by Shana Galen
Adrian scowled and nodded.
“I had no idea you were married to a diamond of the first water.”
“Neither did I,” Adrian grumbled.
Sophia held out a gloved hand, and Linden took it, bending to kiss it. He held her hand longer than Adrian thought was necessary, looked into her eyes, and said, “I’m charmed.”
Sophia smiled. Why the bloody hell was she smiling at the man’s nonsense? “No, Mr. Linden, I’m charmed. I apologize for waking you and for appearing in this state.” She indicated the mud on the hem of her dress.
“It’s quite all right. I assure you I’m awake on all suits.”
“Good.” She took her seat on the chair again. “Do you have a few moments to answer our questions?”
Adrian noted his smile faltered slightly, but Linden said, “For you, madam, I have all day.” He looked about, appearing a bit at a loss. “Shall I have my manservant fetch us tea?”
“No,” Adrian said quickly. He had a pretty good idea why Jarvis was keeping his distance. He took the armchair next to Sophia and gestured for Linden to take the sofa across from them. He had intended to allow Sophia to handle the interrogation. After all, it was she who wanted to speak with this idiot. But he couldn’t stand to watch the man flirt with her. “What do you know about George Jenkinson’s murder?” he began.
Sophia frowned at him.
Linden, however, sighed. Dramatically. “That’s a fine kettle of fish. Put me in a tight corner, if I do say so myself.”
“Because of your relationship with Mrs. Jenkinson?” Sophia asked.
Linden blinked innocently. “A gentleman never kisses and tells, my lady.”
Sophia smiled, and Adrian leaned forward. “The lady in question has already told us everything we need to know. Where were you the night Jenkinson was murdered?”
“What concern is it of yours?” Linden feigned offense, but Adrian wasn’t fooled. The man enjoyed the attention, even this early morning call. It relieved his ennui, affected or otherwise.
“Lord Liverpool asked us to look into the matter.”
Linden’s eyes went wide. “Liverpool, eh? Why you two—”
“Linden,” Adrian snapped. “Answer the bloody question.”
Linden opened his mouth then closed it again. Adrian clenched his jaw in frustration, while Sophia said patiently, “The night of the Jenkinson murder?”
“Oh.” Linden straightened, touched the spot where his cravat should have been, and frowned. “If you’ve spoken with Mrs. Jenkinson, I think you know the answer to that question.”
“Answer it anyway,” Adrian ordered.
Linden glanced at Sophia. “I don’t like to speak of such things in the presence of a lady.”
“I assure you it’s nothing I haven’t heard before,” Sophia said. She withdrew her dagger from her boot, making Linden’s eyes go wide. She twirled it expertly with one hand. “I’m not the delicate sort.”
“I can see that. Bang-up prime trick, my lady. Can you show me—?”
“No, she can’t,” Adrian interrupted. “Just answer the question.”
“You always were the impatient sort, Smythe,” Linden said. “I remember you at school, rushing here and there. No time for the pleasures of life.”
“If by pleasures you mean seducing servant girls and getting foxed on gin, you’re exactly right. No time.”
Linden looked at Sophia with undisguised sympathy. “Yes, I was with Mrs. Jenkinson the night of her husband’s murder. We were here all night.” He leaned closer. “In bed.”
“How did you hear of the murder?” Sophia asked matter-of-factly, not giving Linden the appalled reaction he’d been expecting.
Linden tapped a finger on his cheek. “Mrs. Jenkinson came to see me the next day. She was understandably distraught. I tried to offer her some comfort.”
“I’m sure you did,” Adrian drawled. “How do you feel about the child the widow is carrying?”
Linden’s eyebrows shot up. “She was pleased; so I was pleased.”
“You knew it was your child,” Sophia said. Adrian glanced at her. She had taken his exact words.
“She said it was. I had no reason to doubt her.”
“And yet, the child would carry the Jenkinson name,” Adrian added.
“Of course. Jenkinson was no nodcock. He knew the child wasn’t his, but that didn’t mean he wanted to admit it was another man’s by-blow. I’ve known men born on the wrong side of the blanket. It’s a difficult life, not one I’d want for my own child.”
“But now your child will grow up without a father,” Sophia pointed out. “Do you intend to marry Millie?”
Linden’s eyes widened. “Jump into the parson’s mousetrap? Willingly? Madam, I’m no pudding-heart, but I see no reason to go to extremes.”
Adrian looked at Sophia. “Translation?”
She pressed her lips together, hiding a smile. “He’s not going to marry her.” She looked at Linden. “She’s in love with you, you know.”
He smiled. “Of course she is.” He grinned, and before he even spoke, Adrian wanted to punch him. “I could make you fall in love with me as well.”
Sophia raised her brows and twirled the dagger again. “Do you really think so?”
“A dangerous woman. I—”
“Linden,” Adrian cut in. “If you’re done wooing my wife, I have a few more questions.”
Linden sighed heavily. “I don’t know anything about the murder. I don’t care about it except that it upset Millie. Jenkinson was in queer territory. Perhaps his creditors grew tired of waiting for their brass.”
“And who were his debtors?” Sophia said, again taking the words from his mouth. They were working surprisingly well together today, unlike their interview with Hardwicke.
“Well, he was a knight of the elbow.” Linden leaned back, yawned. Adrian could see the novelty of the interview was wearing off.
“Where did he gamble?”
“At our club. Your club too, if I recall. Skilled ivory turner. Still, he lost more than he won.”
Adrian sighed. Practically every gentleman of the ton was in the same situation. It didn’t usually result in the man’s murder. It would be easy enough to find out who Jenkinson owed. Adrian was rising when Sophia cleared her throat.
“Did you often see George Jenkinson at your club?”
“On occasion. Under the circumstances, we weren’t exactly chums. But we’d nod at one another politely.”
“When was the last time you saw him at your club? Who was he with?” Sophia probed. Adrian glanced at Linden and saw something flicker in the man’s eyes.
He pounced. “What is it?”
Linden looked at him, his eyes unfocused. “Pardon?”
“You thought of something. What was it?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing…”
“We’ll decide that, Mr. Linden,” Sophia said.
“What exactly is your association with Lord Liverpool?” Linden crossed his arms. “Does he know you’re here?”
“He’s a friend,” Sophia said. “What did you think of?”
“Millie—Mrs. Jenkinson—and I arranged our rendezvous when we met at soirees and the like, but occasionally one of us would send the other a letter. It was difficult for her to come here, so when Jenkinson was away, she’d send me a note to come to her.” He looked a little abashed, revealing this, and Adrian understood why. If he ever found another man with Sophia, under his own roof, he’d skin the man alive. Linden disgusted him.
“Was there something in one of the notes she sent?” Sophia asked, appearing unperturbed.
“Over time, she sent several notes, saying Jenkinson was at his club. I’d instructed Jarvis to bring any correspondence from Mrs. Jenkinson to me right away, so on occasion I received these notes at my club. Not once was Jenkinson there, nor did he appear.”
“Perhaps he arrived after your departure.”
Linden shook his head. “I’m no henpecked gaby. I
f I’m flush in the pocket, I don’t leave the table, no matter what wench is waiting to toss up her skirts.”
“How very romantic,” Sophia drawled.
“I might make an exception for you.”
Adrian stood.
“Don’t plant me a facer!” Linden held up his hands. “You have no sense of humor, Smythe.”
“The point is,” Sophia interrupted, standing and shaking out her skirts, “Jenkinson told his wife he was going to his club and did not.”
“Exactly.” Linden had risen when she did. She held out her hand, and he took it, bowed.
“Thank you for answering our questions, especially at this early hour.”
Linden looked like he wanted to say something flirtatious but closed his mouth when Adrian stepped toward his wife.
“And? Have I solved the mystery? Do you know who killed Jenkinson?”
Sophia only smiled and angled for the door. “Good day, Mr. Linden.”
Adrian followed her, and Linden followed him. “Perhaps I’ll see you at Lord Dewhurst’s ball,” Linden said.
Adrian opened the door for Sophia, and she glided through.
“Save me a da—”
He slammed the door on Linden’s words.
“You’re right. This was a waste of time,” she said, adjusting her cap as they stood on the other side of the yellow door. “I’m sorry I—”
Adrian grabbed her, pushed her back against that garish yellow door, and claimed her mouth in a fierce, possessive kiss.
***
Sophia’s breath whooshed out, and the heat from Adrian’s body and persuasive mouth whooshed in. Her legs went suddenly weak, and she had to grab onto him to keep from sliding into a puddle over Linden’s boot scraper.
It would have been embarrassing if she’d had time to think before Adrian’s hand caught her around the waist and pulled her against his hard erection. His lips grazed her ear, and she clutched him tighter.
“I want you.”
“Here?” she managed. The idea excited her, and in the state she was in, she might even go along with it.
“No. Let’s take a cab home. I don’t want to wait.”
He pulled her off the stoop and along King Street, searching for a hansom cab. She had a moment to collect her thoughts. “Shouldn’t we see Melbourne? We need to tell him about the…” She gestured to the side street where, presumably, the dead assailant still lay.
“I’ll take care of it later.” He flagged a cab, and the jarvey called, “Whoa!” Adrian pulled her toward the conveyance, helping her into it then settling beside her. He gave the jarvey the direction then closed the curtains and kissed her again. This time his hand brushed her calf and traveled seductively up her thigh.
“Shouldn’t we discuss the interview?” she said, voice breathless.
“Later.” He bit her neck, and she had to fight not to arch it for him.
“It’s better to discuss it while it’s still fresh.”
He pulled back, looked at her with narrowed eyes. “You’d rather work than endure my caresses?”
“Endure? Your caresses are hardly something I have to endure. I just thought—”
He pulled away, sat straight on the threadbare squabs. “Perhaps you’d prefer Linden.”
Sophia shook her head. Was that was all of this was about? He was jealous of Randall Linden? “I’m not interested in Linden. He’s amusing, I grant you, but—”
“Oh, and you like amusing men. I’m not amusing.”
“Ah.” She licked her lips. “You’re Agent Wolf. I don’t expect you to be amusing.”
He glanced at her.
“I don’t want you to be amusing. I do think we should discuss the interview and call on Lord Melbourne—”
“I told you I would take care of it.”
Now she frowned and gave him a narrow look. “Why don’t you want me involved? Is there something I’m missing?”
He gave her an annoyed glance, and she felt her own annoyance break through the last haze of arousal. “Linden’s comment. He said Jenkinson lied about going to his club. You think there’s more to that?”
“Yes, but—”
“He has—had—a lover? He was meeting with the killer?” Dread was welling inside her. If Adrian knew something she didn’t, if he solved this murder, she would lose that position in the Barbican group. For a few hours, she’d almost forgotten they were adversaries, almost began to trust him.
Her mistake.
“I don’t know,” he was saying.
“Don’t know or don’t want to tell me?”
He moved across from her and parted the curtains slightly, probably to see her better. “Why are you so suspicious? Why don’t you trust me?”
How dare he put this back on her! “Why should I trust you?” she countered. “You’ve done nothing but attempt to use my affections to gain the upper hand and win the Barbican position back.”
The dark look on his face told her she’d gone too far. Well, so be it. She wasn’t afraid of him—Adrian Galloway or Agent Wolf.
“Is that what you think is going on? I made love to you only so I could lure you into complacency and then betray you later?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” she shot back without thinking. But that was unfair. Damn it!
“What does that mean?” Adrian all but yelled it. “I’ve never betrayed you. I thought I made it clear last night, I never will.”
She clamped her mouth shut, annoyed at herself. She should never speak when she was angry. She said things impulsively, revealed secrets.
“Bloody hell, Sophia. When are you going to let me in? When are you going to trust me?”
“I don’t know!” she yelled back. “Maybe never. I want to trust you. I want to let you in, but then I think about Henry and—”
Adrian held his hands out. “Henry? Your brother? What the hell does he have to do with this? With us?”
Sophia swallowed. “Henry didn’t die in a carriage accident.”
Adrian fell back against the squabs so hard they creaked in protest. “Good God. Here we go again. Is anything about you what I thought?”
“I couldn’t tell you before I knew you were Agent Wolf.”
“So you lied to me.”
She gave him a searing look. “As though you never lied to me? How was I supposed to tell you Henry was an agent for the Crown?”
Adrian sat forward and attempted to look patient. He didn’t succeed, but the way he clasped his hands and set his mouth told her he was at least trying. “Is there anyone in your family not a spy?”
“My mother isn’t.”
“Now that we have that out of the way, tell me what happened to Henry, and pray try to explain what his death, which apparently was not by carriage accident, has to do with us.”
“Henry was betrayed by a double agent, a woman he considered a friend, a woman he had asked to be his wife.”
“Wait a moment.” Adrian held up his hands. “Are you telling me your brother was engaged to a female agent? I assumed you were the only one.”
She glowered at him. “Why? Haven’t I proven I’m every bit as good an agent as you are?”
“Yes, but—”
“Don’t say it, Adrian. You’ll only vex me further. In any case, as far as I know”—she have him a pointed look—“and obviously I don’t know as much as I thought, I am the only female operative. Rosemary and Henry were engaged when I was but ten. I don’t know how she became an agent for the Crown. I only know she and Henry began working together. She probably arranged that in some way. He fell in love with her, and she used his higher status to steal secrets.”
“What kind of secrets?” A dark look crossed Adrian’s face.
“The names of spies—code names, real names, personal information. Men died because their identities were compromised. Others had their wives or children threatened or taken hostage. Henry didn’t want to believe Rosemary was behind what was happening, but finally my father forced him t
o look at the truth. Henry confronted her, and she killed him.”
“How?”
“Poison. He died in agony, and she fled back to France. We later learned she had been working for the French government all along. Her code name was Épine Rouge.”
“Red Thorn. I’ve heard of her.”
The cab slowed, and the jarvey jumped down and opened the carriage door. “’Ere you are, gov.”
Adrian assisted Sophia, and she walked straight into the town house. The fight with the assailant, Linden’s interviews, and her memories of Henry had made her weary. She simply wanted to lie down and rest. In her room, she dismissed her maid, took off her hat and gloves, then sat to remove her boots. When she looked up, Adrian stood in the doorway.
The midday sun beaming through her open curtains flashed on his polished Wellington boots. He stepped forward. “Now tell me what Henry has to do with us. You can’t possibly believe I’m a double agent.”
She looked away from him, removed one boot, and started on the next. “I don’t trust anyone, don’t believe anyone, and it’s saved my life many times.” She removed the second boot, and when she looked up again, Adrian was before her. He pulled her up and into his arms.
“It’s a good philosophy, one I subscribe to as well. But you don’t need it with me, Sophia. I won’t betray you.”
She shook her head. “How can I believe that? We both want this position in the Barbican group. You have more reason than most to betray me.”
“I don’t need to resort to deception to win this position, not any more than you do. We’re working together, and Liverpool will choose the best man… or woman.”
She let out a small laugh. The fact that he acknowledged a woman could attain the position was progress.
“But let’s talk about the real issue.”
Sophia raised her brows, feeling prickles along the back of her neck. Whatever he was going to say, she knew she didn’t want to hear it. She tried to step away, but he held her shoulders, kept her close enough to feel his heat, smell the clean scent of his soap.
“The real issue is you’re afraid.”
Sophia huffed. “Afraid? Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve taken more risks—”
