A Heartless Design (2 page)

“Just pull around the parked carriages and let us out where you can. We can both walk that distance.”

“Yes, my lady,” Jem called back. He restrained himself from muttering a few choice curses at some of the other less alert drivers as he guided the vehicle down the street.

He soon pulled the horses to a clattering halt. Cordelia and Leona waited patiently. A second later, the door opened and Jem’s dark head appeared. “Quickly, ladies, if you please.” He helped them both out. “Shall I wait?” he asked, his expression betraying his distaste of the idea.

“Heavens no, Jem. Go on home. We’ll hire a cab when we choose to leave.”

“Very good, my lady.” Jem couldn’t suppress a grin as he remounted the carriage seat and grabbed the reins.

Cordelia and Leona turned toward the townhouse, and joined the stream of glittering people entering the open doors, where candlelight flooded outwards into the cool spring night.

Lord Gough’s party was a
legitimate crush. The heat of the packed bodies welled up into the air, mingling with the scents of wine and hothouse lilies. Dozens of couples waltzed to the strains of the very latest music, performed by musicians imported from Vienna. Everywhere one looked, it seemed there was a fashionable lady, dressed to the nines and blooming like a flower. The only flaw in the picture was the predatory look each one wore. With narrowed eyes, Sebastien Thorne surveyed the scene from the doorway. He decided he’d seen battlefields less menacing than this place.

As he stepped into the room proper, he felt eyes from every direction settle on him. At over six feet, with broad shoulders, there was plenty on which to settle, and not a few ladies smiled at what they saw. Lord Thorne, the new Earl of Thornbury, had nearly all the makings of a prize catch on the marriage mart. Handsome, titled, and decorated with military honors…the only question was why he had not already been ensnared.

“My lord,” one matron purred as she all but stepped into his path. “It’s so marvelous to see you back in town. You remember my daughter, Rose.” The simpering miss beside her inexpertly flickered eyelashes at him. The mother went on, “You are never about in London. It’s quite criminal the way you avoid us all.”

“How kind of you to say it,” Sebastien returned. “Of course, I would spend more time in London if my finances permitted, but Cheshire is lovely, for those who like the secluded life, as I do.”

He didn’t have to add anything more, since the matron had pulled back visibly at the intimation that London was too expensive for him. Earldom or no, she would never let her daughter marry a pauper. With a secret smile, he continued on, secure in the knowledge that he could still fend off the worst of the marriage-obsessed ladies of the
ton
.

Thorne waded past the scores of ladies and their mothers, as well as other gentlemen he knew. He paused to exchange pleasantries when he had to, but he kept moving, always aiming for a particular alcove on the upper floor. Damn Neville for arranging this rendezvous at a ball. He was used to unconventional meeting places, but a
ton
ball was a trap for a bachelor like himself.

Finally, he reached the alcove, where an unremarkable looking man stood watching the crowd below.

“Have I offended you in some way, Neville?” Sebastien wondered aloud, when he came within earshot of his comrade.

The man threw an amused glance back at him. “I assure you, Lord Thorne, I have nothing but respect for you.”

“Then why have you forced me to walk this gauntlet of marriageable women?”

The other man laughed soundlessly. Julian Neville held the military rank of captain, but no one would think of him as one. Rather short and lightly built, with sandy-colored hair and a face most often set with a mild expression, Neville didn’t look like the image of a heroic officer. Thorne knew that looks were deceiving. Neville had saved more lives than nearly anyone Thorne could name. His affable expression also hid a mind like a steel trap.

“It’s good to see you, Sagittarius,” Neville muttered as Thorne came abreast of him and leaned against the balcony rail.

“You too, Aries,” Thorne responded in the same tone. They knew each other well, but habit forced them both to use their code names. For the two men were more than just fellow officers. They were members of a unique circle of spies, one so secret that even most members of Parliament had no idea it existed.

“When did you get back from abroad?” Neville asked, not referring to France by name. Thorne looked more closely at the other man. Under his customary calm demeanor, Neville was tense. Lines showed around his eyes, as if he slept little these days.

“Two nights ago. Something tells me my reprieve won’t last long. You have some information for me?”

“I am afraid so.” Neville paused, managing to examine the immediate area for eavesdroppers without actually moving a muscle. His voice dropped to a lower tone, one that didn’t carry past Thorne’s ears. “We have word that an unfriendly person is keenly interested in some engineering plans that are here in London…something to do with shipbuilding. A weapon or war machine, we just don’t know. Ever since his fleet was routed at Trafalgar last autumn, Bonaparte has been mad to rebuild his navy with ships that can challenge England at sea.”

“He’s got his work cut out for him, then,” Thorne noted. The British Royal Navy was the dominant force in the Atlantic. No other power could come close to matching their fleet strength, in either number of ships or the guns they carried.

“True,” Neville agreed. “Necessity is the mother of invention, though, and we got word that someone has developed some sort of machine that could change everything.”

Thorne inhaled. “Where did we hear this?”

“One of our agents overheard a conversation while he was on another mission, but was unable to identify or apprehend the speakers.”

“But it’s trustworthy?”

“Most certainly. We do know the code name of the endeavor: Andraste.”

“Is that a proper name?” asked Thorne.

“A deity, I think?” Neville shrugged, annoyed at his own lack of knowledge. “Some ancient name. And no, we can’t figure out if it means anything specific to the project.”

“Where am I going? What nation is behind it?”

“That’s where it gets interesting. The plans are
not
with a government. The owner is a private citizen. And judging from a few other points our agent overheard, it seems highly likely that this person is actually in London.”

“That narrows it down,” Thorne muttered sarcastically. “The French will try to buy the plans.” 

“Not just the French. Every government in Europe would try for them. Prussia, Spain, the Dutch…not to mention the upstart nation across the sea. Especially them. Considering the length of coastline they have to defend, the United States’ navy is laughable.”

“Forgive me for not laughing at the moment. We’ll have to find him and get the plans first.” He didn’t like that their side had just learned about the plans when the French already knew they existed. Staying one step ahead of the emperor Napoleon’s spies was hard enough. Now it sounded like they were two steps behind.

“I was just going to order you to do that,” Neville noted in his mild voice. “You’re taking all the fun out of things.”

“Apologies. Is this a solo mission, then?”

“The Astronomer says so.” As always, Neville avoided mentioning any detail about their superior’s identity. “Of course, others from the Circle are available to aid you. But this is all yours. We have great confidence in you.”

Thorne nodded. “I hope I live up to it.” Like a dog on the scent, he was eager to get out of this place and start his work. “I’ll start right away.”

“Thorne, don’t leave this party for at least an hour, do you understand?”

“Why, for God’s sake?” His eyes flickered around the vast house. The din alone was enough to drive him outside. Considering the clashing scents and all too observant guests, he grew conscious of a strong desire to hide behind a curtain, as if he were still a child in the nursery. “Events like this give me hives.”

“You just arrived,” his friend explained patiently. “Everyone knows you’re here. And since you rarely attend such events, people will note it. As, indeed, they already have. So linger. Play the carefree aristocrat.”

“So that’s why you had this meeting here.”

“Partly. You do have a reputation to maintain, and I’ve kept you so busy you haven’t been in town much. Also, the meeting place was convenient for me,” Neville said. His tone was still agreeable, but his eyes had hardened.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Thorne said quietly. “I expect you have a lot on your mind.” As the Astronomer’s right-hand man and the First Sign of the Zodiac, Neville was privy to secrets that would make most men insomniacs. He once confided to Thorne that the only reason he could sleep at all was because he had been given some power to respond to those secrets.

Neville nodded slightly. “We live in interesting times.” Then he took a breath, deliberately relaxing. “When you do leave, go out through the gardens. There’s a package concealed in the statue of Diana in the third grotto on the south side of the lawn. Just look for your mark. All the details I can give you will be there. Encoded, as usual.”

Thorne nodded. His eyes flicked once more around the ballroom, committing it to memory. Most of London’s polite society were there, it seemed. He surveyed the banquet of figures, all decked out to the utmost, glittering with jewels and silk, as if there were no world beyond this room.

Sebastien glanced down at a vision before his eyes. A woman in a golden yellow gown swept across the floor below, the dress throwing her creamy flesh and raven hair into sharp relief. Even from a distance, it was obvious that she was a beauty. A retinue of gentlemen followed at her heels, drawn to her like magnets to iron. He said, “I suppose I could stay a little while.”

  Neville saw the path of his attention and laughed. “Enjoy the view, Thorne. This one is different from your usual missions. And there are some benefits. Just keep your head about you.”

“When have I not?”

Neville said, “I remember how we met, Thorne. You weren’t always so cool-headed.”

Maybe not. Sebastien’s gaze lingered on the woman below for a moment. Lingered on the smooth white skin, in such contrast to the black-as-night hair so artfully curled and twined about her head, just begging him to loosen it, to let it fall over that skin, fall down to her narrow waist, hidden by the lines of the ballroom dress. Sebastien could picture her without that proper attire. The alternative made his lips curve.

Then he took hold of himself. He wasn’t in London to pursue a woman, lovely as she might be. He had work to do. Thanking Neville one more time, Sebastien turned and walked away, leaving the beauty behind.

Unlike the extravagant townhouse where
Cordelia and Sebastien both lingered unwillingly, the Bering house on Quince Street was quiet. Stiles and the other servants had completed most of their required daily tasks, and nearly all of them were in the kitchen after the late meal, enjoying an hour of relaxation.

Outside the house, a shadowy figure watched for any sign of stragglers. The home was located at the end of a twisting, tree-lined drive, rather isolated from other homes in the area. Secluded, quiet, the garden was filled with hiding places, and only a few lights were on in the home. He noticed that the ground floor windows were set low, and at least three doors in addition to the main entrance opened to the outside.

As a burglar, the shadow was delighted with the place. He carefully approached one of the long windows on the ground floor. Clumsy thieves tended to have very short careers.

He reached the window and pulled out some specialized instruments. These tools were not intended for any honest purpose. Slender lengths of metal, they were meant to shimmy open a window sash, or to slip a lock open in place of a key. Despite his skill, the window nevertheless gave him some trouble. He cursed softly once or twice. The house was not as easy to break into as it seemed. But he kept at it, wondering if he would have to go so far as to break the glass to gain entry.

Before it came to that, however, the window lock gave with a snap. He slid the pane up and slipped through the casement, a tight fit even for a man of his slight size. Once inside, the man held still as a statue, hoping the slight sounds he made hadn’t been heard by anyone. After a few moments, all remained calm.

He began to methodically cover the room, searching in drawers and on shelves for something very particular. Beautiful ivory statuettes were ignored. A silver cup was passed over. Finding a locked cabinet, the thief took out another tool and worked at the lock until it gave. He then extracted a large object from the lowest depths of the cabinet.

“There you are,” he muttered. “Right where he said you’d be.”

He carried the object a few steps away, then placed it on a table and pulled out a tool designed to pry the box open. Within seconds, he worked it into a narrow gap and snapped the heavy metal at the hasp. He pulled out a stack of papers, and held them close to his chest. He slid the box back onto its shelf, then closed the cabinet door. With luck, no one would even notice the broken box and missing papers for a few days. He moved back to the window to leave. All went well until the man took a step and felt something move under his foot. There was a loud yowl as a huge cat leapt into sight, and the man instinctively leapt back, crashing into a bookcase. The clatter echoed through the house, and a woman’s voice shrieked from a nearby room.

The thief cursed in rage as the papers spilled out of his hands. Frantically, he gathered them up.

“Hey! Stop there!” a voice called out.

The thief looked at an angry maidservant in the doorway of the room. He grimaced. But he had the papers again, so he wriggled through the window, then hurtled out onto the lawn.

“Jem! Mr Stiles!” The maid yelled to others he couldn’t see. “Someone’s broken in!”

Jem burst out from a door on the other side of the house, where the kitchen lay, and charged after the fleeing shape. The thief had a long head start though, and Jem knew he’d have to catch him before they reached the main road on the far side of the property. He kept running, following the crashing sounds, since it was too dark to see anyone in the heavy undergrowth.