Jacquie D'Alessandro - [Regency Historical 04] (14 page)

“I suppose I cannot help that, as, since it has apparently escaped your notice, I
am
a girl.” She shook her head and made a
tsking
sound. “For a spy, you really are shockingly unobservant.”

Her gaze dropped and he looked down, as she was, at their hands. His finger still brushed lightly over the faint scar. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to lift her hand and press his lips to that mark. Something strange happened to the area around his heart, a weak sen
sation that felt as if the moorings holding it in place in his chest shifted. Damn it, he’d noticed she was a girl. The instant he’d set eyes on her three years ago. Only now she was no longer a girl, but a woman. A beautiful, desirable woman. And every nerve and cell in his body was screamingly, achingly aware of that fact.

She cleared her throat, then gently slid her hand away from his to dip her quill tip in the ink. “You say you wish me to replicate your letter, Dr. Oliver, yet you’ve distracted me from doing so. I’d best return to the task.” She bent her head over her vellum.

He’d distracted
her?
Damn it,
she
was the distracting one. “Nathan,” he said, a note of irritation creeping into his voice.

She looked up only with her eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

“You called me Dr. Oliver. I prefer simply Nathan.”

She nodded. “Very well. May I
now
return to this task which you set me upon?”

“Yes,” he said, feeling inexplicably annoyed. She applied herself to her writing, and Nathan forced himself to do the same, and pretended he didn’t know she was close enough to touch.

A
fter rereading the note she’d written for a final time, and satisfied that she’d reproduced it verbatim, Victoria set down her quill and looked up to discover Nathan’s intense gaze resting upon her.

“I’ve finished,” she said, hating the breathless edge to her voice. She slid the vellum toward him. Reaching out, he turned the page so he could read it.

“How accurate do you think this is?” he asked, scanning the words.

“I’m confident it’s an exact duplicate. I read the original
dozens of time last evening, examining each sentence closely. The wording was memorable to me because it was…unusual. Stilted. If I hadn’t known the letter was from my father, I never would have believed it. I’ve often helped him with his social correspondence, and nothing has ever read like that letter.” She frowned. “And the contents were so strange. Father has absolutely no interest in art, yet he goes on and on about a painting. If you give me another piece of vellum, I’ll try to duplicate the drawing that was sketched at the bottom of the note.”

His head snapped up. “Drawing?”

“Yes. Supposedly a rendition of the painting he wrote about. Based on the sketch he’d done, the painting is quite hideous.”

“Why didn’t you mention this before?”

“You didn’t ask me before.”

Muttering something under his breath that sounded less than complimentary, he pulled open a drawer in the desk, then pushed a new piece of vellum toward her.

“Thank you,” she said primly, then set to work. A half hour later, after much thought, concentration, and toil, she pushed the vellum back toward him. “There you are.”

He flipped the page around and scowled at it. “What the devil is that supposed to be?”

“I presume it is the landscape that he believed you might be interested in acquiring, although why on earth you would want such an ugly painting that consists of nothing more than a mass of untidy squiggles is beyond me.”

He looked up from the drawing and pinned her with his gaze. “This is
exactly
what it looked like? The same size, the same number of squiggles, all the same length?”

“As near as I can recall. I fear I’m not an artist.”

“An understatement if ever I’ve heard one.”

She shot him a potent glare. “Even if I were Da Vinci himself, I fear I did not pay as much attention to the drawing as I did to the body of the letter itself. Do you recognize the painting?”

“No, but that isn’t surprising. Clearly what your father drew, under the guise of a painting, was a map, one that would presumably contain the location of the jewels.”

“Really?” A sense of excitement trilled through her. “Are you merely guessing because hidden maps are the sort of things spies do, or do you know for certain?”

“Hidden maps are our forte, of course,” he said in a dry tone, “but I know for certain based on what I’ve decoded from your father’s letter.”

She leaned across the desk. “You’ve deciphered the note? So quickly? How did you figure it out? Will you show me how you did it? What does it say?”

His lips twitched at the barrage of questions. “Yes, I’ve deciphered it. I figured it out so quickly because not only was decoding my specialty, but I am unsurpassedly brilliant.”

“Hmmm. I don’t believe ‘unsurpassedly’ is a word, Dr. Brilliant.”

He waved his hand. “It should be. As for showing you how I did it, I fear I cannot, for it quite clearly states in the Official Spy Handbook that a spy cannot, under any circumstances, no matter how he might be coaxed or tortured or kissed, reveal any code used by the Crown.”

“Coaxed, tortured, or
kissed
?”

He heaved a heavy sigh. “It was all in the line of duty, I assure you. As for what the note said…” His voice trailed off and his expression sobered.

“What is it?” she asked, a fissure of dread snaking down her spine.

For an answer, he pushed a piece of vellum toward her. “This is the decoded message.”

Victoria pulled the note closer and read the neatly written words.

Her heart thumped in slow, painful beats and she looked up at him. “Do you know if my father truly is unharmed?” she asked, proud that her voice remained steady.

He studied her for several seconds before replying. “Truly? No. He claims he’s fine, and I know your father, Victoria. He is the most resourceful man I know. Over the years, he has weathered several attacks against him.”

She actually felt the blood drain from her face. “If you’re hoping to reassure me of his safety, you aren’t doing a very good job.”

“I’m being honest with you. He knows how to take care of himself. Since he didn’t indicate he’d been hurt, I’m sure he wasn’t.”

“How do I know this is actually what he’d coded into the note? That you haven’t left something out?”

His gaze seemed to bore right through her. “You don’t. If you continue with your insistence on helping me, I suppose you’ll just have to trust me.”

Trust him? A spy? A man who made his living by telling elaborate lies? A man who was no doubt searching for a way to find his cache of jewels without her? A man who could adversely affect her self-control with a mere look? A man who’d proven he would take advantage of being alone with her? She’d be mad to trust him. Yet…there was something about him that inspired confidence and faith. And as for being alone with her, well, her conscience demanded that she admit she’d taken just as much advantage of that situation as he had. And apparently her father thought him trustworthy. Surely he wouldn’t entrust her care to him otherwise.

Heat crawled through her from his intent regard, and she dropped her gaze to the note. “How on earth did you decipher this message from Father’s letter?”

“I told you, I am unsurpassedly brilliant.”

“You mean your brilliance is unsurpassed.”

“Why thank you.”

“Who is this Baylor?”

“A man for hire, and he wasn’t particular about who hired him—us or the French. He played both sides and gave his information to the highest bidder. He was one of the craftiest, most unscrupulous men I’ve ever run across. When I resigned from my service to the Crown, Baylor was being sought by the French and English alike.”

“How did he have information about the jewels? Could he have been involved in their disappearance?”

He shrugged. “Possibly. But Baylor was like a rat,
sneaking around into crevices, ferreting out snippets of information, then selling them to interested parties. He might have come across the information inadvertently and was trying to make a sale when your father found him.”

She looked at the drawing she’d made. “That doesn’t look like any sort of map I’ve ever seen.”

“You cannot recall anything else?”

She slowly shook her head. “No. I thought it was a picture of tufts of grass, but according to the decoded note, it’s a rock formation.”

“Yes, but which one? There’re dozens on this estate.”

“So where do we begin?”

“I’ll draw a grid map of the property and we’ll search one area at a time. And you’re not to discuss this. With anyone.”

She raised her brows at his peremptory tone. “What about your brother and Lord Alwyck?”

“No one.”

“But why? They already know about the note. They know
I
know about it.”

“Because your father requested it.” He pointed to two words at the bottom of the note. “‘Be safe’ was a secret code between your father and me. It means not to discuss the matter with anyone.” His gaze bore into hers. “Unfortunately, with circumstances such as they are, you already know—something your father would not be pleased about, I’m sure. Of course, I’m also certain he wouldn’t be thrilled to know that since your arrival in Cornwall you’ve resorted to kidnapping and blackmail.”

“I’ve done no such thing!”

“Really? What would you call holding my letter hostage and demanding I accept your assistance before you’d return it to me?”

Victoria lifted her chin. “If I’d done anything less, I’d have once again been relegated to the corner with an indulgent pat on the head. As a Modern Woman, I refuse to be treated like that any longer.”

“Bravely spoken words. However, you might want to keep such declarations under your bonnet once you return to London. I doubt either of your potential fiancés would be happy to hear them. Most likely the prospect of taking a Modern Woman for their wife would put them off the hunt.”

Refusing to rise to his bait, she asked, “Why do you suppose Father requested secrecy, even from your brother and Lord Alwyck?”

An odd look passed over his face. “I’ve no way of knowing what was in his mind. Perhaps he suspects that someone in this area—including my brother or Gordon, or perhaps both of them—were somehow involved in the jewels’ disappearance.”

Victoria stared. “Do you think they were involved?”

“No.” The word came out sharply, and he raked his hand through his hair. “No,” he repeated in a milder tone, “but the point is, I wasn’t to discuss this with anyone, so now I must have your promise that you will not do so.”

“What if Lords Sutton or Alwyck specifically ask me?”

“Hmmm. Yes, that could present a problem. Best you avoid their company whenever possible. Pity, especially as they both seemed quite taken with you.”

She couldn’t tell if he was serious or jesting. “Avoid the company of two handsome, eligible men, especially when they both, as you say, seemed quite taken with me? I’m not enamored of that idea at all. Even if I were, given that I’m a guest in your family’s home and Lord Alwyck is clearly a frequent visitor here, I couldn’t very well avoid them entirely.”

“Then if asked, change the subject,” he said, sounding testy. “Claim the headache. Or the vapors. Lay your hand across your brow and call weakly for your hartshorn.”

Insufferable man. Oh, he was attractive and sinfully well-versed in the art of kissing, but insufferable nonetheless. Before she could firmly inform him that she wasn’t prone to headaches or the vapors, voices sounded in the corridor.

“I’ll have your word not to mention this, Victoria.” His voice was a low, deep command.

“Very well. Consider my lips sewn closed.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Now that would be a dreadful waste,” he murmured, so softly she wasn’t even certain he’d said the words. Before she could decide, he gathered the papers and slipped them from the desk. Seconds later a smiling Aunt Delia sailed through the open library doorway, followed by Nathan’s father. “I cannot
believe
the duke would say such a scandalous—”

Her aunt’s animated words cut off when she saw Nathan and Victoria. “There you both are,” she said, heading straight for the desk. “I’ve the most wonderful news.”

That would explain the rosy tint staining her aunt’s cheeks, the glow in her eyes, and her wide smile. Aunt Delia loved nothing more than imparting news.

“While Lord Rutledge and I were returning from our stroll in the garden, we came across Lord Alwyck, who was returning to his estate,” Aunt Delia said. “He has invited us all to dine with him this evening at Alwyck Hall. Isn’t that marvelous? You simply must wear your new aqua gown, Victoria. You’ll want to look your best, and the color is exquisite on you.” She turned to Nathan. “You should see her in aqua, Dr. Oliver. It’s a sight to behold.”

Heat flared in Victoria’s cheeks. Good Lord, what on earth was Aunt Delia saying?

“I shall count the hours,” Nathan said solemnly, “although I’m certain that Lady Victoria wears every color well. As would you, Lady Delia.”

A noise that could only be described as a girlish giggle came from Aunt Delia, and Victoria stared at her aunt in amazement. “Why, thank you, Dr. Oliver.”

Nathan’s father cleared his throat. “Speaking of attire…” he shot a pointedly raised brow at Nathan’s lack of a jacket and cravat.

Nathan pushed back his chair and rose. “If you will all excuse me, I have some correspondence—”

“And a cravat,” his father intoned.

“—to attend to. I’ll see you all this evening.” He bowed, then strode toward the door, the vellum papers now folded over in one hand.

This evening? Victoria watched him leave the room with the letter and map and wondered exactly what he planned to do between now and then.

Nathan sat in Gordon’s drawing room after dinner and tried to concentrate on the inlaid chessboard set between him and his father, but his attention was focused on the same thing it had been all through the interminable evening.

Victoria.

The torture had commenced three hours and seventeen minutes ago—the instant he’d seen her walking down the stairs toward the foyer where he stood, alone, waiting for the rest of the group to gather to travel to Gordon’s estate. Dressed in a pale aqua muslin gown with short, puffed sleeves and a low, square-cut neckline, her shiny curls twined with ribbon and arranged in a becoming Grecian
knot, she moved slowly and gracefully down the wide staircase, as if gliding on air, like a gorgeous sea nymph from a Botticelli painting. She was precisely what her aunt had said she’d be. A sight to behold.

Their gazes met, and she hesitated on the steps, one gloved hand gracefully holding the oak banister while her other hand settled on her stomach, as if to calm a sudden fluttering there. Was it similar to the bewildering commotion the sight of her set up in his own stomach? Although he’d never considered himself a fanciful man, he swore that in that instant something passed between them. Something warm and intimate, and certainly on his part filled with a longing he could neither explain nor deny.

He watched her draw a slow, deep breath, his gaze drawn to the delicate hollow at the base of her throat, which deepened as she inhaled…that fascinating bit of vulnerable skin he knew felt like a swatch of velvet and was scented with the hint of roses. She blinked several times, breaking the spell that seemed to have been cast between them. She then resumed her descent, but had taken no more than two steps when Colin spoke softly from directly behind him. “Exquisite, isn’t she?”