Lord and Lady Spy

by Shana Galen

  “Perhaps it’s better if you don’t,” Sophia agreed. “Lord Smythe, if I’m not mistaken, we have another appointment.”

  He rose, tipped his hat.

  They stepped into the corridor, and Sophia raised her eyebrows at the pink lump on the floor. “What did you do to him?”

  “He bumped his head with his walking stick.”

  “Of course. Happens all the time.” As they passed Linden, she tried to bend to check on him, but Adrian grabbed her arm and ushered her forward. Just as well, she thought. It was almost eight, and Mr. Twombley was scheduled to escape at half past.

  ***

  Adrian hated waiting. He’d conducted his share of surveillance—done his apprenticeship, as he liked to think of it. When he’d been Agent Wolf, lesser operatives conducted surveillance for him. Now, he was right back where he started. He glanced at Sophia.

  Maybe not right back.

  Sophia, still wearing her white muslin morning dress, crouched beside him in what amounted to a heap of rotting vegetables. The cart had been strategically placed outside the back alley of the Barbican group’s offices to give Adrian and Sophia a view of the exit when Twombley made his daring escape.

  “Do you think he’ll realize what we’re doing?” she asked, pushing a cabbage aside to better her view.

  “Blue promised he’d put up a good struggle.”

  Sophia sighed into a tower of parsnips. “I hope he goes directly to this Foncé. I don’t relish following Twombley about for days on end.”

  Neither did Adrian, but if Twombley was smart—and he was—he’d take a circuitous route to the Maîtriser group’s headquarters. But eventually he’d lead them to Foncé, and Adrian couldn’t wait to get his hands on the man. What he’d done to Jenkinson was bad enough. No man should have to die that way. Jenkinson deserved justice. But this Foncé had also killed British operatives—men who risked their lives for the Crown. For that, Adrian wanted vengeance.

  Sophia grabbed his arm and hissed, “Did you hear that?”

  “There’s no need to whisp—”

  “Shh! There it is again.”

  Adrian heard it this time. A thump and the sound of something breaking. Blue might have been making this look too good. For a moment, Adrian wondered if he should go to the operative’s assistance, then the door of the building across from their cart burst open and Twombley appeared. He’d lost his hat, and his clothes were in disarray. Hair standing on end, he looked wildly about.

  As one, Adrian and Sophia ducked. Their gazes met among the rotting potatoes, and Adrian slowly raised his head to peer over the produce. Twombley was running at a good clip, hugging the sides of the alley. He peered over his shoulder several times and then ran full out.

  “Let’s go.”

  Sophia was already jumping off the cart and starting after Twombley. Adrian joined her, moving quickly but unhurriedly. There was no need to risk Twombley seeing them. Operatives had been stationed along all the likely escape routes and would direct Wolf and Saint toward their man, allowing them to keep their distance lest Twombley recognize them. Once Twombley thought he was safely away, Adrian and Sophia could move in.

  As expected, Twombley headed toward the most populated area of London nearby—Piccadilly and Bond. The first operative, a man in the garb of a candle seller, pointed them toward an arcade swarming with early shoppers. Adrian took Sophia’s hand in his and, weaving through the clusters of people, followed the trail. They received several curious glances, as their clothing still had pieces of rotten produce hanging on it, but Sophia kept her head high, and Adrian thought she could make even rotten potatoes seem like the latest fashion.

  “Smart of him to attempt to lose himself among the crowds,” she said, stepping hastily aside as a small boy chasing a ball almost ran her down.

  “He’ll tire of running soon enough.” Adrian spotted Twombley at the far side of the arcade, walking quickly and with his head down, and pulled Sophia beside a stall offering shawls and other wraps. While Adrian pretended to admire the shawls and chatted with the vendor, his body blocking Sophia’s from view, she peered around him and kept watch on Twombley. It took effort for Adrian to keep his attention on the vendor, to smile and converse, to pretend he had nothing else to do. Every instinct in him urged him to turn his head, to scan the area for Twombley. His brain screamed warnings. If they lost Twombley now, they’d lose everything.

  Adrian looked at Sophia. He had never trusted another operative with so much when everything was at stake. Adrian liked to be the one who made all the decisions. Now he relied on Sophia to keep Twombley in sight. He waited for her to give the signal to move ahead.

  And then just when he was certain she had lost track of him—why else in bloody hell was she waiting so long?—she took his hand and yanked. “He’s leaving. Let’s go.”

  Abruptly, Adrian turned away from the vendor, leaving her squawking in indignation, and locked his sights on Twombley. Sophia’s timing had been perfect. Twombley was on his way out of the arcade, and he was walking at a much more relaxed, leisurely pace.

  Adrian and Sophia emerged on the other side of the arcade and looked right then left. A groom brushing a horse pointed north. “’E’s ’eaded that way. Stepped out and changed ’is coat. Wearin’ a blue coat now instead o’ the black.”

  “Much obliged,” Adrian said and sprinted north toward Regent Street.

  “Do you think he was one of ours?” Sophia ran beside Adrian, surprising him by keeping up even in a gown and slippers.

  “Yes, and I think that’s the last. We’re on our own. There he is.” He veered left and yanked Sophia with him, into the doorway of an abandoned shop. “Let’s keep our distance.”

  “Good idea.” She bent and caught her breath. “I forget how much I hate this kind of work. Sneaking about, hiding in alcoves.” She gestured to the doorway. “Give me a good fight any day.”

  Adrian grinned then leaned down and kissed her soundly. She frowned at him and raised her brows. “What was that for?”

  “Because I couldn’t agree with you more.”

  “Oh, well… good.”

  He’d flustered her, which made him smile again.

  “But now I’ve lost track of Twombley.”

  “I haven’t,” Adrian said. He watched Twombley circle back after passing a tavern, and with a last quick look over his shoulder, open the door and disappear inside. He pointed to the tavern. “He’s in there.”

  Sophia sighed. “He could be in there for hours, eating breakfast and drinking tea.”

  “Or he might be looking for a way to sneak out the back.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.” She pursed her lips. “We split up. I cover the back, and you stay here?”

  “It means one of us follows him to what is most likely the Maîtriser group’s headquarters.” And, though he didn’t say it, it meant that person would probably receive credit for solving the murder. And perhaps it was best to allow Fate to decide which of them would win back the position in the Barbican group.

  Sophia nodded. A quick glance at her dark eyes, and Adrian knew she’d come to the same conclusion as he.

  “The Maîtriser group is dangerous,” Sophia said slowly. “Perhaps neither of us should attempt to confront them without assistance.”

  Adrian cocked his head as though considering. “Good point.” It was a good point, but the truth of the matter was neither of them was the least bit concerned about the Maîtriser group. He knew she thought she could take them down by herself, just as he did. He didn’t want her in there alone, but he trusted her abilities like he trusted his own. And now he would have to trust her again—they would have to trust one another. “In that case, whoever follows Twombley meets the other back home. We can ask Melbourne to send some of his operatives with us and return tonight under cover of darkness.”

  “Agreed. See you tonight.” She stepped away, already heading for the tavern’s rear exit, then paused and ducked into the doorway again. S
he touched a gloved finger to his cheek and smiled at him. “It’s nice to have a partner, isn’t it?”

  He studied her. The skepticism and distrust of him were still there. She didn’t know if he would keep his word any more than he could be sure she would. But in her gaze he saw something that hadn’t been there before—hope.

  Adrian bent and kissed her, this time tender and filled with promise. “I’ll see you at home.”

  With a quick bob of her head, she was away again. “Be careful!” she called over her shoulder, but it was too late for that. He jammed a shoulder against the casement and stared at the tavern. It was far too late for caution. He was in love with her now.

  Ridiculously unfashionable to be in love with one’s wife, but Adrian had never cared for fashion. And truth be told, he thought he’d been in love with her for years now. If he hadn’t loved her, it would have been so much easier to go to her, to try to make amends earlier in their marriage.

  But he’d feared making a mistake and losing whatever he had left of her. That in itself had been the mistake. To think of all the days, the months, the years they wasted apart, when they could have been in one another’s arms.

  The shadows began to fade as the sun rose higher in the sky, and still Twombley did not make an appearance. When afternoon fell and Adrian’s mood with it—he was hungry, thirsty, and tired—he decided a bit of reconnaissance was needed. He grabbed a boy selling charcoal, his cry of “Charcoal! Get yer charcoal!” grating on Adrian’s nerves, gave the boy Twombley’s description, and offered him a pound to go into the tavern and look for the man. He wouldn’t have offered so much, but he didn’t have anything less.

  The boy, a lad of no more than twelve, gaped at him. “An ’ole quid, sar? Just fer lookin’ for a man?” He had a grimy face—some of it soot from the charcoal he was so intent to sell—and a wiry body. He looked like he could use a good meal.

  “That’s right.” Adrian drew out the pound note and waved it. “I’ll be here, and be quick about it.”

  “Yes, sar!”

  The lad was quick. Five minutes later he returned with a full report. “No man like you described be in there, sar.” Holding up his fingers, he ticked off the tavern’s occupants, none of which remotely resembled Twombley.

  Adrian held the pound note out, and the boy’s hand snatched at it, but Adrian didn’t release it. “Does the tavern rent rooms?”

  The boy shook his head. “No, sar. Least I don’t think so.”

  Adrian released the note, and it disappeared into the boy’s coat faster than a slithering snake. “On your way, then.”

  When the boy was gone, Adrian sauntered across the road, skirted the tavern, and went around back. He hadn’t expected to see her, but the barren yard behind the tavern made him sigh nevertheless. Crates and broken bottles, rotting vegetables and a few stray cats littered the yard, but Sophia was not there. Nor was there any sign she ever had been.

  Shoving his hands in his pockets, Adrian started for home.

  Twenty-one

  Sophia stepped quietly into the library and closed the door behind her. Adrian was facing away, his boots propped on the bookshelf behind his large desk. The desk was clear. She knew he worked all the time, but he never left files or books or papers lying about. She admired that quality in him, as it was something with which she struggled.

  “You can leave the tray on the table,” he said absently, not turning to look at her.

  “I’m not the housekeeper,” she said, “and I don’t think there’s time for tea.”

  He didn’t turn to look at her, but somehow she knew he was smiling. “I find I’m not as thirsty as I thought.” He did turn now, and his gray eyes were shadowed with… suspicion. “You had the luck today.”

  “If you mean Twombley slipped out the back of that rank tavern and I followed him to the Maîtriser group’s buildings, then you are correct. I had the luck.” She stepped forward, rounding the desk so she was before him. “But we will have the luck tonight. We must leave now.”

  “Have you seen Melbourne?”

  She shook her head. “No, and there’s no time. In the time it took for me to do light surveillance of the perimeter, Foncé was already preparing to leave. Men were scrambling to load carts and carriages.”

  “And yet you took the time to come back here.”

  “Yes.”

  She watched the suspicion in his eyes flicker, and knew he was debating whether or not to trust her. She could give him a moment—no more—to sort it out. After all, she would have felt much the same had their positions been reversed. And she wouldn’t lie and say she had not been tempted to slip inside the buildings and take this Foncé herself.

  Two things stopped her.

  One, she was no fool. She knew her skills were unsurpassed by any other agent save perhaps the one seated before her. But all of the Barbican group’s agents were superior. Foncé had managed to take out more than one Barbican agent in the past. Sophia couldn’t afford to allow herself to become arrogant and careless. She needed help.

  Two, she wanted that help to come from Adrian. She wanted to close this matter together. She wanted to see their partnership through. She would not be the one to betray the fragile trust between them—not for pride, not for a position in the Barbican group… not for anything.

  He dropped his boots on the floor, and she stepped between his legs. He had changed into clean clothing, while her once-white gown was now dirty and rumpled.

  “What’s your plan?” Adrian asked.

  Sophia almost smiled. She could not imagine Adrian asking such a question five days ago when this mission began. And she could not imagine the answer she was about to give. “I thought we could discuss that in the carriage after I’ve changed. There really is no time to lose.”

  For the mission she was about to undertake, she needed more practical garb. Allowing herself five minutes, she donned black trousers, a man’s black shirt, and a black coat. She twisted her hair in a knot and tucked it under a cap.

  Ignoring the servants’ surprised stares, she ran through the house and met Adrian, similarly dressed in dark clothing, in the carriage.

  His brows rose when he saw her, but he said nothing.

  “Let’s go,” she said, and with a rap of his knuckles, they were off.

  As the carriage rambled through Mayfair, she outlined the headquarters buildings for him, helping him to visualize the house and the guards she’d seen. “If anything is working in our favor, it’s that he’s sent most of his men away.”

  “How do we know he hasn’t gone with them?”

  She shrugged. “We’ll find out soon enough. I know the plan of attack I think best, but I’m certain you’ll prefer to reserve judgment until you see everything for yourself.”

  “Of course. What are you wearing?”

  She knew he’d been staring at her since she’d climbed into the carriage, but she pretended to just now notice her male attire. “Something a bit more practical.”

  “Let me take a look.”

  She held her arms out. “As you see.” It was dark in the vehicle with the curtains drawn. They hadn’t bothered to light the lamps, not wanting to attract attention. Still, she saw the glint of something raw and aroused in his eyes.

  “No, a closer look.” He took hold of one of her arms and had her in his lap before she could sputter a protest—not that she had any intention of doing so. It would take another half hour at least to reach the Maîtriser group’s headquarters, and she was always a bundle of nervous energy before a strike like this one.

  She could think of worse ways to use some of that energy than in Adrian’s lap. She slid her hands down his chest.

  “I feel rather wicked with you dressed as such.” But he was already wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her mouth to his.

  “I assure you I am all female under these clothes,” she promised.

  “I’ll need to test that.” He nipped her lips. “I like proof.”

 
; “As do I.” She pressed her mouth to his and felt the charge immediately. It was like touching fire to oil. She was suddenly warm and bright and alive. His mouth slanted over hers, claiming her completely. She liked being taken, liked that she could allow herself to be taken and not feel as though she was giving up power. Adrian restored her rather than depleted her.

  She eased her legs on either side of him so she was straddling him on the squabs, and still his mouth continued to plunder her. He kissed her roughly. His tongue didn’t so much twine with hers as thrust and parry. His lips didn’t brush hers as much as they locked on and stole her very last breath. When Adrian kissed her, she could think of nothing else, do nothing else, be nothing else. She was his.

  His hands gripped her bottom, and he pulled her hard against his erection. His mouth broke free of hers, and she moaned with the sudden yearning to have it back. “I missed you,” he growled in her ear, his teeth playing havoc with the delicate skin of her neck.

  “Apparently. I thought we were making a plan to do away with the Maîtriser group—or at least their leader.”

  His hands tore at her collar, revealing her collarbone to his wicked mouth. Meanwhile, his hands pulled the shirttails from the trousers and eased the coat off her shoulders. “We’ll have time for that in a moment.”

  “It will be at least another twenty minutes until we reach the house. What shall we do with twenty minutes?” Her hands stroked him through his trousers, and with a groan, he yanked the shirt over her head. She heard material rip and felt something pop, but then his mouth was on her breasts, and she was aching to feel him inside her. This time she wasn’t afraid. This time there was only need and desire and love.

  She thought how perfect it would be if they conceived a child now—on their way to do what they were both born to do. And she knew if they were to conceive a child, she wanted it to be something born out of love. She wanted fear to play no part.

  Adrian was fumbling with her trousers. They were too big for her anyway, and he easily pushed them over her hips. She rose, keeping one hand on his shoulder for balance in the rocking vehicle, then slipped them off. Wearing only her half boots, she climbed back on his lap.