Sebastian's Lady Spy

by Sharon Cullen

  “And I forget what I heard.”

  “You forgot?” Gabrielle didn’t believe that for one moment. Mrs. Harris didn’t forget anything.

  The cook pointed a floured finger at Gabrielle. “And you best forget, too. Ain’t nothin’ but trouble, that is.”

  “What sort of trouble?”

  “Bad trouble. Ain’t nothin’ you want to be involved in. Trust me on this.”

  “So the rumors are true?”

  One shoulder rose, then fell. “Don’t know. Don’t want to know. Ain’t my concern.”

  But there was something about the way Mrs. Harris spoke that put Gabrielle on alert. The woman was normally too happy to pass on any information she had. She wanted nothing to do with this topic.

  Gabrielle waved her hand in the air. “I’m sure it’s nothing but rumor.” She laughed lightly.

  “Mayhap. Mayhap not.”

  The little ginger who had snatched the scone exploded through the door. “Someone found a dead body inside St. Ethelreda’s!”

  Mrs. Harris stopped kneading and turned her attention to the boy. “What’s this you say?”

  “A dead body. Dead as a doornail. Right inside the doors of St. Ethelreda’s. Murdered.” The child’s eyes shone with unholy delight to have imparted such important information to Mrs. Harris.

  “Where’d you hear this?” Mrs. Harris demanded.

  “News come from Child’s Coffee House.”

  “Well, they would know. Child’s draws the doctors and clergymen. Lord above, but who would kill a poor soul inside a church. There’s a special kinda hell for someone who does that.”

  “Gotta go,” the ginger shouted. “Gotta pass it on.” And away he went, the door snapping soundly shut behind him.

  “Uh, uh, uh,” Mrs. Harris said, shaking her head.

  Gabrielle was disappointed that the conversation of the possible Jacobite uprising had been cut short, but the topic of the dead body inside a church was intriguing. She sipped her coffee thoughtfully, for once unmindful of the bitter taste. St. Ethelreda’s. Was Sebastian somehow involved? Chances were he wasn’t, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was. And if there was one thing she’d learned early in life, it was to trust her feelings.

  Chapter 8

  Godfrey Duncan woke suddenly, his breath trapped inside him by a hand clamped over his mouth. His arms were stretched above, bound at the wrists, and attached to his headboard. He tried to kick, but something heavy lay on top of his legs.

  “You’re a dead man, Wilcott.”

  He stilled and widened his eyes, trying to see through the darkness even though he knew what he would see. He was back.

  “You haven’t brought me what I asked for.” The hand tightened over his mouth. Panic darkened Godfrey’s already dark vision as spots danced before his eyes. His head swam and he struggled against the bindings, desperate to pull in a breath of air.

  The man leaned closer until his lips were next to Godfrey’s ear. “Don’t even think about disobeying me,” he whispered.

  Godfrey shuddered in revulsion at the heavy man on top of him, at the moist breath in his ear and the briny smell of the ocean.

  “They’re asking too many questions and getting too close. I will not be brought down, do you understand me?”

  Godfrey jerked his head in a nod, though he didn’t understand. Who was asking questions? The contessa? About what? Why would the famous widow ask questions about a miscreant like this man?

  “Tomorrow night,” the man whispered. “Brunswick Dock. Warehouse number three. If you don’t bring her to me, everyone will know about your bookshop owner. Do you understand?”

  Godfrey nodded again, panic turning his insides to liquid. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the tears leaked out anyway, burning a path to his hairline.

  The hand disappeared and the weight was lifted from Godfrey’s legs. Godfrey dragged in a deep breath. Movement above had him cringing, and a whimper burst from him, but the man merely severed the ropes attached to the bed and then slipped out the window. Godfrey was too terrified to move.

  —

  When Gabrielle had received the invitation to dine at Lord and Lady Blythe’s home, she’d known it would be an awkward evening, to say the least. Lord and Lady Blythe were Nathan and Claire Ferguson. Claire was Gabrielle’s best friend. And Sebastian’s sister. Claire and Nathan had been traveling through France the past few months on an “adventure,” as Claire called it, and recently returned to England.

  When Gabrielle was first given this mission, she had thought much about Claire and how her friend would take the “news” that her best friend and brother were an item. Unfortunately, Claire had been present at the end of Gabrielle and Sebastian’s affair; Sebastian had been in Venice to chase down his wayward sister. Nathan had taken good care of Claire, so Sebastian’s presence hadn’t been needed. But the damage had been done, and Claire, always perceptive, had deduced what was between her brother and her friend. She never said anything, but the hints and knowing looks were enough.

  Nicholas and Emmaline, Claire and Sebastian’s brother and his wife, had also been invited to dinner, but they were setting sail to Spain on the morrow and couldn’t attend, which left the small dinner party a foursome.

  Though Claire kept up a constant chatter, thick silences would fall, whereupon Claire would shoot Nathan a desperate look. Nathan would fill them as best he could by talking about politics or the weather.

  Sebastian was no help whatsoever. He concentrated on his food and grunted a few answers until Nathan brought up the toll tax, the topic of conversation from the servants all the way up to the nobility. Sebastian had a lot to say about that.

  Gabrielle tried hard not to look at Sebastian, but his voice wove around her, holding her spellbound to the point that she lost the thread of the conversation numerous times, much to Claire’s obvious amusement. Claire surely thought Gabrielle was so enthralled with Sebastian that she couldn’t think straight. Claire was correct. However, “enthralled” was not the right word. More like frustrated and irritated. An aberration, indeed.

  How could he say that when he had responded so well to her kiss? Holding him had been a dream. Pressing against him had brought back all the memories of their lovemaking. If he’d laid her back on the squabs, she would have happily, eagerly spread her legs for him and welcomed him inside of her, and she was such a doxy that she felt no guilt.

  She pressed her legs together and nearly groaned out loud when her thighs rubbed. Even now she wanted him with a ferocity that staggered her. She shot him a covert look. Was he aware?

  As if sensing her perusal, he looked up at her. His eyes darkened and his nostrils flared, and for one small moment there was nothing but the two of them and the memories they had created.

  She jerked her gaze away because the pull to him was too powerful for her to resist, and this was definitely not the time nor place.

  Aberration, indeed.

  Finally the overlong dinner came to a close, and the women retired to the sitting room while the men enjoyed their brandy and cigars. Gabrielle was almost relieved to be away from him so she could regain her sanity and cool her overheated body. What was wrong with her? She’d never acted like this. Well, one other time she’d acted like this, and look what had happened.

  Gabrielle and Claire made themselves comfortable by the fire, and Claire waved the servant away to lean close to Gabrielle, a sparkle in her green eyes. “Sebastian lives by his own rules.”

  Gabrielle snorted, an unladylike sound, to be sure, but she didn’t care. “You don’t need to tell me that.”

  “Sebastian had to grow up fast,” Claire said, sitting back and contemplating her. “He raised Nicholas and me.”

  “I’m aware.”

  Claire shot her an exasperated look. “What I’m trying to say is that Sebastian had no time to be carefree. To feel his oats.”

  “Claire!” Really. Her friend was too much sometimes. Feel his oats, indeed. However, t
he expression made her think of those three days in Venice, and the one thing Gabrielle wanted to think of less than she wanted to think of Sebastian himself was those days in Venice.

  “What?” Claire looked at her with innocent green eyes that didn’t fool Gabrielle for one moment. “I know Sebastian can be gruff at times, maybe even downright rude, but there is a tender part to him. Give him time, Gabrielle. Give him the opportunity to learn to be carefree again.”

  The problem with living a lie was that Gabrielle couldn’t tell her closest friend the truth: that she and Sebastian were not rekindling their affair but, rather, working together to unearth a plot against the crown. Or at least attempting to work together.

  “Sebastian likes to believe he’s invulnerable. That he doesn’t make mistakes. That he must take the weight of everyone’s problems on his own shoulders.”

  “Please, Claire, can we speak of something other than your brother?”

  “I’m simply trying to explain what kind of man Sebastian is. He appears hard and unyielding when he’s anything but. Once he takes you in, he will protect you with everything he has.”

  Once he takes you in. Apparently Gabrielle wasn’t in yet and never had been. Not even seven months ago.

  “Claire, there is nothing between your brother and me—”

  “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

  “Like he wants to bite my head off?”

  “Like he wants to bite something.”

  “Claire!”

  Claire turned innocent eyes to her. “What?”

  Gabrielle could only shake her head in disbelief. “Truly, Claire, I’m happy that you and Nathan found each other, but that doesn’t mean Sebastian and I will find the same happiness with each other.”

  Claire opened her mouth to speak, but Gabrielle held up a forestalling hand. “I’m serious, Claire. Nothing can come of this. Sebastian is an earl, and I’m a widow with a bad reputation.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “No, Claire, not nonsense but reality. We flirt and we dance together, and maybe at one time I fooled myself into thinking there could be something more, but that’s all it was. A fantasy.” She took her own words to heart. She had to remember that what she and Sebastian were doing was a farce. A game. He was an earl, she a nobody born to a dockside whore. If Sebastian knew her true history, he would never grace her with his presence, let alone work with her.

  Claire looked ready to argue, but Gabrielle was saved, or cursed, by the entrance of the two men. Nathan smiled at his wife and went directly to her side, while Sebastian nodded coolly at Claire and stood before the fireplace. Claire smiled up at her husband, then turned that smile on her brother.

  Gabrielle sat back and watched the brother and sister talk. While Claire joked with him, Sebastian’s responses were always serious. There were no smiles, no glimmers of humor in his eyes. Was Claire right? Had Sebastian forgotten how to have fun? Had the responsibility of raising his siblings warped him into a man who took the weight of the world on his shoulders? At times he truly did carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. The crown demanded much from him, as it did her, and sometimes that responsibility was suffocating.

  Seven months ago he’d laughed, he’d joked, he’d let his guard down. Maybe, instead of their affair being an aberration, his behavior those three days was the true aberration.

  He turned to Gabrielle, and for the first time she truly saw the downturned lips, the lines of stress framing his blue eyes that no longer twinkled.

  “Lady Marciano, would you care to ride to the ball in my coach?”

  Ah, so he deigned to speak to her. And he wanted to speak privately, for why else would he invite her to ride in his coach, just the two of them.

  Chapter 9

  Sebastian helped Gabrielle up into his coach and settled himself across from her.

  The silence between them was pronounced. Gabrielle couldn’t stop thinking about her conversation with Claire. Sebastian’s sister had shed new light on him, making Gabrielle question everything she’d thought. If his behavior those three days in Venice was the aberration, then maybe he was angry at himself for letting his guard down.

  She enjoyed some satisfaction at that thought. Had she torn down his walls those three days? Had she unleashed something inside him that he’d never allowed to be unleashed? If so, he’d had seven months to rebuild those walls even higher and thicker, which accounted for his behavior. That was fine by her. She’d breached those walls before, she could do it again. If she wanted to.

  The question was, did she?

  Because those three days had left scars on her as well. She’d slept with men before, all at the request of the crown and all for one mission or another. Always she’d kept a part of herself to herself, allowing the men into her body but never her mind. With Sebastian, it had been different. For all intents and purposes, he had been her first. The first she had allowed inside her mind. The first who hadn’t involved a mission or a case.

  Dare she say, the first to touch her heart?

  As much as she’d enjoyed those days and cherished them as she cherished no other memory, could she let her walls down enough to do it again, knowing that nothing could come of it? That in the end they would have to walk away again, to separate missions and separate lives?

  “And how have you been these last few days? I have to admit, I was surprised you didn’t call on me.” She gave him a pointed look and banished her thoughts. What good were they when he didn’t want to be around her?

  “Duty called.”

  There was that damnable word again. “Yes, my own duty called as well. We need to speak about that.”

  His head jerked up and he looked at her. “What does that mean?”

  “Come now, Sebastian, you’re not the only one who has been working hard. I’ve not been sitting around waiting for you to grace me with your presence. Did you truly expect me not to do my job?” His face was granite, and she feared she would never break down those walls. He had taken one of the operatives’ commandments to heart, apparently. Don’t let emotion get in the way. “You complain that I’m useless, so I make myself useful, and now you’re irritated that I’ve done so. Really, Sebastian, you are vexing.”

  “You should have told me what you were doing.”

  She raised a brow. “Oh? Like you tell me what you’re doing? Like you told me where you were going the other night in your hired hack, looking like the worst sort of reprobate pirate?”

  His eyes narrowed. “You followed me.” His voice was low and deadly, but it did not scare her. She’d been in far worse situations, and she had finely honed instincts, and those instincts told her that she was safe with Sebastian.

  She raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t think I would find out?”

  “Damn it, Gabrielle. You simply must follow orders.”

  “I must?” Both eyebrows went up this time.

  He growled something unintelligible. She’d cracked through. He was at least showing some sort of emotion.

  “Relax, amico, I did not follow you.” She smiled. “But your neighbors need to trim back their shrubbery.”

  “You hid in the shrubbery and spied on me?”

  She shrugged. “What would you have preferred? That I hide in the bushes and spy on you or that I follow you? I can do either.”

  He leaned forward and it took everything in her to remain calm, not to rear back in the face of his overriding anger and not to close her eyes and breathe in his scent. Sandalwood mixed with something she had never been able to identify. It threw her back to Venice so fast that her mind spun.

  “You will not follow me,” he growled. “If I don’t bring you with me, it’s because it isn’t safe for you.”

  “You are operating under the wrongful assumption that this is my first mission. It’s not. I’ve been to dangerous places before. Many times. I know how to handle myself. I know what I’m doing.”

  If only he knew that she’d lived the first dozen years of her
life in the most dangerous place in London. Sitting in his neighbor’s bushes was the least dangerous thing she’d done in a long while. For heaven’s sake, attending two balls in one night was more dangerous than that. Sitting in this carriage alone with him and fighting the need to close the distance between them was far more dangerous than a bunch of prickly bushes.

  The anger, tightly coiled inside him, didn’t seem to abate. “Nevertheless, I decide where you go.”

  “No, Sebastian, you don’t. You don’t demand. You don’t give orders. We work together and decide together who does what. Now, you tell me what you learned last night, and I’ll tell you what I learned.”

  The silence was so deafening that she could almost hear his blood boiling. In the dim carriage, she could see his jaw clench and could feel the heat of his anger emanating off him. He was sprawled in the opposite seat with his legs spread and his knees mere inches from hers. Once he had been sprawled just so in a chair, and she had climbed into his lap and ridden him hard. The thought made her wet between the legs. The urge to raise her skirts and do the same in the swaying coach was almost overwhelming. She needed some of his iron control, because her lust for this man was coming nearly uncontrollable.

  “I went to The Coxswain,” he said into the silence.

  Gabrielle breathed out, relieved. He hadn’t noticed that her body was liquid fire and that she wanted him so badly, she could whimper.

  “Not good enough,” she said. “If we’re to share information, we will share everything.”

  He sighed, clearly exasperated. “I didn’t learn anything.”

  “I highly doubt that was all that happened.”

  “Fine,” he said between clenched teeth. “I dropped some hints that I might be a Jacobite sympathizer. One particular…gentleman nibbled at the bait and offered to meet me this morning at St. Ethelreda’s with information.”

  While her body was still overheated, her mind was now fully engaged on the conversation. “Let me guess: When you arrived your contact was dead.”