A Spy Unmasked (Entangled Scandalous) (18 page)

“Take me inside you,” he said, shifting her until her legs straddled his hardness.

She lowered herself, anointing the tip of his manhood with her slick arousal.

“Sweet Jesus.” He moaned.

He thrust forward until he was buried to the hilt in a raw act of possession. They both cried out, the pleasure was so intense.

With his hands on her hips, he showed her how to ride him. She was quick to learn, and met his thrusts in uncontrolled passion. Her head fell back, her breasts arched forward, and her body blossomed from the pleasure. He cupped her breasts, teased her tightened nipples with his teeth, and a moan of ecstasy slipped through her lips as the sensations built to a heightened pitch.

His hand slid down her belly and between her legs. His thumb caressed her sensitive bud and the hot tide of passion raged through her body. He pulled her head down for a searing kiss, and his tongue slid in and out of her mouth just as he plunged deep inside her.

Her body peaked and exploded. Her inner muscles clenched until he stiffened and spilled his seed inside her.

Exhausted, she fell against him and his arms came around her. She nuzzled his chest and inhaled his masculine scent. His heart beat strongly beneath her cheek. Thoroughly exhausted and satiated, she slept.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Robert held Sophia tenderly as she slept. He gazed in wonder at her face, her kiss-swollen lips, and the chestnut tresses across his pillow. No one had ever taken such care of him. He was amazed that she’d still wanted him after he told her of his sordid deeds. For the first time in years, he felt worthy.

She shifted against him. They were married; he could hold her all night and no one would protest.

Ah.
To keep her forever as his wife.

He’d never contemplated the thought after Gwendolyn. But Gwendolyn was far from his mind. They hadn’t shared this blistering passion, this intellectual connection. Gwendolyn had wanted him to change, wanted him to stop spying for the Crown. She had never wanted to acknowledge or hear of his past. She was innocent and naive; he’d never been able to share his deepest secrets with her.

Sophia was different. He might have taken her innocence, but she was far from naive and she possessed an admirable determination and shrewd intelligence. She accepted him for who he was; his faults and his dark past did not repulse or frighten her, and, amazingly, her trust in him hadn’t faltered.

Somehow she had enraptured him. She’d come to him tonight and he’d been lost—all coherent thought had fled in a rush of desire. He hadn’t withdrawn from her silken heat. She could be pregnant. The thought of her carrying his child should strike him with fear.

It should, but shockingly it didn’t.

He trailed a finger down her shoulder and arm, marveling at the satin texture of her skin. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she smiled up at him.

“I want to show you something,” he murmured close to her ear.

“Now?”

“Yes.” He sat up, suddenly feeling like an eager schoolboy.

“But it’s the middle of the night and I’m not dressed,” she protested.

He chuckled. “It doesn’t matter. We’re married now, remember?”

He drew on a dressing gown and helped her with her nightgown and wrapper. Retrieving a candlestick, he opened the door and took her hand in his.

…

Sophia giggled as they descended the grand staircase and wove through a myriad of halls. “This feels like a grand adventure.”

Robert stopped outside a closed door and reached for the handle. The door swung open to reveal an empty room. Moonlight streamed in through four large windows and illuminated the space. She tentatively stepped inside. It wasn’t empty as she’d initially thought—packed trunks and crates were stacked in the far corner.

“What is this place?” she whispered.

“Your new workshop.”

She gasped and stepped farther into the room. She saw it then. Her father’s scarred worktable was set up against the far wall. She hurried to the closest trunk and threw open the lid to find her tools. Nestled in crates lined with straw were dozens of her glass beakers.

She whirled to face him. “You had this room emptied out and my belongings moved here?”

His lips curled into a smile and he nodded.

She still couldn’t believe it. It was a spacious room, larger even than her father’s workshop. The tall windows would allow for plenty of natural sunlight while she worked. “You did this? For me?”

“I want you to be happy here,” he said.

She swallowed a lump in her throat. He had been thoughtful enough to spare a room and designate it as her workshop. She’d never been allowed her own space when her father was alive.

“I realize you may not be here forever, but I promise to have everything moved to wherever—”

She threw herself into his arms, cutting him short. His lips met hers halfway. She didn’t want him to finish his thought, and there was one sure way to distract him. She parted his robe and ran her hands down the slabs of muscle beneath.

…

The following morning, Robert helped Sophia out of the carriage in front of Maxwell and Falk’s factory. A large brick building in the east end of London, the factory was nestled between warehouses along the docks. Tall ships were anchored in the distance, the stench of the river was strong, and the occasional squawking of seagulls could be heard.

The factory’s looming front door was made of solid oak. She would have struggled with the weight if Robert hadn’t held the door open for her to pass. As soon as they stepped inside, the sounds of machinery and men’s voices could be heard from deep in the recesses of the building.

“Stay close to me.” He took her hand.

Factory workers rushed to and fro. A hand-cranked paper-making machine dominated the floor. Its long wire screen moved through a large vat of pulp suspended in water until a thin coating settled onto the screen. Enormous rollers squeezed out the excess water, and the damp paper was rolled up on an end to dry.

A man carrying a heavy sack threw fistfuls of torn bits of rag into the vat. Another stirred the thick soup of pulp.

Nobody paid Sophia and Robert any attention. They watched the paper-making process until they spotted Sir Maxwell’s tall frame beside Sir Falk’s short, portly figure at the far end of the building. By their wild hand gestures and furrowed brows, it appeared as if the partners were in heated debate.

“The animosity remains between the business partners,” Robert drawled.

Just then, Sir Falk turned to motion to a nearby worker when he noticed Sophia and Robert. He said something to Sir Maxwell and the pair started toward them.

“Let me do the talking,” Robert told her.

Sir Maxwell reached them first. “Lord Kirkland. What an unexpected surprise.”

Sir Falk approached and bowed to Sophia. “Lady Kirkland, I understand congratulations are in order for your recent nuptials.”

“Thank you.”

“To what do we owe the honor of your visit?” Maxwell asked.

“We visited your stationery shop for commissioned paper and the clerk informed us that you spent your time here.”

“Ah, yes. We can show you our special stock in my office,” Sir Falk said, steering them away from the machine and into their private office.

She knew the forged plates had to be here. But with Falk and Maxwell present, they would never be able to search the warehouse.

They spent the next hour going over the paper with the business partners. A Kirkland coat of arms was drawn for the watermark and the precise wording of their so-called invitations decided upon.

She shifted restlessly in her seat and glanced at her husband beneath lowered lashes. He appeared relaxed and leisurely, intently concentrating on the stationers’ every word.

Robert leaned back in his chair. “I had inquired about a print shop, but the clerk at your shop told me you had recently acquired a press.”

Falk glanced at Maxwell before answering. “It’s true.”

Robert was right!
They have everything they need,
Sophia thought.
The paper, the engraved plates, the printing press.
She wanted to jump up and run to the nearest constable.

Yet Robert merely smiled, appearing greatly pleased at this bit of news. His blue eyes were completely unreadable, the inner workings of his mind indecipherable.

She wasn’t fooled.

Not for the first time, she marveled at his ability to hide his emotions and his private thoughts.

…

Once they were back in their carriage, Robert turned to Sophia.

“I’ll have to return at night,” he said.

She leaned forward in her seat, her pink lips parting. “Do you need to go back? Isn’t what we saw sufficient enough?”

“No. I must connect Viscount Delmont and the secret group to the counterfeiting scheme. And I still need to find the forged plates. I suspect they plan a delivery very soon.”

Her green eyes widened. “How do you know?”

“The preparation of the special paper. And Maxwell and Falk couldn’t get us off the factory floor fast enough. My guess is they are counterfeiting one hundred or fifty pound notes so as not to draw unwanted attention to themselves.”

“You were right then. There is no military espionage. Delmont, the mastermind, and the secret group are nothing more than thieves,” she said.

“Yes.”

“It explains everything. The viscount’s lavish lifestyle. The Inventor Society’s unlimited funds for its members like Henry Heinz. My father and the others must have suspected the truth, and they were murdered for it.”

“It’s a likely scenario.”

She sucked in a breath. “These are dangerous men.”

“All my missions are dangerous.” He regretted the words as soon as they left his lips. Her face paled, and she looked like she was going to protest.

“Robert?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Please be careful. I’ve come to…to care for you.”

He kissed her then; he couldn’t help himself. Her lips trembled beneath his and it took all his will not to press her back against the leather bench and slide his hand beneath her skirts, trail his fingers up her silken legs.

He sat back instead. “Don’t worry, Sophia. This is what I do.”

She nodded bravely and bit her bottom lip.

His gut knotted. “I’ll drop you off at home. I need to inform Wendover.”

…

Robert met Wendover in a private corner of a coffee shop on Fleet Street. He’d wasted no time in informing his superior of his theory.

Wendover’s brow furrowed. “Counterfeiting is a serious offense against the King. You must be able to prove it.”

“Now that I know the truth, I won’t be misled searching Delmont’s safes and pursuing a wrong theory. The entire house party was a wild-goose chase,” Robert said.

The marquess sipped his coffee. “And you believe George Brass, a common jeweler and silversmith, talented enough to engrave counterfeit plates?”

“He’s not a common jeweler. He works with his hands every day and deals with precious metals. His wife claims he is a talented engraver and can copy famous works of art,” he said.

Wendover sighed. “If the bankers and the public learn of counterfeit banknotes, it could cause wide-spread panic.”

Robert set his coffee cup down. “That’s what Haverton and his fellow murdered inventors knew. Delmont and the mastermind had them killed to keep their secret.”

“What’s your next move?”

“I’m setting a trap tonight at Falk and Maxwell’s factory.”

The marquess leaned close. “What do you need from me?”

“Two armed men to wait outside for my signal.”

“I’ll arrange for it.”

“There’s something else,” Robert said. “I need to you to look after Sophia while I’m gone. She worries unnecessarily.”

“Of course. I’ll pay her a visit.”

Robert nodded. “I’ll find sufficient evidence to incriminate Delmont and put an end to the secret group’s agenda. And I expect to unveil the identity of the mastermind. One way or another, this mission will come to an end.”

Wendover regarded him gravely. “Then you’d best proceed with caution.”

…

Sophia stood in Robert’s bedchamber as he slipped a wicked-looking blade into his boot. He was dressed entirely in black, with form fitting trousers, Hessians, and a jet lawn shirt. The dark color made his sapphire eyes shine like a midnight sky.

When he was finished, he looked at her. “It’s time,” he said simply.

Her heart beat rapidly. She didn’t want him to go, didn’t want him to face danger. Unspoken words lodged in her throat and she swallowed.

She nodded and followed him out of his room to the top of the landing. Her fingers clung to the ornate gilt railing leading down to the marble vestibule.

He turned to leave.

“Wait!” she cried out.

He walked back to her and cradled her cheek with his hand. “We’ve been over this. I’ll be back before sunrise.”

Despite her resolve to be strong, her voice wavered. “I know. It’s just…I want to go with you.”

He chuckled softly. Placing a finger under her chin, he tilted her face upward. “As soon as I find the plates, I’ll send a signal to Wendover’s men, and we can go and arrest the guilty parties.”

She took a deep breath, then blurted out the words. “I love you.”

His expression shifted, an almost imperceptible flicker of emotion crossed his eyes.

Had she made a mistake? Should she have kept quiet until after tonight’s mission? She didn’t want to disrupt his concentration.

He slowly leaned forward and captured her lips in a gentle kiss that left her weak with longing.

Lifting his head, he kissed her forehead. “I’ll be back.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Robert blended with the shadows against the east side of the paper factory. Unlike this morning, the front door was locked. With his tools, he pried open a casement window and slipped inside the building.

He lowered himself and landed agilely on his feet. He lit a candle from his coat pocket, and his eyes adjusted to the glow. The large rollers of the paper machine loomed before him. Stacks of felt were laid out on long tables.

Crouching low, he stealthily crept through the building. He needed to find the printing press, where the forged plates would most likely be located. Crates of paper loomed in haphazard piles throughout the bowels of the factory. Several minutes later he located the press—a seven-foot-long handpress with a flat stone bed.

He lifted the press’s platen, and his heart pounded at the discovery of two expertly engraved plates for the front and back of a hundred-pound note. He couldn’t help but admire Mr. Brass’s workmanship. The forged banknotes he had encountered in the past were shoddy and easily detectable as forgeries, but these…

Every detail was meticulously copied from the signature to the serial number to the date. Combined with the high-quality wove paper, the forgeries would be excellent.

Beside the press was a stack of wove paper that was similar to the paper that had come from the vat that both he and Sophia had found earlier at the stationers’. He held a sheet up to the candle’s light.

His pulse raced. This paper had a watermark that repeated six times and read “The Bank of England.” Once the paper was fed through the printing press and carefully cut, each sheet would yield six banknotes.

A perfect scheme. But when did they plan on delivering the forged notes?

At the sound of the front door opening and voices, he slipped behind a shelf stacked with reams of paper and extinguished the candle.

“Everything is ready.” He recognized Maxwell’s voice.

“We ran into no problems.” Falk’s voice.

They carried lanterns and set them down upon crates. Robert shifted to the side and glimpsed Viscount Delmont’s large frame through a space between the reams. A film of sweat covered Delmont’s face, and he paced back and forth before the press.

“The delivery must be exactly as ordered,” Delmont said, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief.

Robert pulled his pistol from his coat pocket. Wendover’s men would be in place by now. Soon he could return to Sophia. Hold her in his arms. Tell her his true feelings for her…

“His lordship’s orders are precise. He is expected shortly, and we cannot afford another incident,” Delmont said tersely.

“There won’t be another,” Falk said.

His lordship? They must be speaking of the mastermind.

At last
, he thought.
Let the villain show himself!

…

Sophia gave up pacing her bedchamber and went downstairs to her new workshop. She ran her hand over her father’s scarred worktable and breathed deeply. She planned to unpack boxes and crates and lose herself in her work while she waited for Robert to return. She’d never needed a distraction so badly.

She started with her father’s tools, his hammers, wrenches, screwdrivers, and jars of nuts and bolts. She arranged them upon the table in order by size and importance. She had just dragged over a crate and started removing the fragile glass beakers when there was a light knock on the door.

“Yes.”

The door opened and Mr. Burke stood in the doorway. “The Marquess of Wendover is requesting to speak with you.”

Her first thought was terrifying. What if something had happened to Robert? “Send him in at once,” she said.

The butler must have sensed her alarm, for seconds later the marquess strode into the workroom.

“Sophia!” he said.

She flew to him and embraced her father’s old friend. “Why are you here? Is it Robert?”

The marquess pulled his mouth in at the corners. “Don’t worry. Nothing’s happened to Robert. I’ve come to offer you comfort. I knew you’d be worried, and I was right. I want you to accompany me to my home until tonight’s events have passed.”

“Are you certain all is well?”

“All will be. Trust me. Now go fetch your cloak. My carriage is out front.”

Minutes later, Wendover escorted her into his waiting carriage. Leaning back against the leather bench, he regarded her thoughtfully. “I was good friends with your father, you know.”

“I know, my lord.”

His eyes were shadowed by thick brows. “I was just as upset at his passing as you.”

She didn’t think anyone could have been as upset as his only child, but she held her tongue. He was acting out of sorts tonight, but then perhaps the stress was affecting him as well.

She glanced out the window just as the driver turned a corner, heading into an unfamiliar part of the city.

She frowned. “I thought we were going to your home.”

“We need to make a quick stop first.”

“Where?”

The carriage had passed the last town house and left the residential neighborhood. Without the hustle and bustle of pedestrian traffic, the streets were eerily quiet, until the distinctive stench of the river wafted through the window. A sliver of moonlight reflected off the water, illuminating the masts of tall ships.

She blinked in surprise. “We’re headed for the docks?”

“Yes.”

“Robert is in danger then!”

“Not yet, my dear, but soon.”

More than just his tone was strange now. “What on earth do you mean?” She whirled to face him and was shocked to see him holding a pistol, the barrel aimed at her chest.

Her unease exploded into alarm. She gasped as a heart-wrenching awareness struck her. “You! You’re the mastermind!”

“You always were too astute for your own good, Sophia.”

“But you’re Robert’s superior at the Home Office. You work for the Crown!”

“And I will continue to do so once he is disposed of.”

“And what about my father? You were supposed to be his good friend.”

His lips thinned with a cynical twist. “I was. I offered him admittance in our secret group. I even had a gold gear made for him and he snubbed me. I had no choice but to have him disposed of. And you,” he said, pointing a finger at her. “You are just like him, too righteous for your own good. He could have been as wealthy as Croesus, he could have had unlimited funds for his inventions, could have hired assistants to aid him in his workshop. But did he listen to me? No! He threatened to expose me, expose everyone involved. I had no choice.”

“You had him murdered!”

His features twisted into a maddening leer. “As his offspring, you turned out to be just as meddling. You were supposed to be in prison for the attack on George Brass, but I should have known Robert would come to your aid. He was always very resourceful.”

A flash of pure rage ran down her spine. “You’re nothing but a greedy thief. A murdering, greedy thief.”

His eyes narrowed. “You know nothing, my dear.”

To her horror, he pulled out a length of rope from beneath the seat and laid the pistol on the bench. Before she could lunge for the weapon, he grasped her arm in a painful grip and yanked her close.

She fought fiercely, kicking and scratching. He grunted as she kicked his shin and landed a blow on his ear, but his strength overpowered hers. He tied her arms behind her back and stuffed a gag in her mouth.

The carriage came to a stop and the door opened. He dug the pistol into her side. “It’s time, Sophia,” he said as he hauled her out and dragged her inside the factory.

…

Robert remained crouched behind the tall shelf while observing the three men.

“Open this one,” Delmont ordered, pointing to a crate that had been nailed closed.

Falk rushed to comply and Delmont held up a bundle of banknotes. “Beautiful, aren’t they?” he said in a reverent tone as he raised the banknotes to his nose and made a show of smelling them.

“Let’s get them out of here,” Maxwell said.

“Not until his lordship arrives,” Delmont said.

Robert’s pulse quickened. He raised his pistol and stepped into the light. “Shall we wait together until his lordship arrives?”

The three men whirled at the sound of his voice. Falk and Maxwell looked paralyzed with fear.

Viscount Delmont’s lips curled in a slow smile. “Well, well. I was wondering how long it would take for you to make an appearance tonight.”

Maxwell and Falk exchanged stunned looks. Robert read them instantly; they had no idea of his involvement. But Delmont appeared to know and a prickle of unease pierced his spine.

“It’s over, Delmont. Armed men are waiting outside. You’ll be arrested and tried for your crimes and so will your ringleader as soon as he shows his face,” Robert said.

Delmont laughed. “I wouldn’t count on it, Kirkland.”

Again Robert’s instincts heightened and he turned at the sound of a scuffle of footsteps on the wood floor. A muffled groan followed.

His eyes widened in alarm as the Marquess of Wendover came into the light hauling a gagged and bound Sophia behind him. He held a pistol to her side.

“You should listen to the viscount, Robert,” Wendover said.

Robert’s gaze flew from Wendover to Sophia. Her green eyes were wide with fear, and his heart stopped.

He turned to the marquess. “Tell me it’s not true.”

Wendover’s face was hard, cruel, and pitiless as he thrust Sophia onto a crate and pointed his pistol at her head. “I’m afraid it’s true.” With a jerk of his head, he motioned to Robert’s pistol. “Now drop your weapon or she’s dead.”

Robert had little choice but to comply and he slid his weapon across the wooden floor. He glared at Wendover with murderous fury. “Why?” he demanded.

“Sophia stated it quite bluntly in the carriage ride here. Greed. The opportunity presented itself; it was the perfect crime. The talent offered in the Inventors’ Society was unparalleled. Mr. Brass’s engraved plates are better than the Crown’s master plates, and Maxwell and Falk’s paper is indistinguishable from any official banknote.”

Delmont, sneering at Robert, approached with a length of rope. He bound Robert’s hands behind him and shoved him onto another crate, back-to-back with Sophia.

As soon as they touched, he felt Sophia tremble. He feared Wendover would kill her, and his gut twisted. He couldn’t live through the murder of another of his wives, and Sophia’s death would be a thousand times worse than Gwendolyn’s. Sophia was his heart’s desire, and he couldn’t…
wouldn’t
allow her to come to harm.

Reinforcements weren’t coming; he was on his own. He had to distract Wendover…buy himself time.

“Why assign me the mission?” Robert asked. “Why have me look into the Inventors’ Society if you were the mastermind after all?”

Wendover regarded him solemnly. “I had no choice. The secretary of the Home Office was demanding answers for the death of the inventors, including the Marquess of Haverton.” He glanced at Sophia. “I had to think of something and what better way than to connect the deaths to a secret group who stole their inventions and sold them to foreign militias for profit? I never thought you would discern our true counterfeiting scheme.”

“You thought wrong.”

“An unfortunate turn of events.” Wendover glanced at Maxwell and Falk. “You two can go.” For once, the business partners didn’t argue but rushed toward the exit.

He doesn’t want witnesses,
Robert thought.

He knew Delmont had been in deep debt and in need of funds to effectively run the Inventors’ Society and maintain his lavish lifestyle.

But Wendover? No one knew much about the marquess’s personal life.

Robert’s gaze narrowed upon his superior. “What about patriotism for your country?” he said tersely.

“Napoleon is defeated. I did my duty,” Wendover said. “You don’t believe in patriotism either. You were going to leave the Home Office after you married Gwendolyn. I couldn’t allow it.”

A feeling of cold dread settled in Robert’s chest. “What are you saying?”

“You forced me to send Gwendolyn to DeForte that day. I couldn’t permit you to resign. I counted on you seeking revenge after her death, but you stubbornly insisted on leaving. It took a threat to one of your father’s friends to entice you back into espionage.”

Robert’s vision tunneled until all he could see was Wendover through a red haze of hate. He jerked against his bindings, his heart hammering. His lips peeled back from his teeth and he growled low in his throat. He wanted to attack like a wild animal, gravely wound the man he’d thought of as a close friend, his superior at the Home Office, who had betrayed him so badly.

Someone firmly grasped his bound hands.

Sophia.

He became aware of her fingers urgently clutching his. Through sheer force of will, he took deep breaths and calmed his pounding heart. Now more than ever before he needed to concentrate, needed all his cunning and skill.

Sophia’s life was at stake.

Wendover and Delmont turned away to inspect the contents of one of the crates. Robert seized the opportunity, straining against his bindings once more—no longer in a rage—but in a calculated effort to reach into his boot. His fingers grazed the hilt of his blade.

Time was running out.