You Only Love Once (19 page)

She looked at him for a long moment, although not a flicker of surprise or alarm crossed her face. Finally she turned her head, looking forward again. “Ian is here.”

It took him a moment to place the name. Unexpected dislike stirred in his belly. “Sent by Stafford, I suppose.”

She smiled, and answered as lightly as if he had said it was a lovely day. “
Oui
.”

Nate didn't let himself look back. He had no idea what Ian looked like, after all. But he did remember her telling Stafford to send the man after Dixon originally, that first day in the Bow Street offices. She had implied Ian was rough and dangerous, not the sort of fellow to be sent on a mission of subtlety. At the time, Stafford had disagreed with her and refused to send Ian. So what did it mean that he was now here?

Stafford could be getting impatient with their
progress. He might have sent the man to spur things along, or to keep an eye on them. Nate felt the light pressure of Angelique's hand on his arm, and a whisper of alarm went through him. Somehow he doubted the English spymaster would be pleased by what was happening between the two of them. Could Ian have been sent to remind Angelique of her true loyalty?

“I don't suppose he could simply be enjoying the fine day, and we passed him by coincidence.”

“I wouldn't think so, no; not from the way he winked at me.”

The dislike in Nate's belly congealed into animosity and dread. “We'll be seeing him soon, then.”

“Too soon,” she agreed, very quietly.

That, more than anything, set off alarm bells in his head. “Why too soon?” he murmured, barely moving his lips.

She hesitated. “We have not found our man yet.”

The alarm bells rang louder. That hadn't been her only reason. But he looked at her placid face, and suddenly didn't want to know. The very fact that Angelique was worried was unsettling enough. The added fact that she was lying to him about it terrified him.

 

It took all of Angelique's discipline to remain calm and composed during the walk home. Nate sensed her disquiet—she could hardly hide anything from him, it seemed—and lapsed into silence as they walked. That was disquieting, too, but at least it gave her a moment to address her own rioting thoughts. Like a fool, she had let herself ignore
the looming conflict between her intentions and Nate's for too long, and now she must confront it quickly.

Ian was here. That meant Stafford was here, effectively. Normally it would be just an irritant, smoothed over by sending a report to Bow Street and getting on with the work. But in this instance, it unnerved her. They had hardly been dragging their feet; that first meeting in Stafford's office was barely a fortnight ago. What was his haste? There was still nothing to report, or she would have done so.

Of course, something
had
happened. She told herself it was none of Stafford's concern whom she went to bed with. She told herself it hadn't interfered in their work in any way. She told herself their affair was too new, too discreet to have come to Stafford's notice…yet. Lisette, and perhaps Mr. Chesterfield, were the only souls who knew, and Lisette in particular would sooner cut out her own tongue than tell Stafford. Angelique was quite sure her employer wouldn't care much even if he did know, because hadn't he himself told her to seduce Nate if that's what it took to keep him quiescent? Stafford didn't need to know there were any other reasons involved, certainly not any that might signal her allegiance was wavering.

More and more she regretted taking this job, even as she came to crave being with Nate. If she had simply refused to appear when Stafford's note first came, she wouldn't be caught in this dilemma between following her orders and betraying a man she was coming to care for a great deal. Nate still thought he would be carrying Dixon back to New York; Stafford still thought Angelique was going
to prevent that by slicing Dixon's throat. But nothing had happened to reassure her that killing him was the right thing to do, and everything Nate did made her want to see him succeed, even though his success would still mean he left. At least if he left with his goal accomplished, she could say good-bye knowing she hadn't lied to him and stolen the prize he sought.

She glanced at his profile from beneath her eyelashes. His clear, level gaze was fixed forward, taking in everything around them. No doubt part of him was watching for Dixon, never realizing that the greatest threat to completing his mission was Angelique herself. She looked away before he could catch her staring, and blinked back an unexpected rush of feeling. She didn't know how she would untangle this knot, but she couldn't pity herself for facing it, just as she couldn't truly regret accepting Stafford's assignment. If she hadn't, she would have never known Nate, and that would have been the greatest loss of all. He was worth whatever struggle she had to face.

After he first made love to her, she'd said he almost killed her, but that was wrong; he wasn't killing
her
, just the hard, cold part of herself that protected the rest of her. Every kiss, every tender gesture, every bit of rapture he wrung from her body with his wicked, talented hands chipped away a little more of that protection. Everything she did to cling to that shell, he managed to undo. And instead of being furious that he was making her feel things she most emphatically did not want to feel—for him, of all people—she felt rather like a girl, silly in love but so happy she didn't mind being silly. Angelique, who
was never silly, was baffled to find she liked being silly with him.

That would all come to a crashing halt when she put her knife into Jacob Dixon, though. Nate would be shocked and furious at her betrayal, and she would have no reasonable explanation to give him. Damn Stafford. If he'd explained himself—to her or to Nate—at least she could be honest about her true intent. The secret was festering inside her like a parasite; she could almost feel it eating at her.

Perhaps she wouldn't do it. John Stafford wasn't standing behind her, compelling her to act. Angelique thought about that for a while. She didn't think Dixon deserved to die. All she had heard about him had been from Nate, and she still thought fraud and embezzlement deserved what Nate planned: a lengthy stay in prison. All she had to do was…nothing. Continue as before, until they could spirit Dixon away, then let Nate sail away with him as planned.

But that would leave her behind to face John Stafford. This job was very important to him. Not only had he pressed her to take it in the first place, now he had sent Ian to see why she hadn't completed it yet. Perhaps she should go resign immediately, tell him she had had no luck finding Dixon and quit on the spot. She discarded that idea at once, as it would leave Nate to deal with an angry spymaster, and no Dixon to show for it. Above all, she didn't want to bring trouble on Nate. He might think Stafford was just a clerk, assigning spies to carry out orders from above, but she knew better. John Stafford was a dangerous man, especially when crossed.

The last option, she supposed, was to tell Nate
what Stafford had ordered. It would be the fairest thing to Nate, and it would ease her growing discomfort over keeping it from him. But it would expose her for what she really was—a hired killer—and she couldn't bear to see the look on his face when he realized it. He would recoil from her in disgust, sorry he had ever flirted and teased and laughed his way into her heart and her bed. He would know in a few days, most likely, when they finally got Dixon. She was a coward and a thief, keeping that ugly secret, but she was also too selfish to stop. Let her enjoy these last few days of happiness. They might well be all she had left.

W
hen they reached the house in Varden Street, Angelique silently hung up her bonnet and pelisse and started up the stairs. Ian would arrive soon, if he weren't already down in the kitchen trying to wheedle some ale and a piece of kidney pie from Lisette. Perhaps Ian would know something, or have some further instruction from Stafford. If the fates were kind, Ian would have come to tell her that Stafford no longer wanted Dixon dead, that she was free to help Nate fully in every way. But fate had never been that kind to Angelique, and it was more a wish than a hope.

Nate followed her upstairs. “Shall I have Lisette set out some luncheon?” she asked when they had reached the landing outside the bedchambers.

He was staring at her door with a slight frown. “No,” he murmured absently. “Not yet. Are you tired?”

She nodded. “A little. Perhaps I shall lie down.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it and gave a nod. Without a word he turned and went into his room, closing the door.

Already she felt bereft when he left, and she was merely standing in the hall alone. How much worse would it be when she knew he was gone, not just on the other side of a door but on the other side of an ocean? She sighed and went into her room. The afternoon sunlight slanted through the windows, drawing two dazzlingly bright squares on the polished floor and leaving the rest of the room in shadow. It was warm in the room, and she went to open the window.

She heard the barest whisper of sound before the man spoke. “Nice to see you again, lass.”

Angelique smiled and shook her head. Thank goodness he'd given himself away. Ian would never let her hear the end of it if he'd managed to catch her off guard. “Must you persist in trying to sneak up on me, Ian? It is not necessary.”

Ian grinned. He was leaning against the wardrobe, cloaked in shadows. “No, but it's fun.”

“The words of a man whose life is a drudgery.” She paused, pulling off her gloves and laying them in a drawer of her dressing table. “Why are you here?”

He came to stand beside her. The Indian knife Nate had given her lay on the dressing table. Ian picked it up and drew it, a thin frown knitting his brows. “You know why. The usual reason.”

“Explain it to us all,” said a quiet voice. Angelique started. It seemed to have come from nowhere. She hadn't heard the door, or a footstep, or seen a flutter of movement in the mirror she faced. Ian froze; the knife sheath fell from his hand, but not the knife.

“Easy, mate,” said Ian quietly. His fingers curled tightly about the knife hilt.

“Stop,” said Angelique at the same moment. “He is my friend.”

“Then he should put down the knife he just drew.”

Ian darted her a shocked glance, but she reached out and took the knife from him. “Nate, you have heard me speak of Ian Wallace. Ian, this is Nathaniel Avery.” She gestured behind him.

With a little jerk forward Ian turned. Nate lowered the small, pointed dirk he had held to the back of Ian's neck. Neither man smiled. “A pleasure to meet you at last,” Nate said after a moment.

“Aye,” growled Ian. His face was flushed dark red. He looked enormous, towering over Nate by a good eight inches, all brawny muscle and Scottish temper. And yet Nate had stolen up behind him so quietly that neither one of them had heard him. Angelique had heard Ian shifting his weight before he spoke. She would have to ask how Nate had managed that…some other time.

“It is a Wyandot knife,” she said, holding up the blade for Ian's inspection. “They are a native people in America, very fierce fighters. Nate gave it to me as a gift.”

“Hmmph,” said Ian, still eyeing Nate with dislike. “An odd gift to give.”

“And unique. I have never seen the like in England.” She slid the knife back into the sheath and put it down. “I presume you have not come to take tea and discuss exotic gifts, Ian.”

“The usual way to call for that purpose is to knock at the door,” said Nate calmly.

Ian swelled in indignation. “How do you know I didn't?”

“He knocked; Lisette would never feed him if he
did not.” Angelique glared at Ian. “I told you it was foolish to attempt to sneak up on me, and pointless as well. I heard you shuffling your feet.”

“Not much, I should think,” he muttered.

She sighed. Stealth was not Ian's strength; strength was. Still, he worked at it. “Not much,” she agreed diplomatically.

“It sounded like a herd of cattle,” said Nate. “I heard you while walking up the stairs.”

“You did not,” Ian retorted.

Nate shrugged. “Just because I didn't run into the room and cry, ‘I heard you'? Try it without the boots next time.”

Automatically Angelique and Ian both looked down. Ian wore boots, while Nate stood in stocking feet.

“I'll keep it in mind.” Still glowering, Ian dropped into a chair. “No need to stick a man in the back of the neck, though.”

“I didn't, until you pulled out the knife.” Nate glanced at Angelique. “I didn't know if he had your affection for blades.”

“No, Ian prefers to hit people with his fists.” Again Nate had been looking out for her, trying to protect her. That little blaze of happiness flared inside her chest again. She kept it buried behind a serene face; her instinct was to keep that feeling hidden, even though the glow of it warmed her still. “But he has not come to hit anyone today,” she said, turning to Ian.

“Of course not. I've only come to have a chat.”

The ember of warmth went out. “He grows restless already?”

“Curious,” Ian replied in the same careless tone,
a tone that didn't match the close way he watched Nate. “He bade me inquire after your progress and see if you need any assistance.” Ian smiled broadly. “Which I would be pleased to offer.”

“Curious, perhaps, but impatient.” Angelique pressed her lips together in pique. “What sort of assistance do you propose to provide? We have done all the work so far, taking care to be unnoticed, and now you will kidnap our man off the street?”

Ian leaned back and draped one arm over the back of the chair. It was the same chair where she and Nate had made love just a few nights ago, and Angelique had to school her expression very strictly as Ian pushed it back onto two legs, just as Nate had done when she—“I am at your command, Angelique, ready to offer any assistance you desire.” He flashed a wide grin at her, and winked.

A thin smile crossed Nate's face. He still just stood in silence, arms crossed and feet apart, watching Ian. At least he had put away the dirk. He glanced at her, mischief simmering in his eyes, and she had to look away to keep from blushing.
At her command
…Ian could have chosen any words but those…

“Thank you, Ian, I do not think that will be necessary,” she said. “We are making good progress, and expect to have our man soon. You may tell Stafford I will report to him when there is anything of interest to report.”

“I could wait about for a few days,” he replied, not moving from his seat. “Another pair of hands to ensure everything is completed.”

She felt a chill.
Everything
meant killing Dixon. “Oh?” she said, hiding her sudden turmoil. “Are there additional instructions?”

Ian shrugged. “Not that I know of. I expect he told you all he wanted you to do. Old Staff's pretty thorough, once he decides to undertake something.”

Yes, indeed he was. Ian's appearance was not a simple visit to see how she progressed, but a warning. Stafford was reminding her of what he had told her to do. “Then he has told you what he told me,” she said, carefully probing. If Ian knew and had been instructed to see that she carried it out, she would have a serious dilemma facing her, even more serious than it was now.

“No,” Ian said cheerfully. “He just asked me to remind you of his instructions and your duty.”

She flinched, just the tiniest bit, but she feared Nate saw it. “I remember,” she told Ian coolly. “You may go back and tell him so.”

Ian's gaze darted to Nate. “Am I not welcome to stay to dinner?”

“Of course,” said Nate at the same moment Angelique said, “No.” Nate glanced at her, then inclined his head. “Perhaps I should leave you to discuss that privately,” he said. He turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

“I see Staff's fears were justified,” said Ian after a moment.

“What fears?” she snapped. “What did he tell you about this mess, Ian?”

Startled, he threw up his hands at her aggressive tone. “Easy! He told me almost nothing, except that he wished he'd been able to prevent the American from coming along. I guess he thought the chap would slow you down—although not, perhaps, in quite this way.”

“He has not slowed me down,” Angelique said.
“What do you mean by ‘quite this way'?”

“An exotic knife as gift? Ready to kill a man in your bedroom?” Ian shook his head. “That's a man guarding what he views as his. Has he tried to get in your bed yet?”

The blood rushed from her head and she felt light-headed with outrage. “You forget yourself, Ian,” she said tightly. “What do you suggest?”

He looked puzzled as he searched her face. “That he wants you—not that he'd be the first, of course. What's afoot here?”

He didn't know; it wasn't written on her face, or apparent from the way she and Nate looked at each other. Angelique sighed and pressed her fingers to her temple, where a dull ache was taking hold. “We have been looking for this man Dixon,” she murmured. “I do not like it, though.”

“Let me persuade Avery to let you handle the rest alone,” said Ian, rising to his feet. He laid one hand on her shoulder. “Or better yet, with my help. Are you well?”

Better than she'd ever been in her life, in some ways. And at the same time, terribly, terribly unwell in other ways. “He will not go. He is determined to see this through, for personal as well as patriotic reasons.”

“I can be awfully persuasive when I set my mind to it.”

“No,” she said sharply. “Just…leave him be, Ian. He is not the source of my unease.”

It was quiet for a moment. “What is, then?” he asked.

She heard the wariness in his tone, and gave a
hopeless laugh. “Nothing I can tell you. I need to think.”

“You can always confide in me.”

Could she? She didn't know anymore. Ian said Stafford hadn't told him much about what she was to do, but if Stafford really feared she wasn't up to the task, he might have instructed Ian to keep silent about it. She thought of Ian as a friend, but he was in Stafford's pay as well, and she would be an idiot to trust his affection for her over whatever loyalty he had to his employer. Everyone who worked for Stafford had his own reasons, and she didn't know what Ian's were. Angelique smiled bleakly and rubbed her temple again. Now she couldn't trust anyone, it seemed—except Nate. And she was lying to him already.

“Thank you,” she said, shaking off her thoughts. “I will keep it in mind.”

He nodded. “Do. And keep your eye on that American. He doesn't look like the trusting type.”

 

When Nate closed the connecting door between his bedroom and Angelique's, all was quiet for a moment. Then the murmur of voices started again, just as he had heard before slipping into her room to see who had been lying in wait for her. As then, he stood very still for a moment. If he stepped right up to the door, he could probably hear every word they were saying…

With a disgusted huff he tossed his dirk onto the bureau, then went to the bed and sat down to pull his boots back on. He wasn't going to eavesdrop on her conversation, even if he didn't trust that Scot one
bit. Ian Wallace turned out to be a giant of a man, with flaming red hair and arms like a butcher's. No wonder Stafford hadn't wanted to send Ian on this case; Dixon would have taken one look and run for his life. But Ian was here now, and Nate didn't know what to make of that.

He left his room and went downstairs, no longer bothering to move silently. In the hall below he encountered Lisette. The older woman had made no secret of her loyalty and service to Angelique alone, which Nate respected. Normally he let her go about her way with a polite nod, but today he stopped her. “Mr. Wallace is here, up in Madame's room,” he told her.

She sniffed. “I know.”

“Er…right.” He paused. “Is he a trustworthy fellow?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Madame trusts him.”

“Do you think she should?” he pressed.

Lisette could hide her thoughts almost as well as her mistress could. “It's not my place to say, Monsieur.”

Nate sighed. “Of course not. I hope Mr. Stafford hasn't sent him to cause trouble.”

“That is his specialty,” Lisette said under her breath. “Do not worry. Madame is capable of dealing with a great deal of trouble.”

He knew that. It was why he'd let her walk into her room alone; he greatly respected Angelique's capabilities. Of course, when Ian drew her knife as if he meant to use it, Nate felt it was better to be safe than sorry. He was vastly relieved to see that Ian was truly her friend, and not just another agent come to do Stafford's still-unknown bidding.

The trouble was, he could see that Ian's visit unsettled her. He couldn't forget what she had said the other day, that she kept secrets for good reason. Why would Ian's visit make her uneasy, since the man himself clearly did not? She had wanted to know what Stafford told him, and if there were additional instructions. Ian had been so focused on watching Nate he might have missed her response to his replies, but Nate saw. Angelique was troubled by something, and she wasn't telling him about it. He devoutly hoped it was because she saw it as not worth telling him, and not something she feared telling him.

“I know,” Nate belatedly replied to Lisette's assurance. “But she shouldn't have to do it alone.”