The Noble Spy: London Season Matchmaker Book Two

by Adams, Lucy

  The Noble Spy

  London Season Matchmaker Book Two

  Lucy Adams

  © Copyright 2019 by Lucy Adams - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document by either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited, and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Prologue

  “Must you always take this long?”

  Titania laughed lightly and whirled around to face her sister. “Come now, Merry!” she exclaimed, her eyes bright. “It is the first ball of the Season, and I must ensure that I look my very best.” She let her gaze brush over Merry’s gown and coiffure, taking in the usual dull color of gown and the unimaginative chignon. “You may not care for such things, my dear sister, but I do.”

  “As well I know,” Merry muttered, running one hand over the front of her gown a trifle self-consciously. “I am quite certain that you will look wonderful in whatever gown you choose, Titania. Although you must hurry, for else we shall all be late and you know that Mama will not be pleased.”

  At the mention of their mother, Lady Whitehaven, Titania allowed her smile to fade somewhat, her exuberance dampening down. Their mother, widow to the late Marquess of Whitehaven, would not be pleased if Titania was the reason for their late arrival at the first ball of the Season. A small stab of guilt washed over her as she saw Merry’s arched eyebrow and realized that she must be the only one of the sisters not yet prepared.

  Not that she was about to let Merry know that she felt such a way.

  “You are very kind to compliment me so,” she said, with a grin that stretched wide across her face. “But I must think of what the gentlemen of the beau monde will think when they see me. Would they prefer me in a light green? Or perhaps something softer and more delicate?”

  Merry made an impatient noise in the back of her throat.

  “The green, I think,” Titania said hastily, turning away from her sister. “For it shall match my eyes.”

  “That is wise, since you will find nothing to match your hair,” Merry said stiffly, as the door opened behind them and a maid walked into the room, followed by Catherine, another of one of their sisters.

  “Do hurry up, Titania,” Catherine said at once, rolling her eyes as she came to stand by Merry. “As you can see, both myself and Merry are already prepared.”

  Titania huffed and sat down in the chair in front of the dressing table, looking at her reflection and wondering if she should add any other small adornments. Catherine, she knew, did not care for her appearance in any way whatsoever, and whilst she looked presentable this evening, she had not gone to any great lengths to improve her appearance. “I must have something else,” she murmured aloud, as the maid began to prepare the gown for Titania to wear. “Something that will truly capture their attention.”

  Merry shook her head and let out a long, pained sigh. “You will capture the gentlemen’s attention simply by being present, Titania,” she said firmly. “For I am certain that you will be the only redhaired young lady in London.”

  “If not, only one of the few,” Catherine added, as though this would encourage Merry to step away from the mirror. “Come now, Titania. Just step into your gown so that we may depart.”

  “Wait!” Titania twisted back in her chair, her eyes alight. “There are those beautiful mother of pearl butterflies in the garden, are there not?”

  Her two sisters stared back at her in astonishment, their mouths falling open as they took in what she had said.

  “I must fetch them,” Titania said hurriedly, getting to her feet and making her way to the door. “I will not be a moment.”

  “You cannot, Titania!” Catherine exclaimed, grasping her arm. “Those butterflies are adornments for the garden only. They are not to be worn as adornments!”

  Titania, who had a strong will and was, therefore, quite determined that she should do whatever she pleased, tugged her arm from her sister’s staying hand. “But they will be quite perfect,” she insisted. “And, from what I recall, they somehow tie to the stem of the plant, which means they must be able to fix themselves to my hair in some fashion.”

  “There is not time for this nonsense, Titania,” Merry groaned, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “You are not even in your gown as yet and–”

  “I do not want to dirty it,” Titania interrupted, grasping a thin dressing gown and throwing it over herself, tying it at the waist. “Now, do stop fussing. I know very well that Dinah and Mama are not yet prepared—else Dinah would be here also.” She caught the way her sisters exchanged a glance and felt a sense of triumph from deep within her. Most likely, Dinah, her cousin, was having to be persuaded to attend the ball by their mother, given that she had no interest in the Season whatsoever and often found a good many things utterly unfavorable. “Just wait for a few minutes longer, and then I shall be quite prepared.” She did not wait to hear her sisters’ protests, quite sure they would be flung around her ears should she hesitate for even a moment and so, instead, she slipped from the room.

  * * *

  Walking along the hallway towards the staircase, Titania grew a trifle frustrated that she had not thought to bring a candle. The house was fairly gloomy, given that the family was to be out, and as such, she was finding it difficult to walk quickly and with precision. Seeing the drawing room, she stepped inside with the hope of finding a candle within.

  The room was well lit, for the family would be meeting there before leaving for the ball, and, with relief, Titania saw a single candlestick on the mantlepiece. Reaching for it, she sighed heavily to herself as she wandered to the window, wondering what was making her heart so heavy. It could not be that it was the beginning of the Season surely, for that knowledge brought great joy with it. Was it because she, out of all of her sisters, found the idea of returning to the Season to be one of excitement and joy? Merry, Catherine, and Dinah, her cousin, did not seem to care particularly much for all that was to occur and certainly did not give it as much of an interest as she.

  “They shall have to show an interest soon enough,” Titania muttered to herself. “It is 1815 after all, and they will not have a good many years left until they are thought of as spinsters by the ton.” Unfortunately, Titania realized, this would not be a particularly painful thought to someone such as Merry or even Catherine. They both stated that they did not care for the Season nor for the gentlemen that were within in. This was not something Titania could understand, for why would one not wish to converse, dance, and even be courted by an eligible gentleman?

  Her eyes caught something outside in the gloom, her breath catching in her throat as she saw a figure running along the street, only to lash out furiously at another. The cry from the second man seemed to make its way through the window and directly towards her, crying out for help as the first man continued his attack.

  Before she kn
ew what she was doing, Titania was outside. Her heart was in her throat as she hurried towards the first man, meaning to shout aloud at him so as to frighten him into ceasing his terrible attack – only for her gaze to catch sight of a blade as it flashed in the moonlight.

  Her breath caught and a faint trembling seized her. Whatever was she doing? This was utterly, utterly foolish! She ought not to be out of doors on her own, especially not when a man was now standing across from her, his knife held in front of him as he looked down at the fallen man at his feet.

  “You.”

  Titania jerked violently, going cold all over as she realized just what had occurred. The man with the knife had obviously spotted her, and now, to her horror, was beginning to advance towards her. A scream lodged in her throat as she stumbled back, aware that she had no weapon, no way to protect herself.

  The only thing she could do was to return to the house before he could catch her. She had only taken a few steps once she had reached the bottom of the stone steps but, for whatever reason, the house now seemed to be much further away. Titania turned and attempted to run to the steps, her feet feeling heavy and weighted as she tried to run. The sound of running footsteps behind her made her scream aloud, the sound echoing through the gloom as her heart beat wildly with fear.

  “You there!”

  Something grabbed at her, and Titania screamed again, twisting this way and that so that she might escape from her captor. The man’s hand was tight on her waist, the sound of tearing fabric her only hope that she might be able to escape from him.

  “You shouldn’t have been watching,” the man said in a low, dark voice, as he let go of her dressing gown but instead reached to grasp her arm, swinging her about to face him. Titania’s eyes flared wide with fear, taking in the man’s small, narrowed eyes, his cheeks thick with stubble and the dark grin that was now spreading across his face. “Not that I think I can rid the world of someone as pretty as you.” He pulled her closer, the knife flashing dangerously in hand. Titania stilled, her eyes on the blade, her hands pressed hard against the man’s chest as though she could push him from her by sheer force of will.

  “I might just have to take you with me,” the man grated, his face close to hers as he loomed over her. “A pretty thing like you could bring a man all sorts of good.”

  Titania closed her eyes tight, fighting the wave of fear that crashed over her. “No,” she whispered, trying to find some sort of strength within herself. “No, I will not go with you.” Beginning to struggle, she let her hands scrabble at his chest. “Let me go!” Her voice began to grow stronger as she fought to get away from him, her eyes fixed on the knife that was held tightly in the man’s other hand. “Let me go, I say!”

  As she grasped about his neck, something snapped from it and into her hands, and Titania grasped a hold of it tightly. With a snarl, the man threw her back, only to raise the knife high as he stood over her. “You had better watch your mouth,” he stated, as Titania took a few steps back, only to find herself pressed against the railings that separated one house from the other. “No more of this fighting. You come along with me, or it will be all the worse for you.”

  Titania’s heart was pounding so painfully that she could not find her voice. Her breath was coming in short, shallow gasps as she tried to think of what she might do in order to escape from this murderer – only for a shadow to spring at the man and knock him to the ground.

  A fight ensued before Titania’s eyes, her hands now clinging tightly to the iron railings as she attempted to keep herself upright. Her legs were weak, her mind scrambling to make sense of what she had seen and what had occurred. This man, this shadowy stranger, had leapt at the murderer without consideration, she thought, and now was fighting for his life. The murderer’s knife was being jabbed in each and every direction as he struggled to his feet, whilst the shadowy stranger continued to lash out at the murderer any way he could.

  “This is not wise,” the stranger said, as the murderer thrust the blade out wildly again. “You know that you will be caught.”

  “I shall not.”

  The murderer thrust his blade towards the stranger once more, missing completely, before turning around on his heel and running away into the dark. Titania’s body shook with relief, and she began to sink to the ground, her legs no longer able to hold her up. The pavement was cold and hard beneath her, but she did not notice it, her whole body shaking furiously.

  “Do not say a word to anyone about what you have seen.”

  Her vision was blurred as she looked up to see this mysterious gentleman, her savior, bending over her. She could not quite make him out but wanted to cling to him as though he were the only one she needed at this very moment.

  “You must give me your word,” he stated firmly, looking deeply into her eyes. “You must promise you shall not say anything.”

  “No,” Titania promised, trying to reach out to him but finding that she could not. “I shall not.” Her eyes grew heavy, her mind beginning to slow as she leaned back against the iron railings. She did not have the strength to say more, it seemed, for she was being pulled towards a rich, welcoming darkness that wanted to pull her into its embrace.

  Something lifted her, something took her away from the cold hardness of the pavement, and Titania leaned her head into the softness. She did not know what it was nor could she make herself awaken from the beginnings of unconsciousness to discover it. All she could do was lean into it and allow the welcoming darkness to take her.

  Chapter One

  “What is it you have discovered, then?”

  Edward—Viscount Carroway—cleared his throat and looked directly at the gentleman in front of him.

  “I have, I confess, been unable to prevent the death of Stirling,” he said, allowing a trace of bitterness to enter his voice. “It was most unfortunate.”

  The man in front of him shook his head and sighed. “It is unfortunate indeed,” he muttered sadly, shaking his head. “Stirling was a great asset to this force, and I shall be sorry to lose him from our ranks.” He looked back at Edward; his grey eyes now severe. “Might I ask how it occurred?”

  Edward held back a long sigh and considered what it was he was going to say. The lieutenant before him was both a friend and a man of authority for, together, they had set up this particular group of men, and thus far, they had seen excellent results from their endeavors.

  At least, until earlier that evening.

  “I have had my suspicions that, for some time, Stirling has been meeting with a French spy, Lieutenant,” Edward began carefully. “I shared such concerns with you for, if that was the case, then I was gravely worried about Stirling’s loyalty. Now, it seems, we shall never know the truth.”

  Lieutenant James shook his head and cleared his throat gruffly. He was some years older than Edward, with thinning grey hair and an overly large moustache that hid his mouth almost completely at times. His eyes were fixed upon Edward’s and held a good deal of steel within them, which left Edward in little doubt that the man was displeased with what had occurred. And the shame of that began to grow within him.

  “Tell me precisely what occurred,” the lieutenant said, his voice firm. “You were following Stirling, I believe.”

  “I was,” Edward agreed. “I wanted to discover whom he was meeting and, thereafter, could question precisely what it was he was doing and why. I did not expect him to run from his meeting and certainly did not expect his companion to go after him!” He sighed and rubbed at his forehead, remembering how he had been taken completely by surprise and how the shock of what he had seen had brought him to a sudden, forceful stop.

  “You found Stirling dead already, I presume,” the lieutenant asked, his voice a little softer now as he took in Edward’s expression. “I know he was an acquaintance of yours, Carroway, so it must have been a rather difficult thing to come across.”

  Edward swallowed but, with practiced effort, thrust aside his feelings and nodded. “Yes, it was,�
�� he admitted honestly, looking at the lieutenant with clear eyes. “But I was then caught by the fact that the murderer was now attacking a young woman.”

  Lieutenant James’s eyes flared with surprise. “Indeed?”

  “She was fighting back, certainly,” Edward added, recalling how the young woman had been clawing and scratching at the man in order to get away from him. “I believe that the murderer was, in his own way, enjoying the fact that she was struggling so.” He shook his head in disgust, feeling it rise up within him. “I attempted to pull him from her and, in doing so, knocked him to the ground. However, when he rose, he had the knife still within his hand and used it to defend himself.”

  “I see,” the lieutenant murmured. “And then he ran from you?”

  “Yes,” Edward said, nodding. “The cowardice within him could not be hidden. He ran from me. I was forced to ensure that the lady was quite well before I could go after him. I feared that she was close to fainting, and, in fact, she gave herself up to unconsciousness before the end of our conversation.”

  The lieutenant allowed a faint trace of alarm to cross his features. “Then she may speak of what she has seen.”

  “No, I do not think that she will,” Edward said hastily. “I had her promise that she would not breathe a word of what she saw to anyone, and before she fainted, she did agree.”

  A snort of derision met this. “But you cannot be sure, Carroway! A young lady of quality may very well speak of such an incident!”

  Edward hesitated. He was, he reflected, being quite foolish to believe that the lady would remain silent and that she would keep her promise, but for whatever reason, he found himself trusting her. “My instincts say, Lieutenant, that she can be trusted.”