Step by tiny step she continued on, her fingertips gliding along the wall. But when she reached the middle of the board, splintering wood echoed ominously in the chamber.
“Not again.” Her plaintive whisper clutched at his heart. Icy fingers wrapped around that organ and he nearly expired on the spot as she froze, horror in her gaze as she looked at him from over her shoulder. With what seemed like painstaking lethargy, she turned in place. “Crispin?”
“Run. For the love of God, run.” He could do nothing except watch her and hope she’d make it back to him in time.
More shattering sounded. A cry of pure terror escaped her as she ran along the plank. With every step, the wood bowed until he thought it must be an impossible task for her to complete the trip, but as soon as her foot landed on the cross plank, the longer board broke into two pieces and tumbled into the dark pit.
Juliana completely lost her composure. Her body shook so violently, that he pulled her onto the side of the chasm, took the lantern from her hand and once he’d laid it at his feet, he led her away from the edge and then engulfed her into his arms, holding her close to his chest and as tight as she’d let him. Great gulping sobs left her throat, her mumbling incoherent as she clung to him.
“It’s all right.” Crispin attempted to soothe her with soft, encouraging words as he stroked his hands up and down her back. “There are two more planks. We’ll try again.” But if the first two hadn’t managed to bear her weight, even if she did find a way across, would he have the same luck?
“No.” She shook her head and her tears wet his neck above his loose cravat. “No, no, no.” Her sobs of despair speared through him. “I’m a failure at everything I try, Crispin. Do you know how that makes me feel?” Her wail echoed about the chamber. “It’s no wonder Rathesborne hated me enough to pack me off to Cairo.”
Obviously, she battled with more than fear of nearly tumbling into the dark pit.
“Come with me.” Crispin released her long enough to grab one of the remaining lanterns. He drew her over to the far wall of the passage and gently eased himself down into a sitting position, pulling her with him, settling her in his lap much like he’d done after the cobra incident. He put the lantern next to them. “What is wrong?” Having four sisters had taught him that it was never the one thing that seemed to set females off. It was a culmination of many, and that they had internalized them all for far too long until tears were the result.
Juliana clung to him, her arms tight about his shoulders, and he gritted his teeth against the pain her touch brought to his injury. “I never thought life would be so difficult, or that everywhere I turn would kick me in the gut.”
He stroked a hand through her tumbled tresses and absently removed pins as he went. It was time to help her heal whether she wished to or not. “Purge your secrets and your shame, Juliana. Don’t carry them with you into the future. That weight no longer serves you.” Though he would do anything for her, he couldn’t take away her worries unless she gave them to him.
She pulled back and looked into his eyes. Tears magnified those blue depths and highlighted the wealth of emotions there. “You’ll hate me, and that I cannot bear.”
“You will hate yourself if you don’t tell me.” He caught a few tears on her cheek and wiped them away. “I suspect you’ve done too much of that already.”
A tremulous smile played with her lips. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Chapter Nineteen
Crispin didn’t wish to move, to even breathe for fear of distracting her from this singular moment of truth. It might change nothing; it might change everything, but he would finally hear it in her own words instead of having to read about it in a cold, detached mission report.
For long moments, Juliana rested her head against his shoulder and he gritted his teeth against the throbbing pain. Her body shook, whether from shock or fear, he couldn’t say. He let her gather her thoughts, for the road ahead was fraught with self-reflection and recrimination. It was a pit as dark as the one they’d yet to cross, but like their physical challenge, she needed to cross this one in order to move forward.
Finally, she heaved a sigh that could have come from the depths of her soul. “As I alluded to before when last we talked, Phillip and I were in Rome. Our mission was long and broad-sweeping, for we’d managed to infiltrate a ring of Italian spies who had designs to do harm to the English monarchy as well as the government.” Tears choked her voice, but she’d yet to shed them.
“As if enemies of England could ever have an original thought beyond that,” he added in a whisper, but couldn’t help inject the conversation with humor.
A trace of a smile curved her lips, but she didn’t stir from her resting place. “Be that as it may, we’d spent considerable time gaining this ring’s trust and acceptance.” A shiver rippled through her body. “We’d had to prove ourselves a few times, do horrible things to show our allegiance, but at last we were invited in without incident.”
“What sorts of things?” His heart had finally ceased beating so violently from her near-death experiences, and it pained him to ask the question, to draw the story from her, but he had to.
She shook her head. “Essentially, we’d had to become minor assassins and petty thieves for a time during a testing period.” When she lifted her head, she caught his gaze. Hers reflected deep sadness and regret. Tears glimmered in the depths. “It’s what one has to do at times as a King’s agent, I suppose, but that didn’t make me hate myself any less at the end of each night.”
“I understand.” Crispin could do nothing except wait and hold her closer. “England comes first.”
“Yes.” As if the simple act of holding her head up was too much, Juliana once more rested it on his shoulder. “We’d made them all believe we were ex-patriots unhappy with how the powers-that-be ran Britain’s interests and we wanted to make them pay. After a couple of months of being inducted into the spy ring and learning the hierarchy and their plans, Phillip and I were invited to a posh social engagement. We were told the head of the organization wished to meet us, praise us for our devotion.” Her words echoed eerily in the tomb’s silence.
He’d bet his last farthing that it had been a set-up. Something either she or her husband had done probably tipped off the group to their lie or their true identity. But he remained silent as he waited for her to continue.
“We’d assumed we’d finally made headway and that we were about to take down the ring by cutting off the head, so to speak.” Her laugh held a bitter edge, and Crispin’s heart squeezed. “You’ve talked about your gut feeling enough times that I feel you’ll understand when I tell you I had that same instinct as we dressed for the event that night.”
“The key to being a good agent is to never ignore what the gut is telling you. It often means the difference between life or death.”
“Yes.” Juliana nodded. Abstractly, she pleated the folds of his loose-hanging cravat as her eyes took on a faraway look. Was she attempting to separate herself from the trauma, feared his reaction if she allowed emotion to show? “I’d mentioned my reservation to Phillip. He told me I was being silly and that it was merely nerves for the social event itself.” She blew out a breath. “Though I loved him, his dismissal of me and my thoughts rubbed quite the wrong way. I am a woman, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a working brain in my head.”
“Agreed. Society’s viewpoints on women’s abilities must change, and it is doing so in increments, but it is very much a struggle.”
“That grows tiresome after a while.” She was silent for so long, he feared she’d changed her mind on relating her tale. With another sigh, she continued, and he concentrated on the warmth of her in his arms as he listened. “It was quite the posh affair in an Italian mansion full of glittering chandeliers, gold rimmed china plates, expensive crystal, and the finest champagne imported from France.” Her laughter was a broken sound, like a baby bird calling for help. “I was impressed and perhaps caught up
in the pageantry of it all. A stupid mistake, I know, for men never think along those lines. I can still remember the exact color of that gown, the way the silk slid over my skin, the weight of the jewels about my neck, the look in Phillip’s eye when he said he wanted a dance later in the evening.”
Crispin wisely said nothing. What could he offer? Nothing would change the course of events that had transpired, and she might spook away from finishing the story. Instead, he played his fingers through her golden hair in a bid for silent support.
“Once we were inside the residence, I think someone had mentioned it belonged to a count or another, but I’ve forgotten the name.” She waved a hand in dismissal, and he could easily imagine that limb clad in an elbow-length glove, perhaps with a glittering bracelet around the slim wrist. “Phillip had pulled me aside for a quick conference.” The delicate tendons of her throat worked with a hard swallow that was audible in the engulfing silence of the passageway. “He urged me to do whatever it took to convince the leader of the spy organization of our solidarity, to give anything the man desired.” Her voice cracked, a true indication of the wealth of emotions she must feel.
“If you don’t wish to continue, I won’t force you,” he murmured in a quiet voice, still finger-combing her hair and hoping he made some sort of a difference.
“Three days ago, I would have taken that escape, and been glad for it.” Juliana raised her head to look him in the eyes. Shadows lined her face, a testament to the horrible weight she’d carried for so long. “I must continue the tale until its bitter end. It’s past time.” She drew in a deep breath and let it ease out, but she didn’t settle onto his shoulder again. “All too soon, Phillip left me to circulate through the crush. Other members of our network—our English agents—were also there and scattered throughout the room, for we’d meant to take down every one of those spies that night.”
“It sounds as if you were quite the well-oiled machine.”
“We were. Phillip had that knack, as if he were a master chess player.” She moistened her lips. “My position was never of any importance. I was there as a distraction, as a femme fatale to retrieve information by age-old tactics.” She snorted. “So I flirted with this dangerous man, this head of the master spy ring who meant so much harm to my country, and I flirted for all I was worth even though I hated myself more with every passing moment and the feeling that something was amiss grew and grew.”
Crispin caressed his knuckles along the slope of her cheek. “And then?” Though he knew, and his chest tightened from that knowledge.
Juliana bit her bottom lip. Tears sparkled in her eyes. “I pulled the man into an empty retiring room, for he’d fallen for the bait all too easily.” She brushed at the fine limestone dust on his sleeve. “In retrospect, that should have been yet another warning. Men are highly suggestible, but conquest had happened without a challenge.” Her shrug only moved one shoulder. “Despite all of that, once we began kissing, I rapidly lost control of the situation.” She gagged slightly. “God, I was an idiot.”
Oh, my poor girl. He gently laid a finger over her lips. “I can piece together what happened next. No need to speak it aloud.” His mind reeled from the implication. The fact that her husband would encourage her, all but order her to seduce a dangerous stranger for the sake of the mission sent enraged heat through him. Surely there’d been another way. She’d broken her marriage vows, and Phillip hadn’t cared, all for the sake of a mission. Would that always be the case? Putting a mission first over and above a union, a partner?
“Thank you for that kindness.” Her chin trembled.
The horror and disgust in her eyes gutted him. She’d paid too high of a price for what she’d done. No one should ever need do such a thing. “Your husband was wrong to put you into that position; he should never have asked that of you.” Heavy annoyance flooded his tone. “It was demeaning, and it devalued you as an agent—as a person. Women are not signed into the network to act as prostitutes for information or to withhold their emotions.”
“Your very naiveté is refreshing, and I appreciate your forward-thinking, but sadly, I suspect that’s the number one reason women are even allowed into the King’s agents, for men would not hesitate to seduce a female spy for the same.” She brushed her fingers along the side of his neck, encouraged the hair from his forehead. Those fleeting touches sent fire into his blood and the fierce protective instinct he had for her grew ever stronger. “However, sleeping with the spy wasn’t the worst of what occurred that night.”
He caught up her hand, pressed a kiss to her fingers and then laid it on his chest, over his wildly beating heart. “Tell me the rest.”
Juliana nodded, and the haunted shadows in her eyes made him want to whisk her off to all the beautiful sites of the world, to show her that she deserved so much more than she’d been given. “Apparently, this man knew that I was a King’s agent.”
“How?” That was a surprise.
“I don’t know, never figured it out and he never said.” She shook her head, and in the dim lantern light, tears sparkled in her eyes. “He knew that we were all agents, and he was outraged at what we’d attempted to do.” Her words nearly tripped over each other in her haste to convey her story. “When I tried to deny the accusation, to repair a mission in danger of failing, he grew more incensed. He yanked me out of the room before I could straighten my gown.” Her cheeks were stained red with a flush of remembered embarrassment. “I can still feel his hard grip on my wrist.” She touched her left hand with her right. “He was brutal in his rage, unrelenting as he hauled me down the corridors until we arrived back in the ballroom full of people.” She cleared her throat and a tear fell to her cheek. “I was so humiliated, and even though I quickly fixed my bodice and skirting, and straightened my hair the best I could, everyone stared, and they knew. What was more, my efforts had been for naught. Why shouldn’t he have taken what I all too eagerly offered? He wasn’t stupid, but I was.”
“Oh, Juliana,” he murmured, and the only thing he could do was hold her, his chest tight with sympathy.
“The look Phillip shot me from across the room...” Her body shook. “It was a mix of disgust and disappointment.”
“Yet he was the one who’d ordered you to do exactly what you did.”
“Yes.” The waver in her voice cut to the quick, and he gently rocked her as he would in the attempt to quiet and soothe a child’s angst. “Then, the Italian said he didn’t take kindly to having his good humor, his hospitality betrayed or of having England send spies into his ranks.” She paused, her chest heaving, tears in her voice. “As the people looked on, he grinned at me, and it was terrible, brimmed with malice.” Juliana’s eyes darkened with pain, with horror. “He told me that he made certain every member of my party, every damned King’s agent in attendance, was given a special glass of champagne.”
“Why?” Crispin was transfixed but horrified, hanging onto her every word.
Another tear fell to her cheek. Her lips trembled and she lowered her gaze to his cravat. “A final salute, he’d said,” she managed to whisper.
“No.” Surely he’d misunderstood.
“Yes.” Her fingers tightened on his chest, fisting the fine lawn and catching the hairs beneath. The pinpricks of pain kept him centered in the moment. “The drinks were poisoned. I discerned it, but could do nothing, for he wouldn’t release my wrist. His laughter still rings in my ears, haunts my dreams, dogs my footsteps.”
“Did he give you a glass as well?”
“No.” She closed her eyes, but moisture seeped beneath her lids. “The man told me it was my punishment to see my team die so that I could carry that message back to England and my superiors in person. To warn them that Italy wasn’t about to bow to their might.”
“Dear God!” Crispin couldn’t help his exclamation. He gawked at her, and when she opened her eyes, caught his gaze and guilt and grief mixed in those blue depths, he was lost as well as properly outraged. “He is a madman.”
“Yes.” Juliana nodded. She slumped in dejection, her head once more resting on his shoulder as she softly cried. “One by one, every member of my team—the agents I’d trusted with my life—died. Horribly.” Her tears wetted his shirt. “I had to watch as each one fell to the floor, gasping and choking, convulsing as foam oozed from their mouths.” A sob escaped and she dug her fingers into him. “Their eyes staring in death, with shock.”
“I’m so, so sorry.” Crispin held her close, his chest tight for her grief.
“Phillip was the last of them to succumb. I could do nothing but stand there. By the time I managed to break away from my captor, I reached my husband’s side as he took his last breath. Accusation was in his eyes as he looked at me, a hand clutching at his throat.” Juliana buried her face into his neck, her cries muffled. “He blamed me, I know it. I never had the chance to tell him I was sorry that I failed him, or even that I loved him. He was just... gone. And it was all my fault.” Her tears fell in earnest, as if with each one, she could rid her soul of the pain and everything else she felt every damn day.
How she’d managed to continue on with her life after such an event, he couldn’t fathom. The fact she’d wished to remain a King’s agent spoke volumes of her character. She’d married into a wealthy family, would have been taken care of for the rest of her life had she wished to retire in peace, but determination to make things right, to prove herself, had driven her forward.
Shock raged through him for what had happened, both on that mission and directly following. Risks were always present in every case an agent undertook; they all knew it. Sometimes they failed. It happened, but that wasn’t the end-all.
Eventually, Juliana wiped at her eyes. She sniffed. “As the shock of the murders filtered through the ballroom and people stared and whispered, the Italian ordered their bodies thrown into the street like they were nothing but rubbish. He tossed me out on my arse, told me to give his regards to the prime minister.” A pitiful wail issued from her. She shook from sobbing. “I was numb with grief, buried under guilt. Remorse nearly crushed me while I sat amidst the bodies of my dead friends, colleagues... my husband.”
What the Dashing Duke Deserves (Lords of Happenstance, #3) Page 25
