My Lady, The Spy

by Barbara Devlin

  “Thank you, son.” Colin’s father wiped a stray tear, donned the necklace, and pressed the medallion to his heart. “This means the world to me. Now then, let us see what we can do for your wife.”

  Together they ascended the stairs, trading inconsequential but light-hearted banter that eased the tension twisting Dirk’s insides. At the entrance to the morning room, Dirk paused. “Remember, Rebecca has had a terrible shock.”

  Lord Eddington nodded. “I understand.”

  Dirk opened the door and was not surprised to discover his wife remained much as he left her. Eddington crossed the floor, grabbed the back of a chair, and dragged it next to the one Rebecca occupied. After unfastening his coat, he sat. Ever so slowly, he took Rebecca’s hand in his and mirrored her pose.

  “My Colin adored the country. As a child, he spent hours roaming the meadows, and his mother was forever sending me to fetch him for dinner.” Eddington shook his head and chuckled. “Did he tell you of the time he broke his arm in a fall from a large oak? I fretted horribly when he joined the infantry, but he wanted to follow in my footsteps, and I have never been prouder.”

  With nary a sound, Dirk eased to the chaise, pressed a fist to his mouth, and hoped for a miracle.

  “All too soon, my good-natured son despaired the useless carnage on the battlefield, and the Corps presented Colin an irresistible opportunity to make a difference.” Lord Eddington stretched his booted feet. “When he informed me of his transfer, I tried to talk him out of it, but he would not be swayed.”

  With a pang of remorse, Dirk recalled that time and his own efforts to dissuade his friend.

  “Now that Colin is gone, I fear I have lost part of myself I shall never recover, but I am so pleased with his achievements.” Lord Eddington sniffed and dabbed a tear from his cheek. “And I am equally certain that your tenure with the Counterintelligence Corps does your parents great honor.”

  In that instant, Rebecca turned and peered at Eddington. Dirk jumped from the chaise but quickly checked himself.

  “My dear, you cannot continue in this fashion.” Lord Eddington cupped her chin. “Your mother and father would not want you to suffer and neither would Colin. My son lived to the fullest, and he would wish you the same.”

  “I did so love him.” Tears welled in her eyes, and Rebecca whimpered. “He was a brother to me.”

  “I know, darling girl. Ours is a shared sacrifice, given that we have both lost children, and this tragedy binds us for eternity. But we will rally again, you and I.” He whisked a wayward tendril from her face. “If I may call on you, from time to time, that we might further our acquaintance. Perhaps, when you feel up to it, you could share stories of your work with my son, as memories are all that remain of him.”

  “I should like that very much,” she whispered. “He was the best of men.”

  “Praise, indeed.” Lord Eddington smiled. “I suppose we shall accustom ourselves to his absence, but not too soon, I hope.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  In her bedchamber, Rebecca lit a candle and tiptoed into her dressing room. Quickly, she pulled on breeches and a lawn shirt. Just as fast, she grasped various items from the wall pegs and bundled them for travel. With her boots in one hand, and the balled clothing in the other, she turned--and shrieked.

  Naked, Dirk stood in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

  Trembling and ashamed, she dropped the items and retreated, unable to form a response.

  He glanced at the floor and then pinned her with a narrow stare. “You are leaving me?”

  The pain in his voice struck a lethal wound to her heart, and she desperately wanted to hold him, but she could only bring him misery and death. As Rebecca feared all along, the dark world of espionage presented a very real threat to those she loved, and the cost was no longer one she was willing to pay.

  “If you care anything for me, you must let me go.”

  “Becca, you are not being rational.” He reached for her, and she sidestepped him. “Come to bed.”

  “I cannot stay.” Rebecca splayed her arms in supplication. “Can you not see that my presence endangers you?”

  “What do you mean?” Dirk furrowed his brow. “Varringdale is dead.”

  “There could be others.” Would that it were that easy. “I spied these five years.”

  “Let them come.” He tightened his fists. “We will face them--together.”

  “No.” She lifted her chin a fraction and vowed to be strong, even if it killed her. And it might. “I will not jeopardize your life, at least, no more than I have already. Is it not bad enough that I killed our child?”

  “You killed no one, sweetheart.” Dirk backed her into a corner. “It was not your fault. The responsibility lies solely with Lord Varringdale.”

  “The responsibility is mine.” Rebecca pressed a palm to her chest and hugged the wall. “I never should have married you. What was I thinking? We cannot escape L’araignee or her enemies.”

  “Actually, we can.” Planting a hand at either side of her head, he leaned close and softly said, “After Varringdale’s demise, Sir Ross circulated a rumor in the halls of the Ministry of Defense that L’araignee died in the line duty while capturing the traitor. You are a hero.”

  “A hero?” She vented a snort of sarcasm. “I am a fool. I should have resigned the Corps before we married. If I had, perhaps Varringdale would not have come for me, and our child would still be alive.”

  “Darling, you are weaving unsustainable conclusions from whole cloth.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Varringdale was convinced you were in possession of Napoleon’s code, and he knew not of your alter ego. He would have come at you regardless.”

  “Then you must know I have to go.” Tears welled, and Rebecca wrapped her arms about herself. “Else others will come for me.”

  “You do not know that,” he argued.

  “But what if someone does?” She closed her eyes and shook her head. Oh, why would her no-nonsense captain make no sense? “We cannot ignore the risk.”

  “So this is your answer--to run away? What of us? What of our vows? Till death do us part, do you not remember?” Dirk pulled her to him, crushing her to his muscular frame. “I will never let you go, Becca. I will hunt you to the ends of the earth if you leave me.”

  “Why can you not be logical about this?” she muttered.

  “I have been logical all my life.” Cradling her head beneath his chin, he rested his cheek to her hair. “My relationship with you defies reason, and I would have it no other way.”

  “You cannot stop me. I am determined.” Though Rebecca was not, in truth. But if she could raise his ire, he might relinquish his rights. “Perhaps, while you are at sea, I shall flee.”

  “Then I will be hot on your tail.” Dirk squeezed her bottom and chuckled. “And what a lovely tail you have, my lady.”

  His gentle teasing had done much to soothe her frazzled nerves, and she relaxed, as she realized resistance was futile. “You could marry again and build the family you have always wanted, safe in the knowledge they would not be hunted by some fiend seeking L’araignee.”

  “Let the whole damn French Army march on us. We will face the future, as husband and wife.” Dirk remained firm and at the ready, despite her protests. “And should you choose to continue your work with the Corps, then so be it. If must needs, we can resurrect L’araignee. I will not stand in your way. I know it sounds crazy, but we will make it work, somehow. Whatever happens, we can survive--together.”

  Rebecca could not believe her ears. “You would do that for me?”

  “I never thought I would say that or feel as I do now. When we first married, my main priority was to end your career, but I was wrong, Becca.”

  The man was a veritable saint and her savior. “How so?”

  “My dear wife and L’araignee, the courageous secret agent, exist as two sides of the same coin.” Dirk sighed. “I should not have insisted you forsake what was so much a part o
f your identity, an extension of yourself. That facet of you, the spy, is as relevant as our marriage. Knowing, understanding, and accepting that, do you really think I will allow you to simply walk out of our home--out of my life? I love you, Becca--all of you, my brave wife, and my lady, the spy. You are my world. I could never let you go.”

  That was it.

  No embellishments.

  No flowery language.

  It was a no-nonsense declaration from a no-nonsense man.

  If she wanted to put the past behind her, she had to make peace with the truth. And more importantly, she had to deal with her husband.

  When she married Dirk, she had thought it possible to shed the sullied skin of a spy, like a soiled gown, and live as a conventional woman. She had dressed as a lady, acted as a lady, and spoke as a lady. But deep in her heart, where she was always honest with herself, the specter of doom loomed large.

  At question was how much control over her life she would yield an imaginary adversary?

  On life’s center stage, sacrifice seemed an obvious solution--at least, until that moment. Running away, relinquishing the lead part of Lady Wainsbrough, and her sub-roles of wife, mother, sister, lover, and friend, was too easy. Assuredly the most painful option, it was, in the end, also the most cowardly.

  Making it work--that was the challenge and the courageous choice. Given Dirk’s declaration, she could not deny the future he laid at her feet. But she had to battle her demons, as had her husband. “I would have you know the whole of my captivity. And if you still want me, I will stay.”

  “Say what you will,” he said without hesitation. “My feelings remain unchanged.”

  Slowly, she shrugged from his clutch, shed the fine lawn shirt, and then wiggled out of the breeches. Embracing her husband, skin to skin, she rested her head to his chest and found calming reassurance in his steady heartbeat. She had to lay herself bare, had to share her inner self, and have him accept her--all of her.

  “It began while I slept. At first, there was immeasurable pain. As I had never been pregnant, I did not understand the significance. No one told me anything--until later. I would have endured countless lashings rather than lose our babe.”

  “I know, darling.”

  Rebecca shivered, and Dirk drew her closer still. “He asked of L’araignee, and I told him the truth.” She sniffed. “He did not believe me. Is that not comical? He thought me insane.”

  When Dirk lifted her chin, bringing her gaze to his, she discovered his tears matched hers. In their shared sorrow, she fortified herself.

  “As a harnessed mare Varringdale led me to the beach, and I neither protested nor fought. When he bolted the chain to my neck, and the other end to the pike, I welcomed my fate. As far as I knew, you and our baby were gone, and I wanted to die, too. Each successive wave brought me closer to you. If we could not be together in life, I had hoped we would reunite in the hereafter. So, you see, my lord, I am not brave, because I surrendered. I am a coward.”

  “Oh, my sweet girl.” Dirk framed her cheeks and rubbed his nose to hers. “You are no coward, as it is not in your nature. Faced with similar circumstances, I would have done the same.”

  With no more to say, Rebecca buried her face to his chest and sobbed unashamedly.

  She wept for her parents, who she never really knew. She wept for Colin, who would never marry and have a family of his own. She wept for their child, who never tasted the beauty of love or life without war. She bawled until her body shook, pouring forth enough misery for two lifetimes, and still she cried.

  As the waters that nearly took her life, grief swelled, overtook, and consumed her. And like the tide that washes footprints from the sand, leaving behind a pristine surface, unmarred till trod upon anew, so the tears erased her pain and cleansed her soul.

  #

  Dirk sat behind his desk, pouring over various ledgers and account books. Having long ago doffed his coat and cravat, he unfastened the hook at his throat and speared his fingers through his hair. In the hall, the long case clock signaled the hour, and birds beyond the windows serenaded him with a playful singsong. A faint click presented the first hint that someone had invaded his domain. When he glanced up, his jaw dropped.

  Barefooted, wearing his favorite robe and a glowing smile, and no doubt little else, his wife stood before him. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

  The sultry voice that never failed to rouse his heartbeat, as well as a particularly potent six inches of his anatomy, had made a stunning and most unexpected return. “Becca, why are you not still abed? You need rest.”

  “I need you,” quick as a wink, she replied.

  “Where are your slippers?” Ignoring the stout salute from his mainmast, he managed to frown. “You will catch cold.”

  “Not if you keep me warm.” Prowling, as a jungle cat, she favored him with a flirty pout. “Will you not warm me, my oh-so-resourceful Captain?”

  His mouth watered. “And what of the servants? You cannot parade about the house in that state of undress.”

  “Do tell.” She giggled, and how he had missed that charming sound. “I ran into Hughes in the hallway. Daresay the poor man is red as a tomato, and I fear the condition may be permanent.”

  “Rebecca, what are you about?” They had not made love since their first journey to Lyvedon, prior to the attack, and he had not wanted to rush her, given her fragile state. But he was near to exploding.

  “I needed to speak with him, as I had a matter of utmost urgency and required his assistance,” she said, with an air of whimsy.

  “That is not what I mean, and you know it.” He blinked. “Wait a minute. What is wrong?”

  “Nothing is wrong.” She sidled between him and the desk, canted her head, and cast him a heated stare he swore he felt in his toes. “I asked that Hughes have the cushioned two-seater bench brought from London.”

  All right, he was going to be hard until Christmas. Marshaling his wits, Dirk held tight to his reins, else he might unintentionally hurt his wife, and he would rather cut off his arm. But when Rebecca pressed her palms to his chest and splayed her fingers, he thought he might swoon.

  “Would you not prefer to return to your chamber and--”

  “I would prefer to stay here, with you.” She skimmed his belly with questing hands and then moved lower, to caress his Jolly Roger, which was overly jolly and only too happy to cooperate. “My aggrieved husband, I have not performed my wifely duty by you, and I would rectify said deficiency, posthaste.”

  Lest he plunder Rebecca, Dirk gazed at the ceiling and sought refuge in an old standby, mentally replaying the words to “God Save the King.” He licked his lips. “It is not your fault. You have been indisposed.”

  “Perhaps.” She unhooked his breeches as she nipped his chin. “But not so, anymore.”

  “Becca, it has been some time, and I would be gentle--”

  “And I would be rough.” She touched him where he wanted it most, just as he grasped her wrist. “Do not be afraid, my love. I will not break.”

  Resting his forehead to hers, he sighed. “Here?”

  “Now.” She unbelted the robe, shimmied, and it dropped to the floor.

  With a wide sweep of his arm, Dirk sent the ledger and various items flying in all directions. He grasped his wife at her waist and set her atop the blotter. Wrapping her legs about his flanks, she reclined. Moving swift and sure, he speared her and thrust once, and then twice, before violent spasms shook him to the core.

  “Did you just--”

  “Bloody everlasting hell.” Cursed with a humiliating blush, Dirk buried his face in the elegant curve of her neck. “That has not occurred since I was a randy lad at Eton and had just discovered new use for a bar of soap and a wash rag. I am sorry, but I lost control.”

  “Darling Dirk, that is the sweetest compliment you have ever paid me.” She giggled, and he groaned. “And we can always try again. Practice makes perfect, you know.”

  He lifted his head and grin
ned. “I missed you.”

  She arched a brow. “So I gather.”

  For a minute, they simply stared at each other. And then they burst into laughter. When he shifted his hips, she gasped and bit her lip.

  “My lusty lord, it appears you are still primed for battle.”

  “So it seems.” Dirk peered at the point of their joining. “Can’t recall that ever happening.”

  “Praise, indeed.” With eyes glittering, Rebecca heeled his bottom. “Shall we commence the dance?”

  As he gazed on his bride, he caught his breath. For as long he lived, he would never forget her inimitable effervescence, as his Becca was radiant with happiness. The unanticipated but prayed for return of her ebullient spirit worked on him in ways he could not have imagined and brought him well nigh to tears. Unable to resist her lure, not that he ever could, Dirk framed her face and kissed her with tenderness he had not known he possessed.

  Moving over her, on her, and within her, he invested every endearment with a single refrain: I love you.

  “Dirk?”

  “Mmm hmm?”

  “The things we discussed, our plans for the future--I want it all.”

  “Everything I have is yours.”

  “And if I only want you?”

  “That goes without saying.” Hugging her close, Dirk lifted his wife from the desk, stepped in reverse, and sat in his chair. As Rebecca resituated herself and grabbed the reins, taking his flesh deep within hers, he rested his head to the cushioned back. Then the shot fired, and she boldly charged the field. His last coherent thought before ecstasy claimed him was that, indeed, the spy with sad eyes was no more.

  EPILOGUE

  Seven months later, Rebecca stood on the docks at Deptford, awaiting Dirk’s arrival from a six-week mission. Winter had long since yielded to spring, as birds chirped and flowers bloomed on that cool May morning. Huddled with Caroline, and bouncing with excitement, Rebecca craned her neck in search of the Gawain.

  “So how do you intend to share the happy news?” inquired Trevor’s wife.