Chapter Fifteen
Robert watched as Jane entered the house. Sophia’s cousin must be reeling from her discovery for her to absently leave Sophia unchaperoned with him in the front gardens.
He turned his attention to Sophia. Her gaze was riveted on the front door where Jane had entered. A shaft of moonlight illuminated the burnished-copper tresses in her chestnut hair and the shimmer of her blue silk gown, which accentuated her slender waist and the flare of her hips. She looked fragile and ethereal beneath the moonlight, yet he knew she possessed an iron determination.
A will so different from Gwendolyn’s.
A disturbing part of him acknowledged that her strength did not lessen her femininity.
Or her desirableness.
She bit her bottom lip—a nervous habit he now recognized when she had something troubling on her mind.
“What is it?” he asked.
She motioned him close to the fountain. A slight breeze stirred loose tendrils of hair across her cheeks, and a fine spray of water glistened at her smooth nape. Glancing both ways, she lowered her voice, and he strained to hear above the sound of running water.
“There’s more to tonight’s events than I mentioned,” she said. “When Vivian was describing Charles’s ‘presence,’ she went into detail about his appearance and his clothing. She spoke of a pocket watch and a dangling fob of gold. It sounded like one of the gold gears.”
His gaze sharpened. “Wendover never mentioned that a gold gear was found on the body of the Earl of Stanwell.”
“Maybe Charles wasn’t wearing his pocket watch at the time of his death. Maybe it’s among his possessions.”
She made a valid point. He considered how best to discern the truth. “Are you comfortable enough with Jane to ask whether her husband was part of a select group in the Society or if he owned a gold gear without arousing her suspicions?”
She raised her chin, her green eyes flashing with conviction. “I can.”
“Good. Keep me informed. Meanwhile, you need to return to the house.”
She took an abrupt step toward him. “Wait! How did you know about the door to the tunnel?”
He hesitated and looked at her intently. “Whenever I am on a job I always conduct a search of the grounds. In my line of work, preparation is the key to survival.”
Her eyes widened. He suspected she was recalling their mad flight through the gardens the night of the masquerade party. She had been brave that night, just as tonight. He knew she didn’t want to climb down the ladder into the underground chamber, but he grudgingly admired her for conquering her fear.
Would anything stifle her spirit?
“Did you tell Jane the truth tonight?” she asked.
“I did.”
“You truly do not believe Vivian knows about the existence of that chamber?”
He shook his head. “Like I said before, she seems convinced of her ‘talents.’ I suspect she has no idea of her husband’s underhanded dealings with a secret group.”
“Then how do you explain the viscountess’s description of the gold gear?”
“Charles was part of the Inventors’ Society. She must have seen him on numerous occasions and was able to describe his dress and the watch fob. If she knew what the gold gear stood for, she wouldn’t have spoken of it.”
“You’re right. I should have thought of that.”
“You should return before you are missed,” he said sternly.
“I must thank you first.”
The heady fragrance of the garden’s rosebushes mingled with her perfume. She stood less than an arm’s distance away from him—a desirable women dangling before him like a piece of forbidden fruit. Reaching out, he brushed away a smudge of dirt on the tip of her nose from the underground tunnel.
She lowered her lashes and stared at his mouth. He felt the inevitable stirrings of arousal.
Christ! He knew better than to touch her. He kept his lust tightly leashed, like the beast it was, but the slightest contact with her threatened his iron control. He mustn’t allow his defenses to crack. His current assignment—no matter that it took place at a luxurious house party—was like all the others in that a momentary lapse in judgment could result in deadly consequences.
Finish the job quickly and get her out of your life, his inner voice warned.
She continued, oblivious to his heightened senses. “I wouldn’t have been able to help Jane without you.”
Grinding his teeth, he fought for restraint. “Do not credit me too much,” he said, his tone caustic.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She touched his sleeve, her green eyes imploring.
He inhaled sharply at the contact, bringing her scent fully into his nostrils. She was looking up at him with wonder and gratitude.
And burgeoning desire.
He could see it, feel it, taste it—all his senses were fully alive and alert to her.
Her pulse beat wildly at her throat, and her breasts rose and fell above her tight bodice.
Desire blasted through him. One finger…just one finger in the low-cut bodice and he could free the mounds to his eyes, feast on her flesh like the starving man he was. She would be all soft, feminine curves and womanly skin.
So different from the sole indiscretion he had succumbed to in the past.
In the two years since Gwendolyn’s death, he had suffered from a rare moment of weakness—one episode where he had given into his base needs. He’d been caught alone in Covent Garden with a demimonde by his friend, Daniel Forster. Even though his friends had believed him celibate, Daniel had respected his privacy and had never spoken of it to their mutual friend, Gareth Ramsey, who often mocked Robert for his choices.
But Robert had been filled with self-loathing.
He mentally shook himself. Sophia was pure—too good to be tainted by the demons raging inside him.
She stepped closer. His heart thundered in his chest, and his arousal throbbed in his trousers. In one smooth motion, she could be in his arms, her body pressed tightly to his.
His voice was harsh. “No, don’t—”
“You opened the bedchamber door, you proved the séance a fraud, you—”
“It was in my interest to help Jane,” he snapped. “She is your chaperone for the week. Without her presence, you would have to leave, and my orders were clear. Wendover wants me to keep you in line, remember?”
She tilted her head, exposing the ivory smoothness of her neck. “Don’t do that. It won’t work with me any longer.”
“What?”
“You’re not as coldhearted or as dispassionate as you want me to believe. The way you comforted Jane was wonderful. Beneath the surface, you’re kind and compassionate.”
Kind? Compassionate? No one who truly knew him would believe such lies. He had stolen, tortured…killed. Not all his victims had been guilty. His soul was eternally damned.
Yet she was gazing up at him like he was worthy. Not just for his appearance—which he knew attracted women—but for his essence, for what lay beneath the surface and deeply buried under layers of guilt and self-incrimination. A spark of long-forgotten need flared inside him. He struggled with the consuming emotion, fought against it. Then her slender palm touched his chest above his pounding heart, and she reached up on tiptoe and kissed him.
Like a man without will, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her back. Unlike the first time, there was nothing soft about his possession of her mouth. He was burning with need…need to stop her from digging deeper into his soul and need to taste her.
He drew the softness of her bottom lip into his mouth and sucked the tender flesh. Her lips trembled open with an eagerness that made his overheated senses spin. At the first stroke of his tongue, she moaned softly. He angled his head and fit his mouth harder, deeper against hers.
His hands roamed down her back to the curve of her hips, then lower still. He cupped her bottom and pressed her against his hardness. She gasped and arched closer, nestling her soft
thighs against him. His arousal strained, pulsed with the pounding of his heart.
He lifted his head. Unmistakable passion burned in her eyes.
“Sophia,” he rasped.
“Yes,” she breathed.
He gazed down at her, at her green, catlike eyes, her moist swollen lips, and the rounded tops of her full breasts straining against her bodice.
Damn Wendover for forcing her upon him.
“I can’t do this,” he said roughly. “You have to go back to the house.”
He turned and headed for the stables and the escape he desperately needed—a hard ride to calm his harsh breathing and the lust pounding through his veins.
Chapter Sixteen
By the fourth day of the house party, Sophia realized she was making little progress with the women. She decided to change tactics and familiarize herself with the gentlemen. An anatomist was expected to give a group demonstration and lecture that morning, and the viscountess had extended an invitation to the women. Sophia had been quick to accept as it offered the perfect opportunity to converse with the men.
Although Viscount Delmont continued to shoot her furtive glances at every opportunity, she had not been alone with him since the first night she had encountered him in the hallway. She assumed Robert had been searching the house at night looking for clues, but she hadn’t had a chance to speak with him alone since the evening they had been together in the gardens.
Memories of their shared kiss lingered in her mind. She had wanted to kiss him, had wanted the kiss to continue, she realized. Her body had been aflame, and from what she could discern, so had his. But he had been the one to pull back.
She had come to the conclusion that there was much more to the Earl of Kirkland than he wanted her to believe. He wanted her to think him cool and aloof, the consummate spy. He used words to insult and inflame, but she was no longer fooled.
Dressing quickly in a morning gown of pale pink with a gathered bodice and muslin overskirt, she rushed down the hall to the landing.
Jane met her at the bottom of the staircase.
“Am I late?” Sophia asked.
Jane shook her head. “The guests are gathering in the drawing room and waiting for Mr. Young. I’m told the anatomist is quite popular in London, and he began his career conducting traveling shows.”
“Are all the women attending?” Sophia asked.
“Almost all, surprisingly. Lady Cameron was the only one to excuse herself, saying her disposition does not take well to viewing body parts, even if they are not real.”
“One of father’s friends was a struggling anatomist. He could only afford to pay the modeler and artist to create a model of a human head. He would use pig, sheep, or ox eyes for his shows,” Sophia said.
Jane grimaced. “Uh, Sophia! You really were raised quite unorthodoxly.”
Sophia chuckled, once again enjoying Jane’s company. Her cousin had been surprisingly calm since the evening of the séance. She had faced the women at breakfast with her chin held high and a devil-may-care attitude that dared any of the ladies to ask questions. None had raised the subject.
Sophia had wanted to ask her whether Charles had owned a gold gear, but the horror of what had happened to Jane lingered. The last thing she desired was to upset Jane’s current happiness, and she prayed Jane had taken Robert’s words to heart.
The men were already waiting when the ladies entered the drawing room.
She spotted Robert leaning against a curio cabinet, cradling a cup of coffee. Dressed in a buff coat with form-hugging trousers and Hessians, he looked like any wealthy gentleman of leisure who might be found lounging in the bay window of White’s or Brooks’s. But his well-groomed appearance was incongruous with the power coiled within his lithe frame and the predatory alertness in his gaze.
She wanted to find out which safes he had been able to penetrate and what he’d discovered. The one time she had an opportunity to speak to him, he had appeared uneasy, as if he didn’t want to be alone with her. She, on the other hand, wanted to take advantage of their isolation to talk.
She had a burning inquisitiveness to learn more about him and his past. How long had he been a spy? How had he learned to finesse safes open?
Just then Robert met her eyes. His sensuous lips curled in greeting, and he raised his cup.
Sophia nodded and chose an empty seat on the sofa next to Mr. Heinz. Other than Robert, Heinz was the only unmarried man in the house.
“You look lovely this morning, Lady Sophia,” Heinz said.
His gray eyes twinkled behind his wire-rimmed spectacles. Despite his scholarly demeanor, he had a full head of brown hair, and she was struck by his youthfulness.
“Do you have an interest in anatomy, Mr. Heinz?”
“My interests are twofold: gunpowder and mechanical devices.”
“I understand you own patents for your innovations to the spectroscope and the study of wavelengths of light.”
“Yes.”
“I have several ideas myself to improve the efficiency of the electric battery.”
His interest was obviously piqued. “You invent as well?”
“My father’s passion has become mine.”
He looked uncertain. “My condolences for the loss of Lord Haverton.”
She lowered her gaze to her hands in her lap. “Thank you, Mr. Heinz.”
“Please call me Henry,” he said, taking her hand in his.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Robert set down his coffee cup on an end table. A swift shadow of anger swept across his face, and his lips thinned.
Heinz’s palms were damp as they held her hand. He was clearly nervous. Could she cultivate a friendship and pry him for information? She gently squeezed his fingers and smiled.
“Would you like to see the model of my spectroscope?” Heinz asked.
Raising her lashes, she gazed up at him. “I’d like that very much.”
Heinz’s eyebrows rose in obvious pleasure. “I will show you later today. I’m told our hosts have given us a few hours off.”
He continued to stare at her, his gaze disturbing in its intensity. There was a strange unease about him. He may be comfortable in his workshop surrounded by bits of brass pieces from disassembled spectroscopes, but he was awkward around women. Henry was the cerebral type, not a practiced rogue or charmer.
“Your English is impeccable, Henry. Will you stay in England?” she asked.
“I plan to. My admittance into the Inventors’ Society was most surprising.”
“In what way?”
“They made me an offer I cannot refuse. Funding for my research and a town house in London.”
Interesting. Could Heinz be the newest inductee in the secret group?
“I had no idea the Society had such resources,” she said.
Heinz’s chest puffed with self-importance. “Viscount Delmont has been most generous. He says my patents are invaluable and I must finish my research. My expenses are of no consequence to him.”
She had heard rumors of Vivian’s substantial dowry when she had married. Delmont himself was a viscount, but from what her father had said, when Delmont had inherited the title, the estate came with a considerable debt.
So where was the money coming from?
She was stopped from pondering the question when Delmont rose and cleared his throat. “If everyone will be seated, we can begin.”
The door opened and a short, middle-aged man with jet-black hair and bushy sideburns wheeled a table the length of a coffin into the room. Resting upon its surface was a wax model of a nude man with a cotton towel draped over its nether parts in consideration of the ladies.
The model was painted to appear extremely lifelike. Its brown eyes were open, and the artist had paid meticulous attention to each facial feature; its eyebrows, eyelashes, nostrils, lips, and earlobes all were rendered in vivid detail. The muscles of its chest and arms were clearly delineated, and a line, which looked like an incision, ran down the cen
ter of its breastbone. Two assistants followed behind Young and carried jars of unidentifiable specimens floating in clear liquid.
Mr. Young stopped in the center of the room and waved his arm over the model. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I took the liberty of naming my model John, and his anatomy is scientifically accurate. John is made of a mixture of wax from bees and other insects; other inferior models are made of wood, ivory, or papier-mâché. I also brought along examples of animal anatomy that I will discuss at the end of my lecture.”
Young’s assistants held up wooden boards with dead squirrels and rodents whose feet were pinned to the board. Several of the ladies shrieked at the sight, but Sophia thought they looked quite pitiful spread-eagled and on display.
Young began his lecture. “The history of anatomy is as old as the history of astronomy. One of the first anatomists was Hippocrates, a Greek physician in the early fourth century before Christ. He was followed by Aristotle, Herophilos, and Erasistratus.”
The model was cleverly made, and Mr. Young removed two sides of the chest where the incision appeared to reveal the organs beneath. The heart, lungs, liver, and kidneys were all visible and made of painted wax. When he removed the organs and held them up for the audience to have a better look, both Lady Maxwell and Lady Falk wrinkled their noses and turned away.
Sophia knew anatomists and artists dissected corpses to create accurate models, and grave robbers were notorious for providing corpses for profit. She wondered what the Delmonts were paying Mr. Young for today’s demonstration.
Henry Heinz’s eyes brightened with interest at the demonstration. He glanced at her. “I’m relieved to see you do not feel faint.”
She smiled at him. “It takes more than a wax model to summon the vapors on my behalf, Henry.”
Henry swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “You’re a fascinating woman.”
“Yes, she is.”
She whirled. Robert stood behind her, his expression thunderous.
Could he possibly be jealous?
A Spy Unmasked (Entangled Scandalous) Page 12
