Lord and Lady Spy (5 page)

He was wearing the gray cloak. The same gray cloak the operative who had stolen Ducos out from under her had been wearing.

Her eyes must have widened, because Adrian’s expression went from bewildered to alarmed. “What is it?”

“You,” she spat. She reached forward and grasped a handful of the offending cloak. “It was you. I do not believe this. It’s impossible.”

And it was. Adrian?
He
had been the agent to apprehend Ducos?

Adrian looked at the wadded material of the cloak in her hand, looked at her face. “What are you talking about?”

“Lucien Ducos.”

His face showed no reaction to the name. “I don’t follow.”

It was a blatant lie, and yet his voice betrayed nothing. He was good. Damn! He was good.

“You stole him from me,” Sophia spat. “You’re the bastard who walked in and stole Ducos from under my nose.”

His gray eyes widened. “You’re the other spy? You’re the agent who couldn’t catch him?”

Her jaw dropped indignantly. “
Couldn’t
—I had him, you fool. That was my trap you stepped into. Days of preparation, and you ruined everything.”

Adrian shrugged—arrogant, cocksure. It was a new look, a novel attitude for him. She hated it and was drawn to it at the same time. This man was
not
her husband.

“I guess we know who the better agent is,” he drawled.

“Better at pilfering, perhaps. But who won the confrontation down here?” She gestured to the lower level. “I had you right where I wanted you.”

He glanced at the pistol she still held and snorted. “With that toy? I was hardly concerned.”

Sophia’s eyes narrowed, and she raised the weapon. “This toy, as you call it, will put a nice hole in your belly.”

“If you can even fire it straight.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

She inhaled sharply, partly because of the insult and partly because it was truer than he could have guessed. Handling pistols was not her forte. But even she could not miss at this close range. She cocked the hammer. “Shall we test that theory?”

They locked eyes.

The man at the top of the stairs cleared his throat. Neither Sophia nor Adrian looked away.

“If you two want to kill each other, fine with me. But if you are interested in this assignment, I suggest you make your way upstairs. I will not be kept waiting.”

He withdrew, taking the lantern with him, and the lower level was once again pitched into darkness. Neither Sophia nor Adrian moved. There was silence, except for the drip of the water.

Plop, plop, plo—

“I’m going up,” Adrian announced. “If you want to shoot me, now is your chance.”

And Sophia was just tempted enough by the conceited tone in his voice to do it too. Instead, she eased her hand off the pistol’s hammer and lowered the weapon. “This isn’t over.”

“Not by a long shot,” he agreed.

They rammed shoulders as both attempted to take the stairs.

“Excuse me,” he said, trying to shoulder past her.

She shoved him back then stepped nimbly out of his way. “Go right ahead, my lord. I’ve always said, ‘ladies first.’”

“Ladies first.” Adrian gave his wife a potent scowl before starting up the stairs. “You’re terribly amusing, madam. I don’t know why I never noticed before.”

“Perhaps because you have no sense of humor.”

“Perhaps because—”

“My lord and lady,” the gentleman at the top of the stairs interrupted, “I am waiting.”

From behind him, Adrian heard Sophia hiss in a breath. He reached back, assuming she’d fallen through one of the steps or slipped on a wet patch, but she pushed his hand aside. “I do not need your assistance. I only…” She paused and motioned him closer. They had almost reached the ground-floor landing, and Adrian assumed she wanted to keep their exchange private. “I—my nose itches.”

She was whispering, and Adrian had to put his ear next to her mouth to catch her words. It had been a long time since he’d been this near to his wife, and he couldn’t help but notice the sweet scent of oranges. It was a scent he’d always associated with her, and yet he’d forgotten until this minute that the smell of citrus clung to her. It was in her skin, her hair, her lips…

He had a mental picture of how she’d looked a moment before, when the lantern had illuminated them both. She’d looked wild and sensual—her glossy brown hair falling in unruly curls down her back and her creamy white skin tinged with a rosy blush. Her chocolate brown eyes had—well, actually they had shot daggers at him—and she’d looked full of life.

Life and sensuality.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her look like that, and it aroused him.

And then he saw she still held the dagger in her hand. It looked sharp and deadly and… comfortable there.

And just like that, the arousal faded and the hard truth that she was an operative, like he, crashed into him. This was not some beauty who needed rescuing, or the mousy, docile wife he knew. This was a trained agent. Earlier, she might have killed him—well, caused him some minor injury, anyway—and who knew what assignments she had completed for the Crown. Abduction? Murder?

Seduction?

He clenched his fists and glowered at her. “Your nose itches. Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“It means something to me. I should trust my instincts.”

“And what are your instincts telling you?”

“The man upstairs is Lord Liverpool.”

Adrian almost snorted. “The prime minister? Here in the East End?”

She nodded. “Doubt me if you want, but hurry. The prime minister is waiting.”

To humor her, he turned and climbed the remaining steps. The prime minister. He didn’t believe for a moment Lord Liverpool was standing about in a ramshackle building in London’s East—

He stepped onto the landing, and the man with the lantern turned to face him.

“Lord Liverpool,” Adrian said, belatedly executing a stiff bow. “My apologies for making you wait, my lord.”

“Do not allow it to happen again. Lady Smythe.” Liverpool came forward to take her hand and sweep her past Adrian. She smiled up at the prime minister, and for the first time in his married life, Adrian felt a surge of jealousy.

He hadn’t known Sophia and Liverpool were acquaintances. And now he wondered what else she’d kept hidden.

Her looks, for one.

This new Sophia was a beauty. The hasty vision of her from below was now made clearer as she stepped into the glow of the prime minister’s lantern. He remembered her looking beautiful before, but after months and months of seeing only her drab dress and mousy appearance, he’d almost forgotten how fetching she truly was. Adrian couldn’t believe taking her hair down and removing her spectacles could enact such a change. But as she gazed into the prime minister’s face, a mixture of anticipation and mischief in her eyes, Adrian saw the true alteration.

She held herself straight. She looked poised and confident. Bloody radiant. There was nothing mousy or shy or sweet about this woman. She swept past him with languid predatory moves, right past him and… practically into Liverpool’s arms.

Adrian reached out and deftly plucked her back again. This confident, sensual woman was not the wife he knew. And, as if to prove it, she didn’t submit to his touch.

“My lord!” She shook his hand off her waist and spun to scowl at him. “I beg your pardon.”

Adrian glowered. “Oh, I’m supposed to stand here idly while you flirt and simper?”

“Flirt and—for your information—”

“Oh, God forbid, you’re starting again.” Liverpool shook his head and turned, holding the lantern high enough to reveal three surprisingly sturdy chairs in the corner of the dilapidated room.

Immediately, Adrian’s gaze fixed on a man dressed in black and standing in the shadows. Undoubtedly, he was Liverpool’s assistant and had brought the chairs.

“Just now seeing him, are you?” Sophia said, with a hint of smugness in her voice. “Not very observant, but then that shouldn’t surprise me.” She moved to join Liverpool at the chairs. “You spend all your time at that club of yours.”

“About as much time as you spend at your charitable societies, I imagine,” he drawled, and her eyes widened with the realization that he spent no more time at his club than she did at her charities. They were liars—both of them. He gave her a tight smile and moved to stand before the open chair.

Liverpool lifted his tails and took a seat, motioning for Adrian and Sophia to follow. “If you two are through arguing?”

“My apologies, your lordship,” Adrian said, watching Sophia remove her mantle. “This has been something of a sh…”

He was aware his voice had trailed off and that his mouth was hanging open, but he was simply too stunned to do anything but stare. What the bloody hell was his wife wearing? And why hadn’t she ever worn anything like that for him?

The low-cut red silk clung to her every curve, and what it didn’t cling to, it molded and revealed—the arch of her neck, the slope of her shoulders, the swell of her breasts, and the flare of her hips. Realistically, Adrian knew her gown was no more revealing than those other women of the
ton
wore. Indeed, it was a good bit less revealing than what most wore. And yet, he’d never seen her dress in anything other than ill-fitting, high-necked dowdy creations, and the astonishment of seeing her dressed so fashionably, so attractively, shot heat through his veins.

She took the seat beside him, carefully arranging her skirts as she did so, and Adrian’s eyes narrowed. Where exactly was she going this night? After meeting with Liverpool, did she intend to rendezvous with her lover? How many other nights had she slipped out of the house, unbeknownst to him, to meet with other men? He remembered Cordelia’s congratulations.
Was
Sophia with child? Another man’s child?

Adrian would kill him. He’d kill
her
.

He clenched his fists on the arms of the chair and glared at his wife. She gave him a perplexed glance and then turned her attention to the prime minister. “I think what Lord Smythe is attempting to express is that we did not expect to see one another tonight.”

“Yes.” Liverpool nodded at his assistant, dismissing the man. “It is a testament to your considerable skills that neither of you ever revealed yourself to the other. Good God, but my wife probably knows more about me than I do. Nosy woman.”

Adrian noted he said the last fondly. But it was no compliment to Adrian’s marriage that he and Sophia were taken completely by surprise tonight.

“In any case, I have it on good authority that you, Lord Smythe, and you, Lady Smythe, are two of the best agents we have. And I have need of an operative with superior skills.”

Adrian unclenched his hands and leaned forward, now all business. “I think I should tell you, my lord, I mentored under Lord Melbourne and am recently retired from the Barbican group. Whatever it is you need, I am your man.”

“Perhaps his lordship does not need a man,” Sophia drawled from beside him. Adrian gave her a sideways glance and saw, despite her apparent nonchalance, her jaw was clenched. “I, too, am recently retired from the Barbican group.”

Adrian started. That was impossible. She couldn’t be a member of the Barbican group. She couldn’t—

He frowned. She couldn’t be involved in this affair tonight, either, and yet there she was, seated beside him.

“And I think, your lordship,” she continued, “if you look at my record, you will see I am your agent. I will see whatever you need is done.”

“Ah, yes,” Adrian said, leaning back and giving her a bored look. “The same way you saw to the capture and questioning of Lucien Ducos?”

She narrowed her large, lovely eyes at him. Without the spectacles, they dominated her face. “Exactly the same way. Except this time, you won’t be stepping in at the last minute to claim all the glory and benefit from my weeks of hard work.”

Adrian shot forward. “You think I did not work that case? All of the intelligence I gathered was my own, madam. And I never wanted your glory. If glory is what you desire, you are welcome to it.”

“By Jove.” Liverpool shook his head. “Is this what you two are like at home? No wonder you risk your lives abroad.”

Sophia began to speak, but Liverpool held up a hand.

“Not another word. The next person who interrupts me goes home.”

Adrian clamped his mouth shut and noted Sophia sat back and pursed her lips. He didn’t know what this mission entailed, but whatever it was, he wanted it. It might be his entrée back into the Barbican group. If not, he wasn’t going to lose an assignment: not to another member of the Barbican group, not to a woman, and most especially not to his wife.

She shouldn’t even be here. She should be in Mayfair, tending his hearth and home. There was no way in hell he’d allow her to go gallivanting about on a dangerous mission.

That was a man’s job. His job.

“What I need,” Liverpool was saying now, “is an investigator. Someone who is discreet yet thorough. Someone who can keep a secret.” He looked at Adrian and then Sophia. “A few weeks ago, my half brother was murdered.”

The prime minister waited for a response, but neither Adrian nor Sophia so much as blinked. She was definitely a professional, Adrian grudgingly conceded again. Whatever she was thinking or feeling, she didn’t reveal it.

“As you may know, my brother is George Jenkinson, the product of my father’s union with his second wife.” The prime minister stood and began to pace. “My brother is not involved in politics and had no known enemies. On the night of the murder, I was summoned from bed at approximately four in the morning and called to the Jenkinson household. Jenkinson’s valet, Callows, had discovered my brother’s body. We estimate that George had been dead about an hour when Callows found him.”

Adrian found himself nodding. Liverpool was calm and lucid. Though the death of his brother must be a difficult topic to discuss, the prime minister did it with clarity and brevity.

“I do not have to tell you murder is almost always grim and shocking, but this was far beyond shocking. This was—” He stumbled slightly. Adrian saw him clench his hands into tight fists. Liverpool was intent on keeping hold of his emotions.

The prime minister swallowed loudly. “The way my brother was killed. T-the state of his body was”—he shuddered and turned away—“gruesome. I want to know why he was killed thus and by whom.” Liverpool turned back, his features once again a mask of composure. They might have been discussing the weather.

There was a long moment of silence as Liverpool paused, possibly to allow the information to sink in. Sophia raised a tentative finger.

“Yes, Lady Smythe. You may speak now.”

“My lord, I am dreadfully sorry for your loss. I had heard something about this affair, but I thought the matter had been turned over to Bow Street.”

Adrian saw where she was going and had to agree. As much as he wanted a new assignment, this was not what he had been trained for. “We are spies, my lord, not murder investigators.”

“This is not to imply that solving your brother’s murder is not important and necessary, but…” She glanced at Adrian, silently asking for help.

It was a strange feeling, to share the same side as Sophia. Until tonight, he’d never considered her an enemy, but she hadn’t been an ally, either. Now it appeared they actually agreed on something: this was not a case for a member of the Barbican group. It was… amateur.

But he wasn’t giving up entirely. “My lord, perhaps there is an international matter in which I”—Sophia glared at him; he ignored her—“could assist you?”

The prime minister crossed his arms.

“A dangerous double agent?” Adrian suggested. “A code to be cracked?”

The prime minister sighed and looked at the ceiling.

“An arms smuggler? An…” Adrian trailed off.

Liverpool looked back at him. “I am aware you are probably overqualified for this task. Bow Street thought it would be an easy case as well, and they have yet to solve it. I am also aware both of you were highly regarded operatives for the Barbican group, but might I also point out that you are both
out
of
work
operatives.”

Adrian winced. Liverpool had a point there.

“I had hoped you might take this case purely as a favor to me.” The prime minister glanced at Sophia, and Adrian wondered again at their relationship. “But I am prepared to offer compensation.”

Sophia looked up from the hands she’d clenched in her lap. “We don’t want your money.”

Adrian nodded agreement.

“I wouldn’t dream of offering it,” Liverpool said icily. “But what about reinstatement into your precious Barbican group?”

“I thought the group was being disbanded,” Adrian said.

“Severely reduced in number but not disbanded.”

Adrian clenched his fists. Melbourne hadn’t mentioned this small fact to him. And no wonder, as it would have been even more of a blow to Adrian’s ego. It wasn’t that his country didn’t need the Barbican group—the country didn’t need Agent Wolf.

“We retained a few agents,” the prime minister continued, “but now there has been an… unexpected opening.”

Adrian could almost feel the excitement radiating from his wife, and his own was bubbling up as well. “Are you saying if we solve this case, we shall be reinstated into the Barbican group?”