Love and Let Spy (Lord and Lady Spy) (36 page)

“You think me a cold-hearted killer,” he said. “It’s true. I like to kill. I like to cut.” Spittle flew from his lips as he spoke. “But who showed me how to kill? Who showed me how to make an efficient, clean cut with my knife? A flick of my wrist across a man’s throat, and he is dead quickly and painlessly. It is not murder if it is done in the service of King and Country.”

Jane closed her eyes. She knew her uncle’s methods and his words. He’d taught her the same technique. Given her the same trite justifications.

“But in time I came to loathe myself, loathe what I was doing, and I began to hate. Do you understand that, Bonde?”

“Yes.” She lowered her head, eyes still closed. Why did Foncé not light the fuse? Why did he not kill them all? She wanted to die. She knew the loathing Foncé spoke of. She’d felt it too. She’d taken lives. She’d played God. She was no assassin, as Foncé had been trained, but she had done her share of murder in the name of the Crown. And though she had her reasons, her
justifications
, she hated herself every time she took a man’s life. She despised herself and the Barbican for what she did. “I understand the resentment,” she said, opening her eyes and looking at him. She saw him differently now. He was one of them. He was part of the Barbican. Her brother in so many ways. “He never gave me a choice. He took any chance I had for a normal life from me and gave me”—she waved a hand at the madness of the altar Foncé had built in the hollows of the Palace of Westminster—“this in its place. For that I do resent him.”

Slowly she stood. “But I am not a child any longer, and I have not been for years. I cannot blame my uncle for all of my choices. I made some on my own. You, too, made your own choices. You chose to become a traitor. You chose to kill the innocent. M did not force your hand.”

“You still do not understand,” Foncé said, shaking his head. “When will you ever understand?”

“When will you?” And she kicked out, landing a boot squarely under his jaw, jerking his head back so he lost his balance. The dagger he held clattered to the floor, and Jane jumped.

***

He was lost. Dominic was lost. It had killed him to watch Jane disappear behind that door with Foncé. It had pierced his heart to walk away from her, but it had been the only way. Alone he could not save her. He knew horses, not combat. But he knew who could save her, and he’d retraced their steps, running and calling out until Wolf and Blue had met him, their gazes hard with anger and concern.

Now he led the two agents back, praying he remembered the way. If he made a wrong turn…if he did not remember correctly, he would lose her. He would lose the only person he had ever come to love. He could not lose her.

He lost his footing, and Blue caught his arm, hauling him back from the abyss. “I remember this,” Dominic said when he caught his breath. “The steps lead to the chamber where Foncé has her.”

“You’re certain?” Wolf asked.

Dominic looked at the two men. They would follow him now, though they surely must know there was a distinct possibility that he was mistaken. There were hundreds of such stairwells. And if he was not mistaken, they would still follow him. They’d follow him to what might be their death.

“I’m certain.” And he led the way.

***

Jane landed on Foncé and struck him before he could retaliate. But he was a trained agent, one trained by the same master who had trained her, and it took him only a second to recover and strike back. He kicked her in the belly, and she skidded across the floor on her back. Instead of advancing, of taking advantage of her weakness, he turned toward the lost weapon. He was no fool, this Foncé. With a cry, Jane bounced to her feet and went for the dagger too. She knocked Foncé out of the way and reached for it.

Her fingers grasped the cold metal before Foncé kicked her hand away. She elbowed him, and they both went down. She caught his leg as he crawled for the weapon, and he dragged her across the floor.

Belatedly, she realized he was no longer reaching for the dagger. He was moving toward a table where a lamp burned.

“No!” She released him, rolled, swiped the dagger, and blocked his path. Calmly, he set the lamp down and inclined his head. She was breathing hard, but she managed, “This is…over.”

“Not until I light it,
ma
chérie
.”

She gasped in a breath. “Never.”

And the door slammed open.

***

From over Wolf’s shoulder Dominic could see Jane. She had managed to wrest the knife away from Foncé, and now she faced him with the blade in her hand. But their entrance had taken her off guard, and Foncé moved quickly. Too quickly. He grabbed Jane about the waist and took hold of her wrist, raising her hand and the blade to her throat. She wore a simple day dress in dark blue with white lace at the rounded neck. It was a modest cut made gruesome by the crimson stain of her blood on the white lace. The man had already cut her, and he would make the deep, deadly one now.

“Agent Wolf. Agent Blue,” Foncé said. He sounded completely at ease, while Dominic could see Jane struggled to catch her breath. “So kind of you to join us. I have a fireworks display to show you.”

“Release her,” Wolf said, training his pistol on Foncé. Blue cocked his own weapon and pointed it at the madman. Dominic fused his gaze on Jane’s. She was watching him. There was no fear in her eyes, only resignation, only regret. He shook his head. It was not over yet. He would not lose her.

Foncé angled her body toward the table they stood beside. “Miss Bonde, if you would be so kind as to take hold of that lamp.”

“No,” she said. Foncé dug the knife deep into her skin, forcing her head up.

“Do it.”

Her gaze flicked to Wolf. “Shoot him,” she said. “It’s the only way.”

“Shut up and take the lamp.”

She did not move, her gaze still locked on Wolf’s. “Kill him. Kill me. I’m dead anyway.”

“Take the shot,” Blue said.

“No!” Dominic heard himself scream. He hadn’t even known he would speak.

“If you won’t take the lamp, I will.” Still holding Jane as a shield, Foncé reached for the lamp. Jane managed to slide out of the line of sight, and the room exploded with the sound of a pistol shot.

***

Jane pushed the dead weight off her and stumbled forward. She didn’t see who caught her, but she knew by his scent and the feel of his body it was Dominic. She buried her face in his chest, feeling unaccountably exhausted.

It was over. She was still alive. But there was no triumph in the victory. She felt hollow and empty. For the first time she walked away from a mission without the thrill of success coursing through her veins. There was no glory in this.

“He’s dead,” Blue said. “Good shot, Wolf.”

Jane opened her eyes and turned her head. Blue knelt beside Foncé’s lifeless body. He withdrew a handkerchief, pristine white, from his ghastly puce coat and wiped the blood from his fingers. And then he allowed the cloth to fall over Foncé’s face. Wolf turned away, the look in his eyes as dead as she felt inside.

“It’s over,” he said to no one and all of them. “It’s finally over.”

The four of them limped toward the surface, seeking fresh air and what remained of the light, like worms after a heavy rain. They met Baron and Butterfly rushing toward them, and no words were needed to explain what had happened. The six of them emerged from the palace together, blinking in the noise and light of the Old Palace Yard.

Q and Moneypence were the first to greet them, but Moneypence, seeing the blood on Jane’s collar, immediately stepped back. “I’m fine,” she assured him.

M elbowed his way through. “Foncé?” he asked.

“Dead,” Wolf said. “It’s over.”

Jane watched as relief flashed on her uncle’s face, and she saw something else as well: regret. It would never be over for Melbourne. And it would never be over for her.

“My lord! Lord Smythe,” a voice called from outside the circle of the Barbican. Beside her, Wolf raised his head.

“Wallace?” He sounded confused. Jane was confused as well. What was the Smythe’s butler doing here?

“My lord, Lady Smythe has sent for you.”

“How the devil did you find him here?” Baron asked.

The butler gave him a withering look, as if to say there was no place he could not find his employer. “I have my methods, Lord Keating.”

“Sophia,” Wolf said, bringing the matter of his wife back to the forefront. “She sent for me?” He’d gone rather pale, Jane noticed.

“She has begun her labor, my lord.”

Wolf’s knees gave way, and he would have sat down if Blue had not caught him.

“She requests your presence at her side,” Wallace said, as though his master had not all but collapsed.

“Of course,” Wolf—who was looking more and more like Adrian Galloway and less like a renowned agent for the Barbican—said and attempted to stand on his own.

“It will all be well, Lord Smythe,” Butterfly said, stepping forward. “Winn and I will go with you. Wallace, have you brought the carriage?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Good. Then make haste, Lord Smythe. You will soon be a father.”

Baron took one side of the unsteady Lord Smythe, and Butterfly took the other. They began moving toward a carriage sitting on Margaret Street. In the last of the day’s light, Jane could just make out the Smythe crest on the door.

Lady Keating looked back at them. “Are you coming?” she asked.

“Ahh…” Blue stammered. “No. I have a prior engagement.”

“Coward,” Baron called over his shoulder.

“You leave assassins to me,” Blue answered, “and I leave babies to you.”

“Shall we accompany them on horseback?” Dominic asked. Jane turned, surprised at his words. “That is, if you are feeling well enough.” He touched her neck gingerly.

“This? It is just a—”

“Scratch. Yes, I know.”

She studied him in the gray dusk. Unlike Blue, his face showed no sign of panic. “You want to go along?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps we should see what is involved in the business of marriage and family. That is, if you still want to marry me.”

“Oh, I do. I do.”

Hand in hand, they started for their mounts, and it was only when they had arrived at the Smythe’s town house on Charles Street that she realized her uncle had not accompanied them, nor had he spoken except to inquire after Foncé. The man who had once been so central to her life had faded into the background. She glanced at Dominic, riding beside her, and found him looking back at her.

All was finally as it should be.

Twenty-one

They lay in the clean hay of the stables at Kenham Hall, listening to the sounds of the horses settling down for the night. Jane rested her head on his chest, and he absently stroked her bare shoulder. She still wore her chemise, but little else. He’d yanked his trousers back on because he did not relish the idea of one of his grooms seeing him bare-arsed, although that was exactly what he’d been a few moments before.

It still amazed him that this beautiful woman would soon be his. His wife. What amazed him more was that she loved him. She really did. She’d been patient with him these past few weeks as the last of his rules slipped away. Now he felt only slightly edgy when she touched him, as she did right now, her hand resting on his chest beside her cheek. The feel of her hands on him had become more comforting and arousing than triggers to the past.

He still had nightmares. He had not forgotten the past, but he was learning to separate what he had with Jane from the abuse he’d suffered as a boy.

She shivered, and he pulled her closer to share his warmth. It was summer now, but the coldest summer he could remember. “Shall we go inside?”

“Yes,” she answered, not moving. “In a moment. Tomorrow night you shall have to allow me to come to your rooms.”

“And if you’re caught?”

She made a sound of derision. “I will not be caught. Besides, now that we have the grain thief, we do not need to meet in the stables any longer.”

He smiled. “I think you like the stables. There are no servants to hear you.”

She rose on one elbow, her chemise dipping low to reveal the swell of a breast. “I am a perfect lady.”

“You are. Even on your back in the straw. Even when you toss me on my back.” He was grinning, and she grinned back. She could not stay angry with him, not when they both felt so pleasantly satiated at the moment. Not if she was even slightly as content as he. His grain thief had indeed been caught just a day after they’d retreated from London and come to stay at Kenham Hall. The man had been a disgruntled groom Dominic had let go last season. He’d been sneaking into the stables and stealing the premium grain then selling it. Now the thief sat in the local gaol, awaiting prosecution.

Jane could finally rest easy. Foncé was dead, and the country was safe. He knew her thoughts still turned to the Barbican at times. They had left it in a state of upheaval. He would have stayed in London with her while matters were sorted, but she wanted out of the city, and where better to go than her betrothed’s country estate?

“I had a letter today,” she said quietly. The tone of her voice alerted him to the seriousness of the contents, and he sat, pulling her up beside him. A lamp burned nearby, and in the dancing flames her hair looked like gold and her face glowed like an angel’s.