Lord and Lady Spy

by Shana Galen

  “Share your suspicions now, Lord Smythe,” Liverpool said.

  “Yes, Lord Smythe, do share.” She gifted him with a bitter smile.

  “I don’t have anything tangible. As I said, I haven’t had time to research anything.” He gave her a look as though to indicate she should know this well. “But when Callows described the body, it triggered a memory of something I’d heard before.”

  “Which is?” Liverpool demanded.

  Adrian crossed his arms, and Sophia knew the wall had gone up. She sighed.

  “I’d rather not say until I have more concrete information. But to return to my original inquiry, my lord—did your brother have any ties to the French?”

  Liverpool gave him a cool look. “No. He did not, and I am trying very hard not to take offense at the mere suggestion.”

  “Thank you, my lord. If I might ask another, potentially offensive question…?”

  “You’re a brave bastard, aren’t you?”

  Adrian raised a brow. “That’s why I’m called Agent Wolf.”

  Liverpool looked at Sophia. “Why are you called Saint?”

  “Because my work is perfect.” But she didn’t think Adrian was called Wolf for his bravery. He was called Wolf because he was a hunter, a predator. Once he had his prey’s scent, he never relented. She wondered if his prey ever just capitulated in the end, tired of fighting him, knowing failure was inevitable. Wasn’t that how she felt in the carriage earlier tonight with his hands and mouth driving her mad? She would yield to him. He’d made sure she had little choice.

  “And yet, you haven’t uncovered my brother’s murderer,” Liverpool noted.

  “Yet,” she said. “And I think the indelicate question Agent Wolf wants to ask is about your brother’s financial records.”

  Adrian nodded.

  “What of them?” Liverpool frowned, showing no sign of guilt. “I sent you all I had.”

  “They’re incomplete,” Adrian said.

  “That can’t be. Millie and I went through George’s desk together. She gave me all there were.”

  “Did she?” Adrian gave Sophia a look she was beginning to know well. She had a feeling they would be calling on Millie Jenkinson again.

  “Yes, she did.” Liverpool clasped his hands behind his back and paced. “I must say this report is entirely unsatisfactory. I expected you to have some answers. I was told you were two of the best. But if you can’t solve this crime—”

  “We can and will solve it,” Sophia said. “We need more time.”

  “Time we’re wasting running about London attending frivolous balls.”

  Liverpool stopped in midstride and turned slowly. Sophia took in a slow breath, knowing Adrian had pushed too far.

  “Is meeting with me an inconvenience to you, Lord Smythe?”

  “Honestly, sir, yes. It is.”

  Sophia closed her eyes. Even though she agreed with Adrian, she hadn’t been prepared to say so. But she couldn’t exactly leave her husband hanging from the noose he’d hung, no matter how tempting. “My lord, meeting with you is never an inconvenience, but we might serve you better if we used our time to work on the case.”

  Liverpool raised his brows at her now. “I see. So I should come to you next time.”

  “That would be—”

  Sophia dug her nails into Adrian’s arm, silencing him. In the quiet, she heard Dewhurst’s clock ticking on the mantel, and Lord Liverpool’s angry breathing. “I’m afraid I’m going to inconvenience you once again, my lord.”

  Adrian nodded, obviously a man accustomed to taking orders, although he liked it little more than she. “How so?”

  “I’m going to ask you to dance with your wife.”

  “What?” Sophia sputtered. She released Adrian’s arm. She hadn’t danced in years.

  “You’ve made an appearance here. Together. And that’s something you haven’t done in some time. If you leave without being seen enjoying the ball, there will be speculation, and I think we can all agree that the last thing you two need right now is more attention. I heard something about a runaway carriage this afternoon?”

  Sophia looked away, and Adrian cleared his throat.

  “I think a dance would be the easiest way to satisfy everyone’s curiosity. I assume you don’t object. You looked rather friendly when you entered.”

  And she’d felt friendlier when they entered, before she’d realized Adrian withheld information from her. But if she had to dance with him, so be it.

  “Fine,” Adrian said, sounding as enthusiastic as she felt. “Anything else, my lord?”

  Liverpool stood before Dewhurst’s desk, one hand on the polished surface. “Find my brother’s killer,” he said, stabbing his finger at the desk for emphasis. “And do so before I decide you’re both worthless and exile you to Wales or some other miserable locale.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Sophia said before Adrian could speak. If the tightness in Adrian’s jaw was any indication, she didn’t want Liverpool to hear it.

  “The first one who comes to me with information about the killer will be given the place in the Barbican group,” Liverpool said. He adjusted his coat and strode toward the door, opening it and pausing. “Right now, I doubt either of you deserve it.”

  The door closed with a thud behind him, and Sophia sighed. “That went well.”

  “Sophia.” Adrian reached for her, but she moved.

  “Don’t.” She didn’t want his apologies.

  “I don’t know anything you don’t. I have some suspicions I want to look into. I want us to look into. I told you that earlier.”

  She shook her head. “Why are we still trying to work together? You heard him.” She gestured to the door. “Only one of us can take the position. Perhaps it’s time we went back to acting alone.”

  “No.” It was a command, and she bristled at the tone.

  “You can’t order me to cooperate with you. It doesn’t work that way.”

  “Then how does it work? I thought things were going well.”

  She wasn’t certain if he meant with the investigation or with their marriage. “They were.”

  “Then why are you stepping back?” He stepped closer, and damn it if she didn’t have to resist the urge to retreat. “What are you afraid of?”

  “Nothing.” But that was a lie.

  “I don’t believe you. How many times do I have to prove I’m not going to betray you?” He brushed her cheek with one finger, and she curled her toes to keep from shivering.

  How many times did he have to prove it? “Perhaps I’m afraid of losing that position in the Barbican group.” And that was a lie as well. She was afraid of losing him to the Barbican group.

  “If you do, it will be lost fairly. That I swear.” He brushed his thumb over her lips. “Dance with me.”

  She gave him a curt nod. “Fine. Let’s go.”

  He grasped her elbow and drew her back. “No, dance with me, Sophia. Stop doubting me. Stop questioning.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Shh.” He put a finger on her lips. “I want to dance with you, Sophia. I want no suspicions between us.”

  She stared at him, lost in his gray eyes, wanting to kiss him and afraid of where that would lead. If she crossed the point of no return, what would she do if she lost him? The clock on the mantel chimed half-past eleven, and she blinked. “I suppose we had better dance, then.” She started for the door, glad for a momentary respite from his closeness. “But I must warn you, Dewhurst favors the waltz.”

  “That doesn’t scare me,” he said from behind her, his breath tickling her ear.

  It didn’t scare her, either. Much.

  ***

  Sophia allowed Adrian to shoulder his way through the crush of silk and diamonds until they reached the ballroom. It was stunningly arrayed, which, knowing Dewhurst’s impeccable taste, was no surprise. On one side, an orchestra played on a raised dais. On the other side of the long room, a table of refreshments bowed beneath the overfl
owing bounty. Even without perusing the table’s contents, she knew every delicacy in England and half the Continent would be offered. Flowers, from the simple lily to the rarest orchid, graced Ming and Sèvres vases. The chandeliers sparkled, the champagne glasses tinkled, and a light breeze blew in from the French doors opening on the exquisitely manicured lawns. On the windows, gauzy curtains blew about like dancing specters. Their heavier blue-velvet counterparts, seeming chaperones, stood formal and dignified beside them.

  The flowers, the lights, the enchanting music wafting over her made Sophia smile. She was glad her work for the evening was done—for the moment, anyway. She rarely if ever attended any social function for pleasure. Now, she was allowed a few moments’ pleasure, and this ball was the perfect venue.

  Adrian found them a spot next to the dance floor, and she watched the couples glide by, executing the steps flawlessly and gracefully. Dukes and duchesses, knights and their ladies, even a foreign prince and his princess danced under the glittering chandelier crystals. They were dancing a quadrille, four couples in a square formation, and Sophia hoped the next dance would be another quadrille or a contredanse. She had no hope Dewhurst would allow a minuet. It was far too staid and old-fashioned for his taste, and if he had allowed it, it would have opened the ball.

  She glanced at Adrian, wondering what he made of the ballroom. She expected to see him frowning, but he looked about with interest. Perhaps he didn’t detest these social affairs as much as he claimed. He hadn’t caught her watching him, so she didn’t look away. She studied the hard set of his square jaw. It was a strong jaw, but now she noted it had a small, jagged scar near the chin. She’d never seen it before.

  Knowing they were being watched and feeling as though she should give the ton at least something to talk about over breakfast, she reached up and traced the scar with her gloved hand. Adrian didn’t react overtly, but she felt his body stiffen. “Let me guess,” she said, loudly enough for his ears but not with enough volume to carry any farther. “Knife fight?”

  He glanced at her, his eyes warm. “Nothing so interesting, I’m afraid.”

  “Broken bottle in a tavern brawl?”

  The music was slowing and the dance ending. She took a deep breath, preparing for their dance together. When was the last time they’d danced together? She was certain it was before their wedding.

  Adrian took her hand and led her onto the dance floor. She noticed several couples moved out of their way, and several others rushed to join them. She heard the first strains of the waltz and almost groaned. Of course.

  Adrian turned her to face him, took her in his arms, and said, “Not a tavern brawl. A kitten.”

  She shook her head. She’d lost the trail of the conversation somewhere. “What did you say?”

  “The scar. A kitten scratched me.” He turned her, expertly, and swept her across the floor. Sophia’s head was reeling from the dance.

  “How did a kitten scratch you?”

  “Oh, it was the proverbial cat caught in a tree. I climbed up and fetched it for a little girl.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

  “It makes a better story than a shaving mishap.”

  He turned her again, and Sophia was glad she hadn’t partaken of the champagne. Her head was swimming. It was a heady enough feeling, being in Adrian’s arms, but having him hold her closely and twirl her about the dance floor took her breath away.

  She’d never danced a waltz before. Oh, she’d learned it because, as Agent Saint, she never knew when such knowledge would be required. But when she and Adrian had been engaged, the waltz was not acceptable. It was barely acceptable now. Indeed, most of the girls making their first come-outs were not dancing. Sophia recalled Adrian and she had only ever danced together a handful of times. She thought if they ever had danced the waltz, she probably would have fallen in love with him right then.

  She was in love with him now.

  The knowledge did not surprise her, but her admission of her feelings was not exactly welcome. She didn’t want to love Adrian. Loving him made everything so much more complicated.

  And their relationship was complicated enough.

  She was Agent Saint, and he was Agent Wolf, but she was also Sophia and he, Adrian. Where did one identity stop and the other begin? When she’d worked for the Barbican group, she was almost always Agent Saint. Even between missions, she held on to the one part of herself she could be certain of. Now all of that was changing. She felt more like Sophia Galloway and less like Agent Saint. How could she go back to life as a spy? How could she ever reconcile the two parts of herself?

  And yet, how could she not go back? If she lost the position to Adrian, she feared she would wither away and die of loneliness and boredom. She would grow to resent him as well—Agent Wolf, who left her for weeks, embarking on untold adventures.

  And wouldn’t he feel the same if she were to win the Barbican position?

  But one of them had to win, and the other would lose.

  He turned her again, and when she gasped, he smiled at her. He didn’t smile much, and she felt herself melt with pleasure at his genuine happiness. What was she doing, analyzing and thinking so much she forgot to enjoy the moment? That was Adrian’s style, not hers.

  Yes, she loved him. She loved Adrian Galloway and Agent Wolf and Lord Smythe. She loved every part of him, every facet. She loved her husband. She should love her husband. There was nothing wrong in that.

  She saw her vulnerability and quickly popped the bubble of fear accompanying it. When was she just going to give in to this attraction, this love, and stop trying to shield herself? She took a deep breath. Everything in her—her instincts—told her now was the time. Adrian was right. She needed to stop questioning everything, take Adrian at his word, close her eyes, and just dance. No more thinking. No more second-guessing. She would let the music, let their new life carry her where it would.

  Adrian leaned down and whispered in her ear, “You look beautiful. Have I told you that tonight?”

  “No, but you certainly showed me your approval in the carriage.”

  He touched the rubies at her ear, the brush of his fingertips making her shiver. “But I haven’t given you the words. You’re beautiful, Sophia. The most beautiful woman in the room.”

  “Thank—”

  He put a finger over her lips and lingered just long enough for heat to infuse her belly. “I’m not finished. You’re not only beautiful, you’re intelligent, daring, bewitching…” His fingers traced the rubies at her neck. Rubies he’d once given her but she’d never worn. His gaze met hers. “You’re the best operative I’ve ever worked with, will ever work with. I’m not saying that because you’re my wife. I’m saying it because it’s the truth.”

  She blinked at him. This was her fantasy—Agent Wolf telling her she was beautiful, that she was a skilled operative. Only this was ten times better, because in her fantasy, Agent Wolf would clearly want her, but she’d have to refuse him because she was married. Tonight, she didn’t have to refuse Agent Wolf at all. She could have him. She could do every delicious thing she’d dreamed about doing with him and not feel one ounce of guilt, because Agent Wolf was her Adrian.

  She became aware of Adrian’s hand on her back, dipping toward her waist. She felt the heavy, solid pressure of it, the way he used it to effortlessly guide her. She felt his other hand, cool and strong, holding hers, and she couldn’t help but glance at their joined hands.

  Adrian followed her gaze, and she smelled his scent. She would have recognized it anywhere, but now she took a moment to decipher it—leather and boot polish, she thought. He smelled masculine, just as Agent Wolf should.

  And he looked so handsome tonight with his stylish cravat and his carefully tousled hair. She wanted to loosen that cravat, run her fingers through that hair, and so much more.

  As though sensing her thoughts, Adrian pulled her closer, so her breasts grazed his chest. Her nipples were instantly hard, pus
hing achingly against the fabric dividing her skin from his.

  “What are you thinking?” he murmured.

  “We’re dancing far too close for propriety,” she said, studying his eyes. The gray looked almost blue tonight.

  “Liverpool said to give the ton something to talk about.”

  “We’re doing that.”

  He swept her around again. “What are you really thinking?”

  She thought for a moment then decided, why not tell him? “This is my favorite fantasy.”

  He furrowed his brows. “Dancing with me at Dewhurst’s ball? I’m sure we could have accomplished that long before.”

  “No. I used to fantasize about Agent Wolf.”

  His eyebrows shot up in a cocky expression. “Oh?”

  She shook her head. She might come to regret this. “I’d heard so much about him, and I admired him. I dreamed about meeting him one day.”

  “And what would he say to you?”

  “He’d say he’d heard of me, and I was the best agent he knew of. Of course, I’d tell him he was better, and then he’d tell me I was beautiful…”

  “I don’t think I like where this is going.” He turned her, this time a bit more roughly.

  “It wouldn’t have gone anywhere. I would have walked away because I was married and loyal to my husband. But tonight I don’t have to walk away. I can go home with Agent Wolf.” She tightened her grip on his hand. “I can go to bed with Agent Wolf. I want to. I want to go to bed with my husband. I want you to make love to me, Adrian.”

  He didn’t speak for a long time. His steps never faltered, and his gaze never left hers as they glided across the ballroom. Sophia was aware of others watching them. She was aware of a blur of faces and a hum of voices, but only Adrian was in focus for her. Only Adrian mattered.