A Spy Unmasked (Entangled Scandalous) (14 page)

Oh, Robert. What happened to you?

He jumped to his feet and quickly righted his clothing. He then whirled her around and started with the tiny row of buttons at the back of her gown.

The voices sounded closer. A sense of urgency passed between them. They both understood the consequences if they were found alone and half-dressed in each other’s arms. Once her buttons were refastened, she spun to face him.

“This isn’t over. We need to talk about what happened,” he said.

We need to talk about you.
“I—”

He cut her short, pointing to the pathway leading out of the maze. “Go before we are discovered,” he said in a tense, clipped tone. “I’ll remain behind and distract them.”

This time she didn’t argue and turned and fled.

Chapter Nineteen

Robert watched Sophia go, his hands fisted at his sides. He counted to ten, then breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. Sexual desire ravaged against the urge to protect and possess. His need was greater than it had ever been in his life.

More so than with Gwendolyn.

Not for the first time he questioned his fierce attraction to Sophia Merrill. She had the same effect on him that she’d had the first time he’d kissed her: instant, combustible lust. He could not control his hunger for her any more than he could cut off a limb.

The thought barely crossed his mind before another formed. She wasn’t a first year debutante, but a mature woman who desired him. Why couldn’t he?

His resounding answer was dredged from a place beyond logic and reason, but nonetheless undeniable. He wanted Sophia with a desperation bordering on obsession. To hell with Henry Heinz, Viscount Delmont, or any other who desired her. The only man who would touch her, kiss her, was himself.

He’d have to move on after the mission was concluded; there could be no future between them. Even with his new title, he would never consider himself proper husband material. Not when his life involved the daily dangers of espionage. He’d learned that brutal lesson long ago with Gwendolyn.

Yet somehow his motives had changed. The simple had become complex. To entrap Delmont and the mastermind for certain, but also to claim Sophia and protect her from the unseen dangers the mission would undoubtedly reveal.

…

As Sophia hurried back to the house, her body still hummed with delight from Robert’s skillful touch. Erotic images of what had transpired in the gardens filtered through her mind. Her heart thumped erratically as she recalled his passionate kisses, the strength and warmth of his flesh, and the earth-shattering climax she’d experienced before they had been interrupted.

She had longed to touch him, to kiss and stroke his magnificent body until he reached his own fulfillment. Yet she sensed that his need was deeper than a sexual release, and she’d never forget the low growl that had rumbled from within his chest from her simple touch.

But how could he be a stranger to women? To human contact?

He’d wanted to talk about what happened between them. She wanted to talk about
him.
More specifically, his past. But how could she bring up the subject?

She made it to her room and changed into a dress of pale primrose muslin embroidered with tiny roses. By the time she finished and closed her bedroom door, she was late for luncheon. Her slippers were silent on the Oriental carpet runner.

At the sound of angry voices in the corridor, she slowed.

What in the world?

The shouting was coming from the Brass’s assigned rooms. She halted and glanced about. The hall was empty; the guests had long ago headed for the dining room. Ducking behind a large, ornate Chinese vase on a pedestal and pressing her back against the plaster wall, she strained to hear.

“I cannot believe you put the Earl of Stanwell’s name in the hat for the séance. Lady Stanwell must have been distraught. That was above cruel, even for you, Emma.”
Mr. Brass’s voice.

“I told you I didn’t do it to be cruel. I thought it would add to the entertainment. I never believed the viscountess a real medium or the séance would work!”

Sophia stood stunned by the admission. Emma had put Charles’s name in the hat as a joke? Sophia’s temper flared at the thought of what Jane had suffered. It took all of her self-control not to burst into the room and strike the silly woman.

The couple continued arguing, and she remained in her spot, more intent on eavesdropping.

“We shall leave this place. I’m finished with the Society,”
Mr. Brass said tersely.

“You cannot be serious, George. You’re finally a member. How can you think of leaving?”
Emma asked.

“I’ve made my decision.”

“An opportunity like this comes along once in a lifetime. Think of the money we can earn with their influence. You will have the funds to pursue your inventions. The
ton
will visit your shop, and I will receive invitations to all the Season’s soirees.”

“Is that all that concerns you? Money? The
beau monde
?”

“Am I so different than your first wife—”

“That will be enough!”

Just then, the bedroom door opened and Emma burst out, slamming the door behind her. Her skirts whirled around her ankles as she rushed down the corridor and down the stairs.

Sophia remained frozen against the wall, thankful the other woman hadn’t noticed her. She prayed the Brass’s bedchamber door would remain closed so that she could discretely pass. The last thing she desired was to be a witness to the couple’s domestic quarrel.

Grasping her skirts and stepping from behind the Chinese vase, she attempted to hurry past just as the door swung open and Mr. Brass stepped out.

He halted upon spotting her and cleared his throat. “Lady Sophia, I apologize for that display. Mrs. Brass has quite a temper.”

Sophia stood awkwardly. “I was just passing by. There’s no need to apologize.”

Mr. Brass shut his bedchamber door and stepped toward her. “Are you on your way to luncheon?”

“I am.”

He offered her his elbow. “May I escort you?”

How awkward.
Yet how could she refuse him? Manners dictated that she accept. She placed her hand on his sleeve. “That would be lovely.”

Mr. Brass led her to the landing and down the grand staircase. “I couldn’t help but overhear from Lady Stanwell that you are an inventor.”

“My father’s workshop has become mine, and I hope to follow in his footsteps,” she said.

“I wasn’t aware women were allowed in the Inventors’ Society.”

“They’re not.”

“It’s for the best.” They passed the vestibule and soon entered the maze of corridors that led to the dining room.

She tilted her head to the side and regarded him. “Are you suggesting women are not intelligent or creative enough to become inventors?”

Mr. Brass chuckled. “Others may hold that opinion, but not me.”

“Then why is it for the best that I not join?”

He leaned close and looked at her from beneath craggy brows. “If it was up to me, I wouldn’t have joined myself.”

“It’s certainly not required,” she pointed out.

He drew his lips in thoughtfully. “Maybe not to others, but Mrs. Brass is—how can I phrase it—ambitious.”

“She forced you to join?”

“I have no opposition to what the Inventors’ Society stands for.”

“Then what?”

He sighed wearily. “I’m old and no longer need validation in my life for my achievements. Personal satisfaction comes from within, not from a fancy society. I’m also a simple jeweler and engraver—an artist at heart—but Emma is young and wants to be more than the wife of a shopkeeper, no matter how successful my business grows.”

Not for the first time, Sophia wondered why Mr. Brass had married an overly ambitious woman less than half his age. “You must be true to yourself,” she said.

He hesitated and appeared to be in deep thought. “Did I ever tell you that I knew your father?”

Her step faltered. “No.”

“He helped me once. When I began my business years ago, he came to me to buy a piece of jewelry. A locket.”

She looked up at him stunned. Reaching for the filigree chain around her neck, she pulled out her locket. “This?”

“Yes.”

She flicked the heart-shaped piece open to reveal a tiny portrait of a middle-aged man. “It has a picture of my father. He gave it to me when I was a young girl. I’ve worn it since.”

“He purchased it from my first shop and requested I engrave it with a specific message from father to daughter. At the time my shop wasn’t doing well, and he offered to lend me money until business improved. If it wasn’t for him, I would not have succeeded. I paid him back years ago and we parted ways, but I never forgot his kindness. The Marquess of Haverton was a good man.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I had no idea. Father never mentioned it to me.”

“I’m not surprised. He was a true gentleman.”

They had reached the entrance to the dining room. Most of the guests were already seated inside.

“Take care, Mr. Brass.” She placed a quick kiss on his cheek before entering the dining room and heading for her assigned seat.

Chapter Twenty

Robert had decided to skip luncheon and had sought a quiet place to think. He’d discovered the billiard room vacant and had just finished racking the ivory balls when the door opened and Gareth Ramsey stepped inside.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Robert asked.

Gareth strode forward. “Is that any way to greet a friend?”

His broad, towering frame had intimidated many opponents in the boxing ring and in the courtroom. But the two were good friends and it took more than bulk to intimidate Robert.

Gareth picked up a cue stick and joined him at the billiard table. Robert watched him shoot a ball into a side pocket.

“I find it hard to believe you’ve yearned for my company for the short time I’ve been away. So why are you here?” Robert asked.

“I received an urgent missive from Mr. George Brass requesting a consultation,” Gareth said.

“Brass is recently married to a much younger lady. Don’t tell me he’s seeking your services already?”

“I met with the man earlier. He tells me his young wife is difficult to live with. He realizes a divorce is impossible and seeks an annulment or legal separation.”

A flurry of movement outside the window caught Robert’s eye. A group of women strolled past on the garden path. Sophia was amongst them. Her face was flushed, her eyes a brilliant emerald. She walked arm in arm with Jane, laughing.

“Is the smiling brunette Lady Sophia?”

“It is.”

“Ever since I met her at Lord Cameron’s ball, I’ve been meaning to compliment you. She’s certainly not an eyesore.”

Robert scowled. “I never said she was.”

“Considering your staunch celibacy, I never thought you intended to marry.”

“I don’t, remember?”

“Ah, yes. Wendover ordered the betrothal.”

“That’s right.”

“Even though you’re just following orders, I still have hope that the lady can pull you out of your celibacy,” Gareth taunted.

After years of secrecy, Robert longed to share the truth with him. But where to start? That he had secretly married Gwendolyn? Or that he had accidently murdered his wife and his celibacy was a form of self-punishment.

Robert set his cue stick down on the edge of the billiard table, but before he could speak, Gareth interrupted.

“What do you know about Lady Sophia’s cousin?”

Robert’s brow furrowed at the question, and he looked at Gareth.

But Gareth’s attention was once again riveted out the window, his dark eyes intently studying the women. Robert realized he’d been worrying for naught. Gareth had no interest in questioning him further about his feelings for Sophia. His friend’s thoughts were clearly preoccupied elsewhere.

“Lady Stanwell is a widow,” Robert said. “Her husband shot himself, supposedly over a gaming debt.”

Gareth turned away from the window, his eyes narrowed. “Supposedly?”

“Some believe she drove him to commit suicide.”

“Bollocks.”

“I agree. Society is malicious.” Robert began to line up the ivory balls on the green, felt table. “Why the interest in Jane? You prefer courtesans. She doesn’t strike me as a woman who would dally in a casual affair.”

“You’re wrong about that,” Gareth drawled. “My gut tells me there’s fire beneath her widow’s weeds.”

Robert stared. “You find her a challenge?”

Gareth shrugged. “She’s a beautiful woman.”

Robert chuckled. “Careful, Gareth. Else
you
just may find yourself caught in the marriage trap.”

Robert laughed at Gareth’s taut expression. Then his thoughts turned and he contemplated telling Gareth about his current mission. The Home Office frowned upon an agent sharing information about an ongoing mission with others, but Wendover also stressed an agent should do what was expedient. Robert was no closer to incriminating Delmont and knew Gareth’s presence could help.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Robert said. “I’d like to make the best of the next few days.”

“I understand Viscount Delmont keeps his guests well entertained.”

“That’s not what I had in mind. I can use your help for the remainder of the week.”

Gareth’s eyebrows rose inquiringly. “You have my interest.”

“Tell me, what do you think about George Brass?

Gareth shrugged. “He’s an old man who made a mistake with his choice of spouse.”

“How about Viscount Delmont?”

“I don’t know him well enough. His wife appears to be a bit peculiar, but warmly welcomed me to stay for the remainder of the house party. Why?”

“The viscount and several of his fellow inventors are up to something,” Robert said.

“Illegal?”

“Yes, but I don’t know in what capacity yet. Wendover suspects Delmont is working for a mastermind who is killing off inventors and selling their inventions for profit. There is evidence of a secret group within the Society. I need you to keep your ears and eyes open for me,” Robert said.

“Does Lady Sophia know?” Gareth asked.

“She suspects. But only three days remain of the house party, and I need to make the most of them.”

Gareth slapped Robert on the back. “You can count on me.”

“There’s something you should know about me,” Robert said. “Daniel already knows.”

Gareth’s mouth quirked with humor. “That magpie knows something I don’t?”

Robert struggled to maintain an even, conciliatory tone. “I know that you believe me uninterested in the fair sex lately, but the truth is I was married to Gwendolyn.”

“You’re jesting?”

“No.”

Gareth’s amusement swiftly faded. “Why not tell me? Why the secrecy?”

“I blame myself for her death.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. She died in a riding accident. You talk like you murdered her.”

If you only knew,
Robert thought.

“There’s no need to be secretive,” Gareth said. “If you prefer to keep it quiet, then I’ll never speak of it. As for Delmont, I’ll do what I can to keep watch.”

Robert nodded. “Good. How about we ring for one of the viscount’s countless footmen, request a bottle of his fine whiskey, and discuss strategy?”

…

Late that night, Sophia tossed in bed unable to sleep. The viscountess had kept the women busy during the day with an outdoor walk of the vast grounds followed by games of whist in the drawing room after dinner. Robert had been noticeably absent all evening.

She fluffed her pillow in frustration, trying to find a more comfortable sleeping position, when a scraping sound at the door alerted her.

She sat up bewildered. Her eyes focused in the dim light, and she turned to see Jane in the nearby four-poster. A shaft of moonlight from the window illuminated the bed, and the sheer silk canopy had been pushed aside. Her cousin lay unmoving and for several seconds, Sophia watched her chest rise and fall and listened to her soft snore.

Quietly rising, she went to the door and found a piece of paper that had been slid beneath the crack. She picked up the sheet and tiptoed to the window. Moonlight cast light upon the bold, black script.

Lady Sophia,

Kindly meet me in the conservatory at half past two. I have something of your father’s. He’d want you to have it.

Mr. Brass

She frowned. The nature of the note was mysterious, but the content fascinated her.

She fingered her locket. She’d worn the necklace since she was a child, and she had been surprised to learn that Brass had made the delicate piece and engraved the message. Whatever he had, she wanted as a memory of her father. Perhaps it would reveal something about his death.

Yet she wasn’t a fool. Why the mysterious note in the middle of the night? Was he afraid of his wife’s disapproval? She recalled the Brass’s fight and wondered just how strong a hold Emma Brass had on her elderly husband.

She clenched the note in her hand. She had promised to keep Robert appraised of all her actions. Reaching for her wrapper, she quietly opened the door and set off to find him.

…

Robert turned onto his side in bed. He had spent the remainder of the evening with Gareth drinking, playing billiards, and strategizing about the mission. They’d discussed the secret group, Viscount Delmont, and where else Robert could search for clues.

He had avoided talk of Sophia, but he knew Gareth suspected more when it came to his relationship with her. As a shrewd, experienced barrister, Gareth was trained to observe human behavior.

If he wasn’t distracted by Jane, he would have questioned me further. I must be prepared for his inquiry.

Robert shifted onto his back. The manor was silent; all the guests had retired long ago. An owl hooted in a tree close by his window.

He dreamed he was back outside DeForte’s house and waiting for the Comte’s fine carriage. His breath was visible in the frigid December air as he crouched behind the bushes. His spyglass was focused on the front door. The guards had rotated. The Comte’s carriage slowly traveled up the stone drive.

DeForte stepped out, followed by Gwendolyn.

But why was his wife with the traitor?

The question had haunted him for over a year after Gwendolyn’s death until he’d discovered the truth.

The scenes unfolded in a different order as he tossed…

The answer had been in the safe of another Englishman, an assistant to the prime minister. Robert had climbed a trellis and broke a casement lock and lowered himself into the man’s bedroom.

He had found the incriminating documents at the bottom of the safe: a list of names of agents working on behalf of England against Napoleon’s tyranny. Robert’s name was third on the list. Beside each agent’s name their family members were identified in neat block print. Several had been crossed off.

So was Gwendolyn’s.

A suffocating fury encompassed him. His heart pounded with the force of a mallet.

The dream changed…

He was standing in Wendover’s elegantly appointed office, his face set in stone as he handed his superior the list.

“Napoleon’s agents have unearthed ours,” the marquess said. “They sought to hunt you down and torture you until you revealed everything, but you proved elusive. DeForte sent a missive to Gwendolyn saying you were in trouble. They must have planned to use Gwendolyn as bait to lure you into a trap. They didn’t know you had already been assigned to assassinate DeForte and infiltrate his house that fateful day.”

Robert thought of Gwendolyn’s beliefs. He took deep breaths, unclenched his fists, and tried to calm his racing heart.

What would she have wanted? What would she have told me?

The words were the hardest he’d ever voiced out loud. “I want out.”

“Out?” Wendover said incredulously. “I’d think you’d want revenge.”

“DeForte is dead,” Robert said.

“What of the cause? The threat of Napoleon’s invasion of England and the lives of our countrymen?”

“There are others that can fight the fight without me.”

“I understood why you wanted to retire after marrying Gwendolyn, but now that she is gone, I’d have thought you’d want to stay in espionage,” Wendover said.

“You thought wrong.”

“Can I change your mind?”

“No.”

Robert woke with a pounding headache. He was cold, shivering, yet sweat covered his entire body. His bedcovers were twisted about his legs, and he kicked them off. Panting, he cradled his aching head in his hands and sat on the edge of the bed.

He had indeed left espionage, left working for Wendover and the Home Office. He’d returned only when one of his father’s closest friends and his wife had been threatened by a madman.

When Wendover had contacted him, Robert had agreed to take care of the matter. Looking back, he’d known the price: he’d remain working for the Home Office.

The most frightening fact of all, he realized, was that he’d missed it. The theft, lying, cheating, and murder…it was a part of him—a part he needed in order to feel alive, a part as deeply embedded as the marrow in his bones.

Until now.

The throbbing in his temples built in intensity. He was having doubts again—doubts that had nothing to do with his past marriage or the lies he told his friends, but with his growing obsession for Sophia. More and more, she invaded his thoughts. At a time he should be concentrating on the mission, he was thinking of how the cut of her gown emphasized her full breasts and her long legs. How good she smelled…and tasted.

Worse still, how he
felt
when he was with her.

He was thinking irrationally. The assignment would eventually end—they always did—and he would part ways with Sophia Merrill. She’d call off the betrothal. The scandal would pass, and she’d go on with her life and marry a rich, titled lord and bear him many heirs.

Bloody hell.

He rose and splashed water from a basin onto his face. Cold rivulets ran down his chest and wet his shirtfront. He breathed in deeply and exhaled. Rubbed the back of his head.

It was no use. He felt as if the four walls of his chamber were closing in and the air was stifling. He needed the cold night air to cool his blood and ease the pounding at the base of his skull.

After donning riding boots, he left the room and headed for the stables.