My Lady Rogue (A Nelson's Tea Novella Book 2) (11 page)

One more man stepped into the light, his gaze skimming over the crush, flicking to the exit, and then toward her. Foreboding flooded her senses. Her fingers clenched the folds of her skirts as her nerve-endings throbbed to life. Beneath the scintillating, erupting opera house music one elusive name nearly escaped her lips.
Simon.
He was close, closer than she wanted him to be, closer than safety required.

Impetuous girl!
A man’s life is at stake. Concentrate!
Hard to do when her senses were on high alert. When she loathed the thought of coming face to face with Simon. Feared the possibility. Longed for it. Especially when a small sadistic part of her had known he’d be at tonight’s performance, especially with Nelson in attendance. Would her presence affect him as deeply as his did her? Would he approach her?
Be careful what you wish for.

“Enjoy tonight’s performance,” the announcer proclaimed.

The crowd set into motion once more. On edge, Gillian shook her head to clear it, ignoring the massive veil before her face and ascended the next level of stairs to the third floor.
Box three.
Box three.
She had to get to her designated meeting place in time to meet the marquess. Blood thundered in her veins, the sound vibrating like orchestra drums between her ears.

What is wrong with you? Lucien trained you better than this.
She was overreacting, but how could she not when the sight of Simon and memories flooded her mind?

“It’s for your own good, Gillian. I cannot love you.”
Simon’s long ago denial crushed her again with renewed force. She frowned as she recalled the softening in his dark brown eyes before he’d quickly recovered and cast her off and out of his life forever. The sudden ache the memory roused hit her with impalpable force.

“You will be better off with Lucien. And I will have the luxury of knowing that you are safe.”

Safe? If he only knew the course he’d set her on.

Lucien’s critical partnership with Simon had led to a failed assassination attempt on King George in the Theatre Royal in May of the previous year, in almost the precise location she approached on the first level. For his bravery, Lucian had been privately honored for going above and beyond the call of duty. Drury Lane had been Lucien’s last mission before smuggling his way back into France. He had not taken her with him. No matter how hard she’d tried to convince him otherwise, Lucien had refused to involve her, saying the danger was too great, that Simon would never forgive him, and she’d slow him down. But she’d known better. Her instincts had cried out for her to disobey him. Her absence meant one thing and one thing only. The job entailed greater danger to Lucien than he let on. Miserably, her intuition had been right. Perhaps if her husband had listened to her, had taken her with him, she could have prevented the surprise attack that had robbed him of his life.

“Lucien,” she breathed, her eyes suddenly misty and wistful.
She’d die before she failed.

For a moment, Gillian glanced down at her black-gloved fingers, recalling the dark red warmth of Lucien’s blood. She would never forget the despondent look on Lucien’s face when he’d arrived home, nearly at death’s door, and gazed one last time into her eyes. Nor the sheer force of will it had taken for him to touch her cheek, to speak the words that would forever be ingrained in her memory, a dying confession and proclamation as weighty as the royal lineage of England.

“Admiral Nelson needs you.”

He’d died then. His body had barely grown cold when she’d left him to rot in a field and fled Surrey. She’d withheld her tears with inconceivable strength, consumed as she was with the need to escape the advancing guard that sought to silence her before she could pass on Lucien’s warning.

Good God, will I ever get Lucien’s blood off of my hands?

Applause erupted, filling the immense structure with deafening sound. Her heart skipped a beat as underneath her bravado she feared being caught by surprise.
No no no. Has Nelson arrived?

Prompt timing wasn’t one of Nelson’s habits at public events. He preferred making a grand entrance to acclamations and loud cheers. No, she reasoned, casually surveying the amphitheater. The applause didn’t signal Nelson’s arrival, but was another indication Holcroft’s
Deaf and Dumb
was about to begin.

Gillian swallowed a lump of regret, tempering her wildly beating heart as she pushed her way through the throng. Shadows danced across the walls as a flickering chandelier dangling overhead cast a golden hue on the wave of heads ascending above her. She’d taken precautions. Borrowed the widow’s weeds she wore to conceal her identity. No one except the marquess would recognize her — expect her. There was still time to do her duty. Nelson was the Admiralty’s greatest weapon. The loss of his life jeopardized the entire future of England’s fleet and encouraged Napoleon’s evil plan to invade England’s shores. For Lucien, England, for Nelson, and everyone seated in the opera house, she would justly sacrifice herself — here — now. But would she be able to?

Had Marquess Stanton received her message? Was he waiting for her in box three? What if he’d never gotten her communiqué? What if he refused to meet her? Lucien had taught her to employ her machinations to a good end. She wasn’t the same woman Simon remembered; timid, shy, willingly cast aside or forced to choose another. But maturation wouldn’t enable her to get within five feet of Nelson without an introduction.

Stay calm. You can save Nelson.

She wasn’t a novice, but for some terrible reason, she was acting like one. Lucien —
God rest his soul
— had sent her there because he believed she could stop Nelson’s assassination. And Gillian meant to do whatever it took to fulfill her promise to see it done.
So help me God.

About the Author

Katherine Bone
has been passionate about all things historical since she was an Army brat traveling all over the world. Initially, she dreamed of being an artist, but when she met and fell in love with Prince Charming, her own dashing Lieutenant vowing duty, honor, and country, she found herself saying, “I do.” Whisked away to Army bases, castles, battlegrounds, and cathedrals, where tales of swashbuckling adventure filled the lonely gaps when the Army called Charming away, Katherine’s imagination took flight. No longer nomadic, she calls the south home and spends most of her time daydreaming about Charming and heroes of yesteryear.

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