Lord and Lady Spy (3 page)

To clear her mind of pistols, Sophia had also tried taking an active part in a few of the charitable organizations in which she was supposedly enormously involved. But while the women were kind to her—she was a viscountess, after all—they seemed far more interested in gossip than helping war widows and orphans.

And so she’d ended up staring out her bedroom window for hours on end. The view was depressing, as the garden had been sadly neglected these past years. Perhaps she could try her hand at botany. She’d always been interested in the components of poisons…

Damn!
She had to stop thinking about poisons and pistols! Perhaps if she treated this as a temporary assignment, it would be more bearable.

She took a deep breath. She was Sophia Galloway, Lady Smythe, a peeress, a lady of the
ton
.

She glanced at her sister-in-law, whose life revolved around fashion, nannies, and, of course, tea cakes. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad life. Perhaps she could figure out a way to lace tea cakes with a tasteless poison…

“What are you smiling about, Sophia?” Cordelia asked, her small eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Do my suggestions amuse you?”

Sophia blinked and composed her features. “No, not at all. In fact, I was imagining this room with all of the changes you’ve recommended. The final effect will certainly be charming.”

“Do you really think so?” Cordelia’s brows lifted. “I thought you would object to sealing the fireplace.”

Sophia almost coughed. “Sealing the—? Ah, no, splendid idea. Why is that necessary again?”

“To protect your children, Sophia.” Cordelia spoke as though Sophia were a child, even though, at twenty-eight, Sophia had six years on Cordelia. “Surely you and Lord Smythe would not want your little son or daughter to fall into the fire.”

Sophia stiffened. She should have expected this. She should have prepared a response. Now she was left speechless, mortifying tears welling in her eyes. She blinked them back, her eyes stinging.

“Sophia?” Cordelia was studying her. “Is there something wrong? Or—something you want to tell me?” She clapped her hands together. “Oh, I knew it! You’re expecting.”

“No!” Sophia shook her head emphatically, but it was too late. Cordelia was out of her seat, engulfing Sophia in her arms. Sophia tried to speak, but the sound of voices below interrupted them.

“Ah, there’s the new papa now,” Cordelia gushed.

For once, her husband’s timing was perfect. Sophia needed out of this room before the tears started in earnest. She rose, intending to make certain Wallace showed his lordship into the drawing room. If Adrian so much as thought about avoiding his brother’s family and retreating to his library, Sophia would strangle him.

“Lord Smythe!” Sophia called down the stairs, knowing it was exceedingly gauche to do so and not caring a whit. “My lord, come up to the drawing room. We have visitors.”

She could almost hear his hesitation and could picture the frown on his handsome face. But true to his predictable nature, Adrian started up the stairs. His boots clomped on the marble, and Sophia waited until he came into view.

He glanced up at her, his gray eyes full of his displeasure. “Good afternoon, Lady Smythe.”

“Good afternoon, my lord.”

He reached the landing and raised a brow. “And who are these guests?”

“Your brother and his family. Isn’t it wonderful?”

His expression said the visit was anything but. Still, he continued climbing the steps. To her chagrin, Sophia found herself taking a step back as Adrian came closer. He’d always been a handsome man. Exceedingly handsome. So handsome, in fact, that when they’d first met, he’d all but taken her breath away.

And that was precisely why she shouldn’t have married him. She’d always known she had to marry. No innocent miss could ever hope to secure a place in the Barbican group. But from the first, she’d known Adrian was the wrong man. She had a duty to her country to keep who she was and what she did a secret. She had vowed never to allow anyone to get close to her, to know her, to suspect what she really was.

Adrian made her want to break that vow. Adrian, with his muscled body and his skilled touch. At times, it took all she possessed to stay away from him.

For so many reasons, life was easier if she avoided him and his bed. Not that he wanted her in his bed. And she could hardly blame him. She’d turned him out of her bedroom, shut the door in his face. He thought he was not welcome. Heaven help her if he ever realized the truth.

And now here he was—her husband—that prime specimen of male magnificence. His short, dark blond hair framed a square face of hard edges and flat planes. He had a slash of eyebrows over those mesmerizing gray eyes, and his Roman nose cut his stark features in two. His lips were full, even when tightened in displeasure, and his jaw was strong and angular. Though he was only an inch or two taller than average, his broad shoulders and wide chest gave him an imposing presence. He looked larger than he was, especially when one noted the way his chest tapered into a slim waist, lean hips, and long legs.

Her pulse sped, and she took a shaky breath.

He reached the top step so that Sophia felt as though he truly did tower over her. She teetered on the line between short and medium height, so she squared her shoulders in an attempt to appear taller. Glancing up at her husband, she waited—almost hoped—to see some flicker of interest in his eyes.

Were his hands clammy at the sight of her? Did his chest feel tight? Did he imagine their bodies naked and entwined?

She stared at his broad chest, traced the stubble on his jaw with her gaze, and met his gray eyes. In them she saw nothing.

Thank
God.
If he ever looked at her with more than passing interest, her resolve would surely falter. She couldn’t allow that to happen. She couldn’t drop her guard, not even for an instant. She couldn’t go through that pain again. She couldn’t face the hollow nursery, echoing with the keening rock of the empty cradle. The cradle Adrian had made, lovingly and with his own hands. The cradle they had both knelt beside, fingers and gazes linked, long ago when they still touched, still had dreams of happiness.

“My brother is here,” Adrian said now, stating the obvious.

Sophia nodded. “As are Mrs. Hayes and the two boys. I am certain they are anxious to see you, my lord.”

“I suppose I can spare a moment.”

Sophia smiled tightly. He was going to spare more than a moment. In two minutes, she was going to recall an important meeting and rush away. Let Adrian amuse the demon children and listen to Cordelia’s decorating schemes.

She turned to follow him into the drawing room, but he paused before entering, turning back to her. “I need to talk with you later. We should have a… conversation.”

Sophia raised a brow at the uncharacteristic expression on her husband’s face. “Very well, my lord,” she said slowly. Adrian was never one for mystery. Still, she dared not allow him to pique her interest. He had probably misplaced his copy of the
Times
again and wondered if she had taken it.

Adrian stepped into the drawing room and was immediately assaulted by Cordelia. “Lord Smythe, I have just heard the good news.”

“Oh?”

Behind him, Sophia grimaced. There was no way to escape this now.

“What good news?”

Sophia heard Edward Hayes snuffle and wake. “What? What?”

She could not see the state of the room. Adrian’s broad back blocked her from view, and she was more than glad to hide. She did not want to see her husband’s face just now.

“Oh, Mr. Hayes!” Cordelia screeched. “Didn’t you hear? Lady Smythe is in a delicate condition.”

Adrian’s body tensed immediately, and she realized too late the conclusion to which he’d jumped. Cordelia was speaking again. “Oh, but Lord Smythe, didn’t you know? You look surprised.”

Sophia imagined he was indeed surprised. He turned to her, gray eyes hot like molten steel. “Sophia, is this… happy news true?”

All eyes were on her—even the glowing red eyes of the demon children. But it was Adrian’s eyes that stopped the denial on her lips. For the first time in—she could not think how long—she saw his eyes darken with interest. It was probably anger, but he was looking at her as more than an object at the moment. And in that moment, she wanted desperately to tell him it was true. There would be a baby—a darling, sweet, soft baby. She wanted him to keep looking at her that way. She wanted the closeness they had shared—so briefly—back again. She wanted something—someone—to share with him.

But it wasn’t true, and she didn’t have to humiliate herself in front of Cordelia and tell him so. If he had any ounce of intelligence, he would know it wasn’t true, and he wouldn’t have put her in this position.

Forcing a smile, she announced, “I do believe I have just remembered a pressing engagement. I am so sorry, but I must be off. Good day!”

She walked out of the drawing room and didn’t look back.

Adrian sat at his polished desk in his small, spartan library and attempted to concentrate on the newspaper. He should be reading the article before him, advocating changes in a commerce law. There was a parliamentary session this afternoon, addressing that very issue, but if Adrian’s lack of concentration now was any indicator of what was to come, he’d be wasting his time at Whitehall.

Perhaps part of the problem was the incessant pounding outside his window, where his once quiet, undemanding wife claimed to be gardening. How was he supposed to concentrate on commerce law when his wife was carrying another man’s child?

Sophia
had
been
unfaithful
to
him.

Rage like he’d rarely known welled up inside him. Rage and anger at his own stupidity. What had he thought would happen? He was never here. Of course Sophia—young, attractive, intelligent—would find another man to warm her bed at night.

This was his own damn fault.

If he even believed it. He’d been furious last night, unable to sleep or even lie down most of the night. But this morning, he’d had moments of lucidity. Sophia had never actually confirmed she was pregnant. She’d given no response to Cordelia’s pointed questions. He knew how delicate the subject of pregnancy was to Sophia. Should he be surprised that rather than deny the pregnancy—something she’d had to do countless times—she chose to escape and say nothing?

There was only one way to know for certain.

Ask her.

And wasn’t that what he’d wanted to do all along—broach the subject of their marriage and trying once again for children? He wanted children. He wanted to be the father he had never had.

The pounding in the garden seemed to increase, and Adrian thought that perhaps the conversation could wait a little longer.

He looked at the article on his desk again then sighed. Perhaps the problem wasn’t Sophia at all. Perhaps he just didn’t care about the nuances of commerce law. Perhaps he didn’t care for the life of a viscount—estates, tenants, rents, the House of Lords…

Adrian had always lived a simple life. He served his country; he protected its sovereignty; he atoned…

That was where life grew complicated.

His father’s treason. Even after all these years, anger lanced through him, still raw and blistering and festering with shame.

He should forgive his father. The man was long dead, and God knew he’d paid for his crimes. Melbourne was right. Adrian should forget his father, step out from his shadow. After all, he’d barely known the man.

But the more Adrian contemplated having his own family, the more his father’s legacy haunted him. Adrian swore he would be different. His children would be proud to call him father, proud of what he’d accomplished.

If he ever had children. A new pain, this one a dull throb, replaced the anger.

The sharp, staccato pounding continued, and Adrian pushed out of his chair, rose, and stomped to the window. What the hell was the woman doing out there? Gardening was supposed to be a peaceful, quiet activity—tilling the soil, dropping in seeds, pulling weeds. Why did it sound like she had taken shovel to stone? And why did he care? The banality of life at home was driving him mad. He wanted to throw open the French doors, stride to Melbourne’s office, and force the secretary to reinstall him.

Adrian massaged the bridge of his nose. Even as a child, he’d hated being told
no
—a selfish trait everyone said he shared with his treacherous father.

Stop
it
, he told himself. He was nothing like his father. James Galloway had been a criminal, and he’d been tried and hanged for his treason. Adrian was knighted for his service to England.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the window. But was it enough? Had he done enough to wipe the taint from the family name?

Can
you
ever
do
enough?
a dark voice whispered.

“Yes,” Adrian muttered to himself. But he hadn’t yet. He could do more, would do more, and if Melbourne thought he could stop him—

He heard a tap on the door. “Enter.”

A footman did so, carrying a silver tray. Even from across the room, Adrian recognized Melbourne’s handwriting on the card in the center. Adrian stiffened as the familiar rush of anticipation coursed through him.

***

Adrian was angry, and it didn’t take a spy to figure that out. For the past day, he’d stomped around the town house like an irate dragon. This morning he’d snapped at one of the maids for dusting too loudly. Before long, Sophia wouldn’t just be imagining smoke furling from his nostrils.

He’d even deigned to notice her. He was usually benignly neglectful toward her on the infrequent occasions they dined together, but at breakfast this morning, he’d scowled at her.

How she wished she could scowl right back, tell him he was being ridiculous if he believed she was pregnant. She would never betray him. How could he even believe that of her? If he thought that little of her, he deserved to stew. Besides, he wasn’t the only one in an infernal mood, and at least she had a valid reason for her ill temper. Yesterday afternoon, she’d tried to gain an interview with Lord Melbourne, secretary of the Barbican group, and her request had been denied. She was no closer to reinstatement than before. Her patience, never her best trait, was wearing thin.

Thank God she had this garden as an escape. This hot, overgrown, dirty garden. She’d been out here for several hours and had accomplished almost nothing. The only task she seemed capable of was tapping her metal spade against a large rock protruding from what should have been her flower bed.

Clank. Clank. Clank.

The sound was oddly soothing—perhaps because it drowned out the loop of desperate pleas racing through her head.

“What on earth is that infernal noise?” A voice rose from the other side of the gate, and Sophia jumped in recognition.

With a furtive peek at the house behind her, she rose. “What are you doing here?”

“Saving you, as usual,” Agent Blue said, crossing one ankle over the other and leaning one shoulder against the gate. “And not a moment too soon.” He gave Sophia a quick perusal. “I’ve seen you look better after a knife fight. Good God, Saint, where did you get those
enormous
glasses?”

At the sound of her code name, Sophia glanced back at the house again. Adrian was probably asleep in his library chair, but she didn’t want to take any chances. She placed a finger over her lips and opened the gate. After walking through, she closed it silently and pulled Blue to the side of the stone wall. They could still be seen by neighbors and passersby, but they were obscured from the household’s view.

“How did you find me?” she asked, still whispering.

Blue cocked a brow. “I’m a spy, remember?”

Actually, that fact was rather difficult to digest at the moment. She had never met with Blue when they weren’t on assignment, and his appearance now was a bit unsettling. And not only because she hadn’t expected to find him in her garden. He looked… the kindest word Sophia could think to describe him was
eccentric
.

Sophia never thought much about whether the other members of the Barbican group disguised themselves when they were off-assignment. She used disguise because that had always been her custom. She’d joined the group after working domestically for the Foreign Office. That is, she had investigated suspicious persons and allegations of treason and spying in London.

As a gentleman’s daughter, the daughter of a man who had himself been secretly part of the Foreign Office, Sophia had unprecedented access to the world of the upper classes—a world where power reigned and corruption was a constant threat.

How much easier to remain anonymous and unnoticed by the
ton
if she dressed plainly and played the meek mouse? In fact, so few people took notice of her, she became a master at her profession. And she had been rewarded for her skills. The day she had been invited to join the ranks of the Barbican had been the happiest of her life.

But, for whatever reason, Blue apparently also found disguising himself in London a necessary evil. And his attire today was certainly evil. He wore orange pantaloons, a green silk waistcoat, and a purple tailcoat. His stockings and cravat were white, and his brown hair was curled and tousled within an inch of its life. For once, she didn’t notice his blue eyes.

“Why are you dressed like this?” she asked.

Once again, he looked her up and down. “I might ask you the same thing. Is that gown made out of sackcloth?” He reached forward to finger the material, and she slapped his hand away. For some inexplicable reason, she was embarrassed.

“Why are you here?”

“Finally. Thank God you haven’t been asked to do many interrogations. It takes you a moment to get to the point, doesn’t it?”

Sophia raised her brows. “Only when I’m overwhelmed by so many varied and clashing colors.” She flicked a finger at his clothing, but Blue only struck a dashing pose.

“Like it?”

“No.”

He huffed. “Well, if I had known you were going to be this cold, I would not have called. Perhaps you don’t want to be saved.”

“Saved?” Sophia stepped back and peered through the garden gate to ensure she hadn’t been missed. “Saved from what? Or whom?”

Blue indicated the house and gardens behind her with a sweep of one lace-bedecked sleeve. “Saved from this life of drudgery. But if you prefer to stay home, work in the dirt, and let the rest of us have all the adventure, so be it.” He turned and began to walk away, but Sophia gripped his horrid tailcoat and tugged him back.

He immediately shrugged off her hand. “Careful, madam! You’ll wrinkle it.”

“I’ll do more than that if you don’t explain what you mean. Is another assignment available? Does the group need me to come back?” She pushed her unnecessary glasses onto the bridge of her nose.

Blue gave her a hesitant look. “Not exactly. This is more of a private matter.”

“I don’t understand.”

He reached into his grape-colored tailcoat and withdrew a slim card. “Come to this location tonight at midnight, and all will be explained.”

Sophia eyed the card and snorted. “You cannot be serious. As though I would traipse about in the middle of the night without a very good reason.”

Blue took her hand and pressed the card into it. “Whether you come or not is entirely your decision, but be aware that you are not the only one in contention for the position. If you are late or do not make an appearance, you lose.”

With a nod and a bow, he turned and began to walk away. Sophia watched him for a moment and then called, “Lose what?”

Without looking back, he raised a hand and waved.

***

“I did not ask you here to call you back into service,” Melbourne said as he opened his office door to admit Adrian. Immediately, the surge of pleasure Adrian had been riding since receiving the summons this afternoon vanished.

He stepped into the office and scowled. “I see.” He made a show of taking out his pocket watch and studying the face. Nine o’clock in the evening. “I don’t have time for social calls.”

Ignoring him, Melbourne lifted two brandy snifters from his desk drawer and filled each from a decanter he unearthed as well. He offered one to Adrian. “Brandy?”

Adrian accepted it, sipped the liquid, and crossed his arms. The older man took a seat and proceeded to savor the amber liquid. Adrian felt a heave of impatience as he watched the other man’s languid, unhurried movements. In contrast, Adrian’s heart beat quickly, and every muscle was taut, but he controlled his expression, controlled his breathing. He might seethe with irritation, but Melbourne would never know.

“Care to sit down, old chap?”

“I’ll stand.”

“Suit yourself.”

Adrian closed his mouth, exerting considerable effort to refrain from asking the purpose of Melbourne’s urgent summons. He could be as patient as the devil, if need be.

“You must be wondering why I called you here,” Melbourne said before finishing the last of his brandy.

Adrian lifted one shoulder slightly. “I’m used to coming when called. It’s one of many things about the group I won’t miss.”

“And yet, two days ago, you were at loose ends. I was left with the distinct impression you rather wanted to remain part of the group.”

Hell, yes, he’d wanted to remain part of the group. He
needed
the Barbican group. Melbourne knew it, but Adrian would eat the snifter before admitting how much he wanted his position back. Let Melbourne think domesticity suited him perfectly. Let Melbourne worry about losing his best agent for a change. “I’ve found other amusements.”

“I see.” Melbourne poured another two fingers of brandy for himself. He raised the decanter toward Adrian. Much as he wanted another glass, Adrian shook his head and watched Melbourne relish another swallow.

“Then I suppose you would not be interested in a new venture recently come before me,” Melbourne said. “You are, after all, a free man now.”

Adrian swallowed and waited five long heartbeats. “What new venture?”

“Nothing to do with our group,” Melbourne replied with a wave of his half-empty glass. “Not directly, at any rate. This is a private matter, but it requires the involvement of someone in whose loyalty we are absolutely secure.”

Adrian shifted slightly and clenched his hidden fists to keep from blurting out a barrage of questions. Finally, he settled on, “Who is we?”

Instead of answering, Melbourne sipped his brandy and searched another drawer, unearthing a small white card, which he held out to Adrian. Printed in neat black script was an address and
midnight
.

Adrian’s eyes met his superior’s. “A midnight rendezvous? What is this? A love affair?”

“Hardly. It is a matter of extreme consequence, but as I said before, you are free from my command. What you do with the information on that card is entirely your decision.”

“So I’m at perfect liberty to go home and to bed.”