The Spy and His Lady Love

by Christine Donovan

  Chapter 11

  “It’s about time you returned.”

  Harry’s head snapped up at the sound of the dreaded voice of his enemy, Baron Littleton, in his home.

  “Nothing to say? Tis a pity as your lovely duchess had much to say when I intruded in her private space.”

  Harry’s heart stopped. Penelope. The bastard spoke with Penelope. Or worse? “Where is she?” he demanded as his heart started up again three times the normal beat.

  “She’s unharmed. For the time being. It all depends on your cooperation.”

  “If you harm one hair on her head…”

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Threatening me will not help her cause.”

  Harry fought down the urge to wrap his hands around Littleton’s neck. “I ask again, where is my wife?”

  “As I said, she’s unharmed. But you should’ve kept her safer. Entering your home was easy then and now.” The baron grinned, but his eyes glared with hatred. “Shall we sit and converse like the civilized gentlemen we are? By the way, you have excellent whiskey. Goes down smooth as silk. I helped myself.”

  Harry’s blood boiled. Civilized. The intruder was as far from civilized as one could be. He swallowed his pride and anger, intent on only getting answers about Penelope. He gestured toward the two chairs facing the hearth in his sitting room. “Please have a seat. Would you like me to send for a tray?” Christ, he didn’t just offer the man food, did he? Surely his mind was not working properly. He should arrest the bastard and be done with him.

  The baron smirked. “Thank you. But no. I’ve eaten. More of that fine whiskey would be nice though.”

  Biting back a growl, Harry made his way to the sideboard and poured generous amounts of whiskey into two crystal tumblers and handed one off to Littleton. He sat and sipped his, all the time eyeing the baron. Most of his people would squirm at being scrutinized by him, but not this man. He had the heart and soul of granite. How else could one explain the heinous crimes the man committed against his own countrymen.

  “You must tell me who your supplier is. I must get my hands on this whiskey,” Baron Littleton said as he sipped the liquid.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know. It was a gift.” Harry inhaled and tried to make sense of the words scrambling inside his head, trying to come out all at once. “You didn’t come here to discuss whiskey. Tell me what you want and where my wife is? I could arrest you right now and throw your arse in jail.”

  “Come now, Newbury, I’m holding all the best cards here. No need to be rude. If you arrest me, you will never get your wife or Smythe back. That’s right, I have him as well. As for what I want, I want my name cleared. My title and holdings restored to me. When that happens I will gladly return your wife to you unharmed. And as a bonus I’ll give you Smythe too.” He paused, drained his glass, and stood. “Until then I will keep your lovely wife.” The bastard bowed. “I have two men posted outside. Send word to them when you are ready to negotiate. I hope your relationship with Prinny is good. All this rests in his hands.”

  Once alone, Harry’s arm came up, and he flung his glass into the fire. The sound of crystal hitting brick and flames made quite a loud crashing sound. Unfortunately, Harry experienced no satisfaction from his show of anger. Anger, frustration, and worry for Penelope. He paced the room, hands combing through his hair. His heart beat wildly against his chest as he tried to think. “Think, damn you, think,” he yelled to himself. When nothing came to him, he changed into his Duke of Newbury persona. Unable to find Edmond, he made his way to the foyer and ordered his carriage brought around from the mews. He didn’t care if it was the middle of the night. He had to see Prinny. Had to beg for his wife’s safety.

  Whatever it took, he would see the baron’s title and lands restored to him. Once done and Penelope was back safe and sound, he would take the bastard down. Littleton would pay for his crimes—past and present.

  After meeting with Prinny, Harry had in his possession the deeds and title Littleton had been stripped of. Even though both he and Prinny knew it was a trap to capture Harry, they decided to go along with the baron for now. Give him what he asked for and the Prince Regent would take it back at a later time. The most important thing was to get Penelope back. And Smythe. At least Penelope wasn’t alone. Or was she? Were they being kept at different locations? Even if the location was the same, they no doubt were in separate rooms, cells, or dungeons. Harry had no way of knowing.

  As for Penelope’s safety, he had to take the baron’s word she was safe. But safe could mean anything from being kept in a dark, damp cell with food and water to a comfortable room. So as not to drive his mind crazy, he pictured her in comfort. Surely Littleton would treat a lady properly.

  Harry penned a missive for Littleton and sent it off to his London residence. The only residence not entailed to the title. Therefore, it remained in Littleton’s ownership. Could he be daft enough to be holding Penelope there? Harry would find out soon enough. Regardless of what Littleton said in his return correspondence, Harry and his men would invade his London residence this very night, hoping to rescue his wife and Smythe. If all failed, then Harry would dangle the baron’s estates and title before him.

  Harry was prepared to give himself up as additional payment if the plans tonight didn’t work first. He’d met with his barrister earlier to have the necessary papers drawn up to ensure Penelope was taken care of. As Harry had no relatives he knew of, the title and all entailed properties would go back to the crown. Unless…his wife carried his babe. A male heir. Harry rubbed his aching chest. Would he live to see the day Penelope gave birth to his heir? Or even live to have a daughter. A precious girl who looked very much like her mother? Harry, never one to be sentimental, found himself being just that.

  “Enough,” he yelled, “enough.” He needed to be strong, hard, and fearless. It was the only way he would rescue her and keep himself alive.

  Late that evening he headed to Littleton’s London residence. Everything tonight hinged on his hunch that Littleton held Penelope and Smythe at his London residence. His driver dropped him off several houses down, and Newbury made his way in his Newbury disguise. Edmond and five of his best men surrounded the place. Fifteen minutes after he entered the townhome, they were to take out Littleton’s men patrolling the exterior then enter cautiously, knowing more armed men would be inside. Once they were neutralized, Littleton would be taken into custody—Penelope and Smythe released. Harry prayed all went well. From past experiences he knew there were always glitches. Not this time, please. Not this time. He’d never had anything personal at stake before. How brilliant of Littleton to use his new wife to accomplish what he wanted. Harry would remember that tactic in the future. And guard Penelope much more carefully. How neglectful he was in failing her even once.

  A young, strong butler answered the door and let him in. No butler at all, but a French spy. Harry had an extra sense when it came to spies. Hence, why he was so good at his profession. Why Prinny worked hard to keep him on. Truth-be-told, after tonight, he may hang up his spy hat and retire so he could enjoy his wife. Spend time in the country and perhaps go on an extended honeymoon on the continent.

  “This way, Your Grace.”

  Harry followed the butler up the grand staircase, down a hallway, and into Littleton’s office, he presumed.

  “Welcome, Newbury.” Littleton gestured toward a brown leather chair that faced a large mahogany desk. “Please sit.” He held up a crystal decanter filled halfway with amber liquid. “A drink of brandy before we get down to the business at hand?”

  “Please,” Harry replied, trying to remain calm and not lunge across the desk and ring the man’s neck and demand to see his wife.

  Once settled, each with a glass in hand, Littleton raised his brows in silent question.

  Harry scoffed. “I met with Prinny.” He reached into his inner coat pocket and threw a large envelope onto the desk top. “Everything you asked for returned to you.” Harry waited until the baron scoured
the documentation before he continued. “Now. I would like to collect my wife and leave without further ado.”

  “Yes. Yes. One moment please.”

  Chills of warning crawled up Harry’s spine and he knew Littleton stalled for time. Perhaps he didn’t have it in him to kill him and instead waited upon the butler’s return to do the deed. Too bad killing him wouldn’t be all that easy. Because Harry could hear the commotion coming from down the hall. His men had arrived. Harry whipped out his pistol, cocked it, and aimed it at Littleton’s head. “I wouldn’t move if I were you. I have a twitchy finger. One never knows when it will…twitch.”

  Littleton’s face drained of blood. “Come now, Newbury. We had a deal. I get what I want and you get your wife. You didn’t even give me time to have my butler retrieve her from her room. A room I might add that had all the comforts of home.

  Penelope heard voices and banging from downstairs. Hurried footsteps rushing by her door. Her pulse roared. Something was happening. Could she dare get her hopes up? Had Harry stormed the front door, knocking aside all who got in his way to rescue her? Her mind resembled one of Emma’s gothic novels. When her door did not crash open, she tried to hide her disappointment as noises came from Smythe’s room next door.

  “It’s about bloody time you arrived.” Smythe’s voice was recognizable through the wall.

  “You’re bloody shit lucky we came for your sorry arse at all.” A voice she thought was Harry’s valet, Edmond. Was he in the organization as well? Before she had her answer, the man she’d come to know as Littleton and Harry bolted through her door. Just as her husband reached her, the baron somehow shoved him aside. He then wrapped a hard arm around her waist. His other hand raised a blade to her neck.

  “You better not move if you want to see tomorrow,” Littleton said, breathing hard as though he’d run up the stairs and down the hall, which he no doubt had.

  She screamed, “Harry!”

  He looked more like Hugh than Harry since his cane was gone, his patch missing. The only resemblance to Harry was the fake scar.

  “Don’t move,” Harry barked. “Please don’t move.”

  She froze, afraid to move, frightened the baron would kill her anyway as a means to punish Harry. He hated Harry and all the good he stood for. The baron and the people he worked with, and for, had no moral compass. He wouldn’t think twice littering the ground with dead bodies. Oh, dear. She gasped. Stop thinking terrible thoughts. Think positive. Harry won’t let anything happen to her. But what about him?

  “What do you want now, Littleton?” Harry asked, standing feet apart, arms across his chest, looking for all the world as though nothing were amiss.

  “What I was promised. Freedom to take my title and lands and live my life in safety. I’ll give up my spying for France and your lovely wife.”

  “How do I know you will hold up your end of the bargain? That you will not continue to spy for France? That you won’t exact revenge on those who have wronged you?” Harry said with an even tone.

  To Penelope’s way of thinking, he gave nothing away. Showed no emotion. Meanwhile, her insides tumbled over and over again. Her pulse pounded inside her ears, and she thought she might faint from lack of air. She’d never fainted in her entire life and would not let it happen now. Think, think, she said to herself. What could she do to distract the baron?

  Littleton laughed. “You don’t. You just have to trust me.”

  Before Harry could answer, several things happened at once. A crowd of men entered her room with guns in their hands pointed at Littleton. The baron, momentarily distracted, loosened his grip on her waist and at her throat. Harry crashed forward, smacked the knife from the man’s hand, and Harry fell to the floor with her. He twisted so his body took the brunt of the force. She landed hard on him, the air knocked from her lungs, and it took her time to be able to breathe normally. By then, two of the other men marched Littleton by gunpoint out of the room. No doubt he would hang for his crimes to the crown. Penelope tried to feel bad for him, but according to her husband he’d caused many innocent lives to be lost and she could not find it in her.

  Once most everyone was gone, Harry helped her stand and hugged her close. His body trembled as hard as hers, and she wrapped her arms around his waist and held on as tears of relief streamed down her cheeks.

  “Before I leave,” the one man still in the room said, who looked an awful lot like Mary Spencer’s husband, “is there anything you need, Your Grace?”

  “No, Smythe. With Littleton in custody, I’m taking my wife home and begging her forgiveness. I suggest you do the same with yours.”

  Smythe bowed. “Thank you.” He nodded his head, acknowledging Penelope. “I hope to see you under better circumstances next time we meet.”

  “Yes,” was all she could manage as he exited the room. As Harry led her toward the door and freedom she said, “Was that Mary Spencer’s new husband?”

  “Yes indeed.”

  Her head snapped his way just as they entered their carriage. “Does everyone you associate with work for the Crown?”

  “Not everyone.”

  Chapter 12

  When Harry and Littleton crashed through the door and Littleton beat him to Penelope, Harry nearly fell to his knees in panic. Instead, he took up a relaxed stance and used words to stall for time. He knew reinforcements would come soon. He just had to stall the baron long enough for them to arrive. Keep him talking. Make him believe he still had a chance to get out of there without being taken into custody. Stupid man.

  When his men came into the room it was the perfect time to make his move. Littleton had relaxed his guard for a moment, and Newbury took advantage by charging him, using his hand to knock the knife from Littleton and bring Penelope down to the ground safely. Ever since that frightening incident, she’d been unfocused, too distracted to notice he’d wrapped the new handkerchief she embroidered for him around his hand, which had been sliced good and deep from the blade. Even now the blood seeped through the fine linen cloth.

  “What happened?” she said with a frown as she reached for his arm. He kept it out of reach. She didn’t need his blood all over her.

  “Cut by Littleton’s knife. I’ll have Edmond stitch it up and I’ll be good as new in no time.”

  Silence. Why was she staring at his hand and saying not a word?”

  Finally, after several torturous moments, she spoke very softly. “Do you do this sort of dangerous work all the time?”

  How to answer the question truthfully? “Sometimes. Not always. Most of my time is spent watching and waiting. Confrontations like this happen rarely.” Well, rarely did they involve one’s wife. He hadn’t actually lied. “Let’s go home and when you’re rested, we can talk.”

  Talk. Penelope wasn’t sure she ever wanted to talk about what happened. Or rather, what could have happened if things hadn’t gone their way. A chill creeped up her spine as she sat in the sitting room that connected her bedchamber to Harry’s. She pulled tight on her dressing robe, hoping it would help alleviate the chill. Unfortunately, the flames from the hearth did little to warm her. Perhaps because it was the middle of the night, and she hadn’t slept in some time, which added to her chill. Being drugged with laudanum and unconscious didn’t count as sleeping.

  What was taking her husband so long? He said he would meet with her here after he freshened up. That was hours ago, and she wanted to see him and be reassured his injury was minor. That he wasn’t hiding something from her. It didn’t bode well for their marriage if she believed he was hiding truths from her. Ever since Hadley’s employ, trust didn’t come easy to her.

  The creak of a door and soft footsteps had her head turning toward her husband. He looked relaxed in his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, trousers, and bare feet. Recently bathed, if his damp hair was any sign. His hand was newly bandaged with clean linen.

  “Hello, my dear,” he said as he strolled toward her and took a seat on the settee beside her. “You look w
ell. How do you feel?”

  His concern for her warmed her heart, which helped expel the chill from her body. “I’m fine, now that I’m safe at home.” She gently reached for his injured arm. “How is your hand? Did you need stitches?”

  “It’s fine and yes. Edmond does superb work.”

  Tension was a living, breathing thing between them. Penelope wondered when it would vanish and be replaced with relaxation for good. Being tense all the time wasn’t good for either of them. It was no way to live within a marriage. She would take the first steps now in helping their marriage along. “I understand why you deceived me in being both Harry and Hugh. Today was eye-opening into the life you lead.”

  “Please don’t think it’s always like this.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. She snuggled against him, feeling calm spread throughout her body for the first time since they arrived home. “Thank God it’s not usually like tonight. And I promise you, I will let no one kidnap you or use you to get to me ever again. I will never let my guard down. You will be safe. I promise.”

  Penelope knew it would take time for the events of the day to fade into her memory. Meanwhile she would trust her husband to keep her safe.

  Harry made love to her on the settee in front of the warm hearth before he took her hand and led her to her bed where he spent the night holding her tight as she slept.

  Chapter 13

  A week later Wentworth was hosting a dinner party with all their friends in honor of Penelope and Harry.

  Her stomach had butterflies visiting her. A week had gone by since her abduction and subsequent rescue. She’d not seen her family since. Harry had wanted her all to himself. According to him, he had much to atone for. They spent the past week with him atoning.

  Their lovemaking reached levels Penelope never knew existed. People only talked about a woman’s duty to her husband when it came to the marital bed. Strange no one admitted how beautiful, satisfying, and utterly emotionally connected two souls could become. She could hardly remember a time without him. He’d become her everything.