The Beauty and the Spy (5 page)

N
ick led Will back through the decaying alley that paralleled the Ouse River, then held up a hand when he reached his lodgings. “This is the place. I'll go in first. Take the steps in the back, right corner. I'm the first door on the right at the top.”

He went in ahead of Will, limping through the smoky, loud taproom to the far staircase. His room was in one corner, where the ceiling slanted over the bed and he had to duck if he wanted to pace. After tossing his cloak and cane on the bed, he threw another piece of peat on the iron grate in the fireplace, and it belched out smoke.

When Will gave a soft knock, Nick let him in. They sized each other up for a moment, and he saw the suspicion Will didn't bother to hide.

Nick looked at Will's fine garments. “I should have given you the cloak. You stand out around here.”

“They thought I was drunk, so I fit in well enough. Now what do you want?”

“Sit down,” Nick said, nodding toward a wooden chair. He had never had to figure out a way to talk to Will before. They'd always known each other's thoughts, yet this well-dressed Will, this fine gentleman who'd recently become a baron, was almost a stranger.

After explaining to Will where Sam was, Nick was able to get to the most important question. “So who's the woman? She looks of quality, yet she's traveling with you.”

“
I
am of quality now, old man, thanks to our good queen. But her name will tell you who she is—Jane Whittington.”

This new information sent Nick's thoughts ricocheting in another direction, but he had to be sure. “As in Colonel Whittington?”

“She's his daughter. I'm bringing her north to see him.”

How had they
both
gotten tangled up with the colonel's daughters? There was no such thing as a coincidence. “And she doesn't mind traveling alone with you?”

“We're engaged.”

Nick pretended casualness with a whistle. “Well, look at you—a nobleman, a dandy, and soon a married man. Hard to believe.”

“Miracles happen.”

But even Will's assurance seemed forced.

“Now why did you feel the need to find me?” Will continued.

“Do you remember General Reed?” Nick asked. “He had a sister named Julia.”

“I remember. He was with the Bengal army.”

“Yes. Do you remember how his sister came with all the other army families into Kabul? She was always foolishly brave, even more so than her brother, I think.”

Nick tried not to let his bitterness show, but Will was too clever for that.

“You knew her?” Will asked, tilting his head to study him.

“Intimately. We both agreed it was only for a short while because I wasn't going to be in Kabul long. Sam had introduced us. He grew up in the same parish as the Reeds.”

“So what does this have to do with me?”

For a moment, Nick stared into the fire. Was it still so difficult for him to believe that Julia had committed treason without him even knowing? “She was sending British troop information to the Russians.”

Will stiffened. “How can you accuse a woman of treason, let alone be certain she actually did it?”

Nick hadn't anticipated how difficult it would
be to talk about something so personal—and embarrassing—even to Will. “The Reeds didn't have much money. They were from an old family whose investments had long ago gone bad. I knew then that she wanted more than someone like me, a mere cousin to nobility, could give her. She took matters into her own hands.”

“All right, you've given me motive,” Will said as he stood up to pace, “but not any proof. I assume you know for certain this happened?”

“Originally, the word ‘treason' was whispered by one of my Afghani informants. I knew he was playing both the Russians and us, but he could be useful. I think he was shocked when he realized that a British woman was involved. She sent the information in a coded letter, and he saw her deliver it.”

“And you know it was Julia?”

“He described her perfectly—how many women can there be in Kabul with hair so blond as to be almost white? One who would roam the bazaars dressed as a boy?” Nick had been drawn to her independence, to the wild, unfettered way she lived her life, so different from the other European women he knew.

“Maybe she spurned his advances,” Will said thoughtfully, “and he's decided to punish her.”

Nick shook his head. “She left a necklace I had given her with a certain Russian officer. I saw it myself.” He didn't want to see the pity in Will's eyes. Will must have suspected that Nick sympa
thized with women. Had Will realized Nick's weakness as an intelligence agent?

“Nick, you might be only one of many she bedded,” Will said cautiously. “How do you know she wasn't simply involved with this Russian?”

Nick refused to allow his emotions to get the better of him, and he hardened his tone. “Because I traced her accomplice back to England. He's here now, ready to testify against her. He gave me one of the letters, and he has the matching code letter. They look innocent—except for little blobs of ink, certain letters filled in, as if someone just randomly scribbled on them. She would send two letters, by two different routes, and you could not read the code until both letters were side by side. The accomplice will give me the matching code letter when I reach Leeds and get him to safety. He's afraid she's going to have him killed for what he knows.”

Will leaned back into his chair, his expression wary. “But why now? This all happened over a year ago.”

“It's taken me a long time to track this man down. But the main impetus is that my lovely Julia has made a good match for herself. She's supposed to marry the Duke of Kelthorpe.”

When Will gave a low whistle, Nick scowled and said, “I can't let a traitor to England marry into one of the highest families in the land—hell, the groom is a distant cousin to the queen!”

His outburst sounded loud even to his own
ears, and the silence that followed was awkward. He was making this assignment too personal, and he had to get past that. He understood Will's reluctance to return to a life he'd left behind, but Nick explained that he needed Will to get himself invited to a house party that the duke was holding. If Julia hoped to marry the man, she could hardly afford to miss the event. Will only had to watch her, and inform Nick about her movements.

But Nick was surprised by what worried Will the most: Jane's welfare. Had he fallen in love so quickly? He hardly remembered Will ever making time for women, in all the years he'd known him. Nick was unmoved by this new side of his friend. England's safety had been weakened, and he would be damned if he didn't stop it from happening again. Will's eventual agreement made them both relax, and Nick told him about the location of Langley Manor.

Nick had one last thing to reveal, and he knew this would be the hardest. “I have Jane's sister with me.”

“
Charlotte?
”

That got a good reaction, from Will's stunned expression.

“I didn't mean to bring Charlotte with me—frankly, she won't tell me why she was at Lord Arbury's party—”

“You were there?” Will said, looking guilty.
“It's my fault
she
was there. I didn't want her traveling with Jane and me, so I had Arbury send her an invitation. Of course she couldn't refuse.”

“You had to send her to
Arbury's
?” Lord Arbury was a man well known to the Political Department. He'd done them favors, and had favors done for him in return. He'd spent much of his youth in India, and now used his experience in the hallowed halls of Parliament. Arbury had rather enjoyed the idea of Nick holding a clandestine meeting during his ball.

“Who else did I know so highly placed?” Will continued. “Hell, Queen Victoria was going to be there. Charlotte was beside herself with anticipation for her first ball since coming out of mourning.”

Everything Nick thought he knew about Charlotte disappeared in an instant. “Mourning? For who?”

“Her husband. Didn't you know?”

“She's not exactly speaking to me.” His mind raced with the implications, with how this news helped ease some of his problems.

“Why not?”

He wished he didn't have to tell Will quite everything.

“Because I've gagged her.”

Will's mouth fell open. “Why the hell would you need to gag a gently bred woman—the colonel's daughter?”

“Because she thinks I'm a traitor,” he replied, unable to stop his laughter—and his relief.

Charlotte's husband had died over a year ago.

Nick explained the kidnapping to Will, then insisted he could not tell Jane any of this. His friend reluctantly agreed.

When Will stood up to leave, Nick followed him, saying, “Maybe I'll just hand Charlotte over to you. After all, her sister would be anxious to comfort her.” Even as he said it, he knew he could never go through with it.

“I think not,” Will said. “When Charlotte finally understands the importance of your mission, send her back to London. I'm sure she won't want to miss the end of the Season.”

But she didn't seem like a woman who cared about such things. She was more alive, more vibrant than those boring ladies of the
ton
. If he'd kidnapped one of them, he'd have a hysterical woman on his hands, instead of the challenging, wily Charlotte.

 

Charlotte laughed at the joke Mr. Cox had just finished telling, more relaxed and at ease than she'd felt in two long days. But then she heard the sound of Nick's footfalls before he even opened the door. How she knew, she wasn't certain, but a prickle of awareness raised the hair on her neck. She stared blankly at the cards in her hand, where just a moment before she had sworn she would beat Mr. Cox this round.

After being unlocked, the door swung open, and Mr. Cox, his face redder than before, raised his shaggy head to glance over his shoulder.

Nick leaned inside. “Sorry to interrupt your private party. Cox, can I speak to you for a moment?”

Mr. Cox rose to his feet, drawing on his long black overcoat and swathing his skinny neck in a black scarf though it was a hot August evening.

“But our game was not finished,” she said, hearing a hint of desperation in her own voice. He would probably send Mr. Cox away, leaving her alone with her kidnapper again.

Mr. Cox nodded formally to her. “Mrs. Sinclair, ye surely had me beat that game.”

“You're only humoring me. Do give me one more chance.”

“I got to see to the horses and carriage, ma'am. A good evenin' to ye.”

With a nod to Nick, Mr. Cox disappeared into the hall. The door closed behind both men with a finality that was suddenly nerve-wracking.

But she was alone for the first time in more than a day. Here was her chance to escape. She jumped to her feet and raced to the other door. She opened it and stepped lightly onto the balcony in the cool night air.

Not a sound rose from the inn yard below. It was so late that even the laughter of drunken men in the taproom had died away. Off in the distance she could see lanterns hung in the darkness and
hear the sound of neighing horses. That must be the stable. She could steal a horse.

Luckily lanterns were hung in several places along the inn itself, as well as in the yard down below. It didn't seem too far to drop.

She climbed over the balustrade and faced inward, holding on tightly. The breeze picked up and lifted her skirt and petticoats, and she swayed with terror. But she couldn't back down now. She had to get away.

Crouching, she slowly went down on her knees, holding the balustrade hard against her stomach. The ground faded into murky blackness. Why didn't it seem any closer? If she lowered herself and hung from her hands, surely she could drop down lightly.

Why hadn't she followed Jane's example as a child and escaped the house once in a while? Jane knew which tree grew close enough to the manor, which stair creaked on the servants' staircase. It would have prepared Charlotte for this.

She leaned away from the balustrade and lowered one leg.

From below her, a voice said, “You are so predictable, my fair Juliet.”

It was
him.
And he didn't sound amused.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she clutched the balustrade. “You are no Romeo!”

“It's a long drop down. Do you want to risk it?”

Very carefully, she drew her leg back up be
neath her, then rose to her feet. One hand slipped, and she swayed backward for a moment.

“Stand still!” he said in a soft, angry voice.

He was directly beneath her now, and she muttered every curse she knew under her breath. She put one leg over the balustrade, turned, and brought the other over, which left her standing on the balcony, looking down at his furious face.

He suddenly leaped and caught the beam that braced the balcony. She gasped and fell back, even as his hand gripped the floor. He was coming after her!

She turned and grabbed for the door, which rattled in her hand and wouldn't open right away. She finally flung it wide, stepped inside, and tried to slam it on him. He stopped it with his boot and then began to force it open. Although she braced all her weight against it, she slowly slid backward.

When it was obvious she'd lost, she let go and tried to run around the bed, but he vaulted it easily and put his back to the door before she could get there. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her.

Even in plain country garments, he looked very powerful, very masculine, very dangerous. His jaw was stubbled and shadowed. How could eyes so black seem to blaze out at her, reminding her that she was alone with him, that she'd angered him?

This man was her kidnapper, a criminal, she insisted to herself. But it was so difficult to think of him that way. Had she really interrupted a mission of British agents? How could she tell? She forced herself to remember every line she'd read in her father's journals, but nothing came to mind. She knew no secret code words that would ferret out the truth. She could only judge him as a man.