and—”

  “And make sure you are safe? And try to ensure that we both have a long and happy life. Together? Why can’t I?”

  He was being infuriating, and Gabrielle wanted to scream. She hated to feel so useless, so helpless.

  “Piers is sending a missive with me to a contact he is positive is trustworthy. I will have the assistance of half the Home Office within an hour of my arrival in Town.”

  “What does the letter say?” she asked curiously, wondering how Piers could be so sure that this unknown man would be trustworthy.

  “I have no idea. If I break the seal on it, there’ll no proof that it’s come straight from him and hasn’t been tampered with. You know that.”

  Yes, she did know that.

  But it was just one more detail being kept from her.

  Gabrielle’s head was spinning. She could barely keep her eyes open, and she hated the weakness in her body now, when she needed her strength the most.

  “When will you go?” she asked.

  “As soon as I know you are well,” he answered in a tone that brooked no argument.

  Gabrielle was prevented from arguing any further by the arrival of the surgeon, and Jonathan stepped out of the room so the man could conduct his examination.

  Gabby sighed in frustration and exhaustion.

  It was rather tiring, she decided, having
someone try to kill you all the time.

  “HOW DID SHE take the news?” Andrew drawled from his seat by the fireplace.

  “As well as you might imagine.” Jonathan scowled.

  The truth was he hated the thought of leaving her. He hated the thought of her hurt by his actions.

  But what choice did he have?

  Piers was sure that his letter would convince the director to offer all of his assistance in catching whoever was behind all of this.

  So at least he wasn’t going in alone.

  “I still don’t like it. I don’t like the idea of not being there with you.”

  “And the alternative is what? Leaving Gabrielle here unprotected?”

  “If we just wait, at least until Gabby is feeling stronger, we can all go. She can stay in my townhouse with Evelyn, and you and I can get to work.”

  Jonathan contemplated Andrew’s words. He would like nothing more than for Gabrielle to be coming to Town, as originally planned. He knew she would be safe and close by.

  But who was to say what would happen if they waited any longer?

  Piers himself had spoken to Jonathan last night while everyone else was sleeping and drove home to him that they were racing against time.

  Jonathan had always trusted Piers’ judgement, and he trusted it still.

  The door open, and Dr. Finlay came in.

  Jonathan leapt to his feet at the other man’s entrance, his heart pounding.

  “Miss Dumas, I am happy to report, is recovering very well, Mr. Spencer.” The doctor grinned, obviously pleased to be giving such news.

  “She is?” he asked, hardly daring to believe it.

  “Indeed,” Finlay confirmed. “She is a long way from totally well, but she will recover nicely in time, I think.”

  As soon as Jonathan’s spirits soared at the news, they sank again.

  “How much time?” he asked.

  “It is hard to say. Miss Dumas has been through quite a lot recently. I do not think it will do her any harm to stay abed and rest a while.”

  Jonathan couldn’t be sure, but he thought he sensed censure in the doctor’s tone.

  Obviously, the man couldn’t be told what was going on, but Jonathan felt the need to say something so that the doctor would know that he was at least trying to keep her safe.