Beauty and the Spy (25 page)

"I don't know how you came to be with James, Susannah. But James must have been the one to warn your mother to flee. He was a spy, too."

Susannah gaped. "He
can't
have been."

Kit's mouth quirked wryly. "Not every spy is required to defend maidens. In fact we
seldom
are. James was a… courier, not a warrior. I worked with him a few times. He was a liaison of sorts in any number of important situations, worked through the Alien Office, which is related to Bow Street which is probably how he learned both of Richard's murder and the intent to arrest your mother for it in enough time to warn her. But the night he told me of his suspicions about Morley, he never mentioned you at all, Susannah. I imagine it was force of habit: He would never have wanted to compromise your future by exposing you to the truth. You
were
engaged to an heir, were you not? James Makepeace had protected you from the truth his entire life."

But how different her life would have been if not for James Makepeace.

"He risked so much for me," she mused softly. "And for my mother and father. If anyone had discovered he was harboring the daughter of an accused murderess…"

Kit nodded once, as though completing the sentence in his head. "As I told you before, I considered James my friend, though I confess I don't believe I truly knew him. James was a kind man, a gentle man, Susannah, and a brave one. And I don't think it's a coincidence that both James and Richard Lockwood were murdered while they were allegedly investigating Mr. Morley."

"But why would they"—it was so strange to say "They,' such a nebulous word; who were "They,' anyway?—"or he, want to kill me, too?"

Kit pushed himself away from the bureau and stood tensely in the middle of the room. "
Think
, Susannah. Could you possibly
know
something significant?"

He rubbed the back of his head impatiently, and Susannah was briefly distracted. Anyone would have thought his hair crisp to the touch, because it was so short and so fair it shone nearly metallic in the light, but it wasn't: it was silky. She remembered the surprise of it beneath her fingers in a moment that had already teemed with new sensations: the breeze on her bare skin, then his breath, then his lips, then the scrape of whiskers, and then… oh God, the velvet heat of his tongue curling around her nipple. She'd combed her fingers through his hair then, finding it unexpectedly soft.

Everything about Kit Whitelaw was unexpected.

Blood instantly stormed the surface of Susannah's skin, and what could only be described as lust gave a great demanding thump inside her.

All because he'd rubbed the back of his head.

Kit must have seen something in her expression then, for he went utterly still for an infinitesimal moment, his pupils flaring hot. As though he could read the precise memory in her eyes.

And then, damn him, a mere instant later, he turned his head casually and continued talking, as though nothing about her had ever affected him at all.

"Susannah, did you see or hear something, anything that might incriminate Morley? Do you
have
something mat might make Morley think you're a danger to him?"

"I don't think I've ever seen Mr. Morley before in my life. I rarely ever saw my father… that is, James Makepeace. The only thing I came away from my old home with was all of my dresses and a miniature of my mother. It was the only thing I have of her. The only image of her anywhere in the house."

"May I see the miniature again?"

Susannah had examined the image so closely so many times it was a miracle she hadn't worn away the image with the sheer force of her longing and wondering. Before she handed it to Kit, she looked down at it one more time, at that sweet face, the humor lighting her pale eyes, and thought:
No. This is no killer
.

Kit took it from her.

"For Susannah Faith, from her mother, Anna," Kit read aloud from the back of it. "Could it be code, or… does it open?" He began to peer more closely at it, rub his thumbs at its edges.

Susannah squeaked, and he looked up at her inquiringly.

"Please don't hurt it."

Kit restrained his eagerness with some effort, and returned the miniature to Susannah, who received it in cupped hands tike a tiny baby, and looked down at it again.

"Kit… even so… even if the miniature was somehow a clue, how would Mr. Morley know I have it?"

"I don't know, Susannah." He fell silent "Did your father—James, that is—know you owned this?"

"Yes. In fact, shortly before he died I saw him looking at it and…" She trailed off, as something occurred to her. "He said, '
Of course
,' Kit."

Kit frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"I found him in my rooms a few weeks ago… he was looking at the miniature." She flushed, feeling a little foolish. "But he was looking at the back of it, not at her face, which seemed wrong to me. And then he said, '
Of course
.' He sounded… pleased. Rather excited, in fact."

"He'd realized something, perhaps." Kit fell silent, thinking. He dropped his body into the chair, stretched out his long legs. "Why did you come away from your house with only your dresses and the miniature, Susannah?"

"Because the men stripped the house of everything else. Apparently nothing else was paid for."

"What were they like, these men?"

"They were all almost offensively cheerful. They rather looked alike, too. The one I threatened with a vase was stocky, had only one eyebrow, blue eyes… Oh! I just realized. I… I must have my
mother's
temper! Miss Jones said my mother had a temper." The thought cheered Susannah, perversely. It was nice to know she had somebody's
something
.

But Kit's face was grimly speculative. "My guess is those men searched your home on Morley's behalf. But again… I'm not certain I can prove it."

"But my father
was
penniless when he died… the solicitor told me so. And how would Mr. Morley know if my father…
knew
something?"

"I don't know." Kit slumped in his chair, rubbed his hands over his face in weary impatience, then flattened them on his thighs, as if to deliberately stop them from moving.

Susannah watched him. She'd never seen him quite like this: edgy, weary, stripped of dazzle.

Kit thought for a moment, and then brightened. "
But
… if they searched everything they wouldn't be trying to kill you if they'd found what they were looking for. So we still have a chance."

"Ah. So it cheers you that they're still trying to kill me?"

"Yes. Because I so enjoy endangering my own life on your behalf, Miss Makepeace."

"I think you
must
."

The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "I wouldn't do it otherwise."

"Because it would be more inconvenient to dispose of my corpse than to prevent my becoming one?" she quipped.

"That's enough." And again, he said it so coldly, so sharply, that warmth started up in her cheeks. She would have apologized, but she simply didn't know what line she had crossed.

Kit stood and began to pace. Pacing seemed unlike him, too. He'd never seemed one to waste motion. She watched him for a moment, back and forth, back and forth… until he paused, and quite sensibly, lit a lamp, and then another. The room filled with light.

"Kit…" she faltered. "Why are you so certain Mr. Morley is guilty of these crimes?"

"I'm
not
certain."

"Please don't be oblique. You seem convinced of it."

He hesitated. "Instinct." He said it lightly, offhandedly.

But the hesitation told Susannah that her own instincts were correct: there
was
something more here. Something deeper, something older. Something she preferred not to hear, but needed to know. "It has to do with Caroline Allston, doesn't it?"

She made the words sound as casual as she could, so he wouldn't feel cornered, and wouldn't be stubborn, and wouldn't be glib.

What a delicate thing it was to manage a man.

Well,
this
man.

Kit abruptly stopped pacing, and turned and leaned up against the bureau again, folding his arms over his chest, staring back at her, his expression studiedly neutral. She met his eyes bravely. She was learning there were many types of bravery in the world. Patience—particularly patience with Kit Whitelaw—was another form of bravery, too.

And then, at last, a faint, appreciative smile curled his mouth.

He was funny that way—he loved to be challenged. He loved to be caught out. She suspected he was rarely
truly
challenged.

"I couldn't help her." His voice was soft, as though the words had traveled a distance of years. "Caroline."

"Why did she need help?" Her voice was conversational. To make it easier for him.

It was another moment before he spoke again. When he did, he looked away from her and spoke… well, to the lamp, it seemed. "Caroline was the daughter of a Barnstable squire. And the man was… well, he drank too much, he gambled away their money… Caroline used to try to keep him in liquor so that he would drink himself into a stupor, because that way he wouldn't be able to hit her." Kit gave a humorless laugh. "He had hands like mallets�put bruises on her. I used to steal my father's liquor, so she could give it to her father. Until my father caught me and thrashed me. Thought I was stealing it for myself. Not that I
never
stole it for myself…" he added, with a swift glance at her. In the spirit of accuracy, no doubt.

"I'd expect nothing less of you," Susannah teased gently. But her stomach contracted, hurting for him.

A little of the tension left his posture; his arms unfolded. He was more comfortable now that he'd committed to wading deeper into his story.

"Caroline was… well, she was beautiful. There's no other word for it."

"So I've heard." She couldn't resist saying it.

Kit's brow arched upward, appreciating her sarcasm, as usual. "And… she was manipulative. That, I can see now. But back then… well, John and I—John Carr, my best friend—we were mad about her, and she knew it, too. She played us against each other. Still, there was something about Caroline that made you… want to protect her, no matter what." He looked directly, almost defiantly, at Susannah. "I wanted to marry her."

It sounded almost like an accusation, or a defense.

And she wondered at the tone: Did he think she would judge him for not marrying Caroline? Or did he think that perhaps she, Susannah Makepeace, aspired above her own social station, as Caroline had?

"If I'd the courage, I would have married her. But my father would have killed me, and so…"

"You were only seventeen," she said gently.

"One can breed at seventeen, Susannah," he said bluntly. "It's been done. People marry at seventeen all the time. My parents married at seventeen."

She flushed a little. "But you also were the son of an earl."

"Still am," he said half-whimsically, half-bitterly. "So, in short, I could have saved her, but I didn't. Because I was seventeen and the son of an earl and afraid of my father."

"What of John Carr?"

He paused. "Oh, he would have married her, too. He wanted to, just as desperately. His father didn't like the idea any more than mine. And she preferred me. We both knew it."

He looked directly at Susannah then again. Assessing her reaction to these words.

"I am the son of an earl," he repeated, by way of explanation. "And John is the son of a baron."

"No," Susannah said almost without thinking. He looked at her, puzzled, and she felt compelled to finish her sentence, even as her face grew warm. "It's because you are"—she faltered—"you."

He looked startled. And as she'd said a very good deal more than she'd intended to with that one little sentence, she spoke hurriedly. "Go on."

"Well, when my mother was alive, my father used to hold yearly parties at The Roses, and all the local villagers were invited. This particular year, Mr. Morley attended, too—I believe he was trying to get elected, and wanted my father's support. I remember when Morley first laid eyes on Caroline…" Kit stopped, gave a short humorless laugh. "I was so envious he could appear… unmoved."

This, Susannah thought, wasn't easy to hear, either.

"Caroline spent most of the evening speaking to him. It was very nearly unseemly, and she knew precisely how it affected me. And John. Morley looked up at me… And he…
smiled
. And Susannah… everything the man is was in that smile. It was like he…" Kit paused. "He hated me. He didn't know me, but he hated me."

"And then I turned my back… and they were gone. Caroline and Morley. And John turned to me and said…" Kit turned away from Susannah, as if to spare her the sight of him saying the words. "He said, 'She's just a whore, Grantham.'"

He let the ugly words ring in the room for a moment. Susannah heard them as he must have heard them, a proud young man in love, about to lose everything he wanted to a man he couldn't hope to compete with: Morley.

"And so naturally, I had to call John out." Kit's tone was mocking, but she still heard the twinge of shame in it. "Despite the fact that he was my best friend. And John and I dueled, and I shot him, and our fathers sent us into the army. But the night of the party was the last time I ever saw Caroline. And Morley was gone the next morning, too. And I do I believe that's the end of the story. He took her away."