Queen (Regency Refuge 3) (5 page)

A family? The thought was absurd. Owen was far too meticulous in the way he planned his life. Emotional flights of fancy had no power over him.

And yet the image would not fade.

Isabel stomped through the door of the cottage, tugged her wig off, tossed it onto the bureau, and threw herself into the chair. "You can come out. I'm alone."

The red-headed man from the tavern stepped in through the cloth-covered doorway leading to the cottage's one bedroom. Accompanying him was a woman whose black hair sported a touch of grey and whose outfit suggested her readiness for a night of work down at the docks. Never mind she was a touch too long in the tooth for the unsavory profession.

Isabel lifted her hand to forestall the coming comments. "I don't want to hear it. He needs to believe he can trust me."

The woman kneeled down next to Isabel and took the younger woman's hand in her own. "We're worried about you, Queenie. This fella's getting to you, and we don't want you hurting once this business is all finished."

Isabel squeezed the older woman's hand then leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. "Everything will be fine. I won't let Owen pull me off track. You and Red go take care of business and inform me if you learn anything of value."

Red crossed his arms and glowered. "Maggie, go wait outside for a minute. I'll be right out."

Maggie stood, put her hands on her hips, and gave Red a hard look. "Don't you dare upset my girl. She needs her rest, and we all have a job to do." Then she spun toward the door, gave Isabel a quick squeeze on the shoulder, and stepped out into the blackness of the night.

"Queen…"

Isabel cut him off. "I understand, Red. The last time I let my feelings get in the way of the job, people died. People you and I both cared about. I won't let it happen again. No matter how much I think I can trust the man, I won't risk the two of you."

Red rested his hand on her shoulder, much as Maggie had done. "Me and Maggie will be fine. You're the one I'm worried about."

With that, he slipped quietly into the night. He and Maggie would go to the docks and play the part of doxy and client in order to get into places they'd not dare tread in daylight. Voices carried far over the water once the hustle and bustle of the day quieted down, often bringing them invaluable information without Red or Maggie ever having to speak to a soul.

****

Isabel lay on her bed, wishing slumber would find her. Memories held her captive, though, and tore at her as effectively as a cat-o'-nine-tails.

Everyone else was dead. It was her and Red now. They were on their own, and she'd do anything to make it up to him. After all, she was to blame for the deaths. Everything was her fault.

Isabel couldn't escape the guilt, even on a beautiful spring day. She walked home from the market with two fresh apples. Red deserved something special for his birthday, especially after all he'd been through because of her.

The sound of a mewling cat down one of the alleys reached her ears, but Isabel ignored the sound and kept walking. America might be the land of opportunity, but it was also a land of filth and scavengers that didn't care whether the sun shone or not. At least in England the beasts had enough respect to come out after dark and hide away during the daylight hours.

Isabel almost chuckled. Red would like that one. She'd have to tell him later. They spent many an evening comparing the wild land in which they found themselves to the genteel one they'd left. Neither of them remembered England accurately, of course. Together, they painted their homeland in glorious colors and talked about it as if it were the Promised Land. It gave them something to do and helped to pass the time of day. In truth, they both knew England had as much depravity as the colonies, but admitting it wouldn't make for such entertaining conversation.

The mewling reached Isabel's ears again, penetrating the fog of her thoughts. Pain filled the voice. Be it cat or something else, the animal was wounded. She couldn't walk away and leave it to suffer, so instead she tucked the apples deep into her pockets and lifted her skirts as she gingerly stepped through the heaps of garbage and human refuse in the alley. As she reached the back wall, she found the source of the distressed mewling.

A woman lay among the refuse. She had been beaten with such severity her eyes couldn't open, and her jaw had nominal movement. Her skin was mottled enough to appear more a corpse than a live thing. Isabel reached out and touched the woman's hand, but the mewling rose to a terrified pitch, and the poor thing tried to scramble away from her.

"I mean you no harm. I'm here to help. I've got medicine at home. Can you walk? I don't live far from here."

Isabel had to talk for several minutes before the woman's cries quieted. More minutes passed before the poor creature would allow Isabel to touch her. Several more quiet assurances that she meant no harm, and the woman allowed Isabel to help her to her feet. The woman cried out in pain with each step, and Isabel's certainty grew that one of her legs might be broken. Had she been thinking, she might have run home to get Red so he could help. As it was, Isabel's reaction was fueled by instinct, not thought.

I'll not let anyone else die. I'll not let anyone else die. I'll not let…

The chant repeated itself through Isabel's head with each step they took. She would not leave this woman behind. She couldn't. The very sanity of her soul depended on it.

She finally reached the small tenement she shared with Red, and he threw the door open. "Where have you been? I've been worried…" Then his mouth caught up with his eyes and froze.

"Help me get her inside. I think she's broken a leg. She needs doctoring and medicine."

Without effort, Red scooped the woman up into his arms and carried her through to the one bedroom. He laid her down on the narrow cot and brushed the hair out of her eyes. Then he sought Isabel with his eyes. "I knew you were sneaking around to get a birthday gift for me, but I had no idea the lengths to which you'd go."

Isabel lifted her eyes to Red, hoping he would understand how much this meant to her. "She needs us."

Red nodded, solemn. "Aye. And maybe we need to be needed."

Isabel turned over and punched her pillow. She and Maggie had been sharing a room ever since. Their financial reach did not include luxury, so Red usually found himself with a pallet in the main room, or sometimes a divan if they were lucky. It had been true. They'd needed Maggie as much as she'd needed them. Maggie, Isabel, and Red were a family now, and she wouldn't let anything get in the way of that, not even these strange feelings she had whenever Owen Loring was near.

****

Isabel was drifting off to sleep when Maggie and Red returned. Maggie slipped into the room and changed into her sleeping clothes before climbing into bed.

"Anything worth reporting tonight?"

Maggie's chuckle reached her ear. "I told that oaf you'd be too upset to sleep any, but he didn't believe me." Isabel offered no rejoinder, and Maggie continued. "We didn't learn anything new, and frankly it's getting too cold at night for these old bones. The wind coming in off the water is frigid something fierce."

"I don't see any reason why you shouldn't take a couple of nights off. Or go earlier in the night and see if the difference brings any new information to light."

Isabel felt Maggie's nod from the neighboring pillow before the older woman yawned. "Don't let what Red says get to you. He worries about you more than if you were his own, you know. If your heart is leading you toward this man…"

"It's not, and I won't let you and Red down."

Maggie sighed. "I've never once worried about that, you know. Don't forget, I've seen firsthand what kind of person you are. You could never let me down. But that doesn't stop me from wanting you to be happy."

Isabel snuggled down further into the bed. "Keeping the two of you safe makes me happy."

A week had passed since their last covert meeting. November was half gone, and Owen found his mind increasingly consumed with thoughts of Isabel. She was far too stunning for her own good. He continued to be amazed that she did such a good job of making herself invisible as she worked, but nobody who took the time to look in her face could fail to witness her beauty. It made her a risk.

No, it put her at risk.

Owen didn't care for the direction his mind wandered. He'd feigned interest in women before while on the job, and he'd even had a sincere
tendré
for a young princess while he'd worked in Russia. There had never been any doubt he'd be leaving — or that she was far above his station — so he'd never allowed his sentiment to develop into anything more than a young man's fancy.

Isabel, though — something about her drew him in the way a siren drew in a sailor. He was doomed, pure and simple.

"Mr. Lanford! Mr. Lanford!"

Hank's yell shook Owen from his reverie. The barkeep hollered again, looking right at him.

What was Hank's problem?

Oh, no. Owen scrambled to his feet.
He
was Mr. Lanford, Mr. Oscar Lanford. At least for now.

"Sorry, Hank. I must have forgotten myself there for a bit. What do you need?"

Hank waved a folded piece of paper around. "A delivery came for y' today while you were out."

Owen pulled the paper from the barkeep's hand and replaced it with a coin. "Thank you, Hank. Next time, a bit more discretion would be appreciated."

Hank grinned unrepentantly. "If quiet's what you want, you need to give me the blunt in advance. It's too easy to forget otherwise."

Setting another coin on the bar, Owen asked, "Think you'll remember next time?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. Lanford."

"Have my dinner sent down to my room tonight. I won't be coming up."

Hank nodded, and Owen took his leave. Isabel had witnessed the whole thing. She couldn't have missed it, not with all of Hank's hollering. Any hope Owen held out to the contrary vanished as he maneuvered toward the stairs and caught a glimpse of her. Her eyes were narrowed with suspicion, mistrust etched into every line of her face. In the dim lighting of the inn's dining room, Isabel was a statue made of fine porcelain.

Halfway down the stairs to the lower level, Owen stopped. He needed to say something to her. He circled around, and the dining room was soon in view again. Low on the stairs, no one would see him unless they were looking his way. Taking a moment, he tracked Isabel with his eyes. The look on her face had changed. She went about her business in the dining room, but she carried with her something he could only describe as grief as she moved from table to table.

The urge to go to Isabel was so strong, Owen took another step up into the dining room. Yet he stopped himself from climbing the remaining steps, instead ducking back down and retiring to his room. He needed to read the contents of the delivery, and Isabel would still be the one delivering his dinner.

****

Back in his room, Owen sat down and contemplated the thick paper before he pulled out a knife to break the seal. Long before Parliament shut down the War Department, Tobias, Owen's boss, had instituted a system for communication among agents. Anything written was vulnerable to interception, so nonsense letters often found their way into the post along with important information. Sometimes the nonsense letter would be gibberish, and sometimes it would be decipherable but filled with faulty information. An agent was trained to recognize the difference by the fold of the paper.

Owen couldn't help but long for the days of the War Department. Things had been simpler then. Since Parliament's dismantling of the old department and creation of their new Agency of the Foreign Constabulary, everything had become far too complicated. The new agency's structure lacked sensible guidelines, and as a result, Owen found himself pursuing a mission without sanction. Parliament needed to mind its own business. Not that anybody cared what he thought.

Thankful that Tobias had seen fit to respond to his inquiry at all — considering he wasn't exactly in the agency's good graces at the moment — Owen unfolded the pages and read over them.

Hmm.

The rest of the evening would be interesting indeed.

****

A knock came at his door. Owen made sure the page he'd been working on remained partially hidden under a book on the table.

After he opened the door, Isabel swept in carrying his dinner tray. She set his meal on the table without looking directly at the letter.

She was going to leave the room without a word, but Owen stalled her with a whisper as she passed him. "Can we meet later?"

Isabel paused long enough to glance over her shoulder and give a quick nod.

"Same place?"

Another nod. Then she left, and Owen was alone in his room. He frowned, hating what he was about to do but knowing it had to be done.

Isabel's hands shook as she closed Owen's door behind her. He'd contacted the agency without telling her. What had he said to them?

She'd recognized Tobias' handwriting, but that was all she'd been able to ascertain from her brief glimpse at the letter.

Isabel took a deep breath and moved toward the stairs. She had no way of knowing when he'd written to Tobias or the nature of the contents, not yet anyway. Answers would need to wait, and no good would come from dwelling on the problem in the meantime.

As she came up the steps, she nodded to Red. He sat in the corner at his usual spot, nursing the same pint of ale he'd had for the past two hours. The double tap of his thumb on the table top gave her the answer she both sought and dreaded.

The plan had been set into motion.

****

Night fell, and Isabel walked along the path down the hill. She soon found herself standing at the cleft in the rock overhang. Owen, however, was nowhere to be seen.

Had he…?

She whirled around to run back to the inn and warn the others, but strong arms wrapped around her. "Whoa, Issy. I'm here. I was just late."

Isabel broke free from the pseudo-embrace and stepped back. "You worried me." Would he believe her?

He took her hand. "Come with me. I found a place we can talk privately."

Warning bells clanged inside Isabel's head, but she followed him nonetheless, a tight grip on his hand.

After several yards they crested a knoll, and on the other side sat an old abandoned shed. The moonlight did not show the structure to advantage. A strong gale would be able to blow it over. "Are you sure?"

Owen glanced back at her and his teeth flashed. "Scared?"

Isabel's back stiffened of its own volition, and she marched ahead of him into the decrepit structure. Surprise lodged the air in her throat as Owen lit a candle and illuminated the place.

"Did you do this?"

Owen shrugged noncommittally in the face of her question.

The place had been scoured and was as clean as any home. A crate stood as a table in the middle of the single-room dwelling, while more crates with rugs resting atop them created two chairs.

"Is the candle safe? Passersby will be alerted to our location."

Owen snuffed the flame without complaint. "I wanted you to see I hadn't brought you to a death trap."

Isabel sat on one of the crates, and though it creaked, it felt solid under her weight. The single-room structure had a window covered by shutters that hung drunkenly, allowing the moonlight to spill in around them. Owen's face was cast into shadow. His movements appeared languid in the muted light, and Isabel was struck by the intimacy of the moment. They were alone and hidden from view with only a stray moth to witness whatever they did in this place.

Owen sat on another crate as a snap of wind shook the shutters and sent a chill racing up Isabel's spine. Determined to shake off her thoughts of a moment before, she asked a pointed question. "What did you need to discuss that was so important it had to happen tonight?"

He didn't comment on the bite in her voice. "I haven't been entirely truthful with you, and in light of today's letter, I thought it time I told you what I've been hiding."

Isabel crossed her arms and prepared herself for the worst. "Do tell."

The moon was bright, and even without the candle, she saw Owen's wince.

Isabel needed to practice her friendly voice more.

"Are you aware Parliament restructured the agency?"

Isabel gave a brief shake of her head. "Restructuring was inevitable after Lysander's and the minister's deaths, but being in America exempted me from getting too tangled up in the politics."

Owen nodded. "Agents assigned to London report to Tobias. Those outside of London report to someone else."

"Does that mean you're not reporting to Tobias on this mission?"

Owen's head bobbed before he answered. "Technically I'm not on a mission."

The surprise caught Isabel unaware, a rare feat. "Then what are you doing here?"

"There's a mission. Don't get me wrong. Granted, it's not completely sanctioned…"

Isabel leaned forward. "Explain yourself."

"I was on a London job and followed a trail that led me outside the city's jurisdiction. Tobias' non-London counterpart took exception. Under the new rules, I needed permission from both him and Tobias, as well as Parliament, in order to pursue this."

Isabel stood and began pacing the small floor. "That would have taken too long. Parliament can't agree on the color of the sky without a lengthy debate, and even then you're not likely to get a consensus between the House of Lords and the House of Commons."

"Exactly."

"You got mail. From Tobias? How does he know your location if you're not on a real mission?"

Owen winced at her words but answered anyway. "The letter was from Tobias, but he's not the one who sent it to me."

Isabel's gaze flew to Owen's face as she tried to gauge his honesty. "Explain."

"You're not one for using extra words, are you? I'll bet you don't get accused of being a chatterbox much."

She refused to justify his comment with one of her own and instead waited.

Not too many moments passed before he gave in with a sigh. "Two people know where I am. Peter provided me with papers and needed to be told. I can't say who the other one is. I promised not to lead trouble to his door."

"He's your go-between."

Owen nodded. "I sent word to him about what I'd discovered so far. Someone needs to know where I am in case something goes wrong. I also asked him to check with Tobias for some information."

"About?"

"Rutherford and the
Âne Hurlants
."

"Anything else?"

Owen examined her, shadows in his moss-colored eyes. "Nothing I can tell you."

"Did you ask Tobias about me?"

His curly hair bounced in the moonlight as he shook his head. "Would it have mattered if I had?"

Isabel scrambled for a way to answer. "I assume I'm bound by the same rules as you, and neither should I be pursuing an investigation in Bristol. I don't want to bring down anyone's wrath on my head."

Owen's murmur, "Of course," was as convincing as her excuse had been.

Regaining her seat, Isabel again crossed her arms and asked, "Have you learned anything new about our investigation?"

He shook his head. "Nothing yet, but another ship from America is due in next week. They may have an update on the
Âne Hurlants
."

"Why don't you tell me how you came to be working for Tobias. You weren't with the War Department at the time I left for America."

Owen may have suspected the question was a test, but he didn't show it. Instead, he began weaving a tale fit for the stage. "Before I ever reached my majority, I knew I wanted to serve the Crown, but being a civil servant held little appeal. I craved adventure to the point that even a soldier's life sounded boring to me. Quite by accident, I found myself in the wrong place at the right time and discovered the existence of the War Department."

"How so?"

"I went to school with Lysander. We didn't live in the same social strata, but he didn't like his father much, which was never more apparent than when he was in his cups."

"What then?"

"As soon as I completed school, I sought out the minister and asked to be a part of the War Department."

Isabel swallowed a little laugh. "I would have loved to see that."

Owen grimaced. "A finer put-down I've never been handed. He refused to consider me for work with the War Department and swore if I ever uttered the name of the agency again, he'd have me thrown in the Tower of London."

"So what did you do?"

"I hired out privately."

Isabel sucked air in through her teeth until the bite of the cold made them hurt. "A mercenary?"

Owen shook his head. "I never worked for anybody whose interests were contrary to England's. Despite his previous rejection, I still had hope the minister would consider me someday. Eventually a Russian prince hired me."

She watched him through narrowed eyes. "What could a Russian prince want with an English hireling?"

"A mercenary of sorts had killed his wife and unborn child. He wanted vengeance. He hired me to discover the killer's true identity."

"And did you?"

"My investigation led me to the War Department and a loyal English agent who had been sent to provide information to a foreign government, everything they would need to bring the killer to justice. The prince wanted me to make sure his wife's murderer rotted in jail. Death would be too swift a punishment, he felt. I followed the loyal agent after he left a meeting with those foreign officials one day."

"Why follow him if he wasn't your assignment?"

"A niggling suspicion that all was not well."

"And?" Isabel was fully invested in the story now. All thought of analyzing Owen's words to determine his truthfulness had long since fled her mind.

"I stayed back so I wouldn't be noticed. By the time I arrived on the scene, the loyal agent was losing consciousness, and the killer had his gun raised for one final shot. I fired my pistol at him, and he took off."

"And the agent?"

"He walks with a cane now, but he's alive."

Isabel, who had unconsciously been leaning forward, pulled herself upright and tried to release the tension coiling through her middle. "All agents should be trained to defend themselves. Do they no longer do that?"

Owen shrugged, but it looked forced. "He was trained. The assault was more than he could defend against. What about you? Were you trained to protect yourself?"

She nodded. "An agent named Jackal helped train me. He made sure I knew how to defend myself. At the age of twelve I was fully trained in the many ways to incapacitate any man who might try to take liberties with me."

"Did you ever need to use those skills?"

"Thrice while I was at court. A few other times since." The color drained from Owen's moonlit face, and Isabel changed the subject. "You let the killer go in order to save that agent, then."

He nodded. "The prince wasn't overly happy."

"I'm surprised you've lived to tell the tale."

"By the time I got the agent into the hands of someone who could treat his wounds, too much time had passed. I tried to follow the killer, but it was a wasted effort. As for the prince, I suppose he had his reasons for letting me live."

"And you won't tell me what they are?"

Owen shook his head and stood. Holding out his arm for her, he asked, "Shall we?"

Isabel stood and placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. "Lead the way."

As they stepped out of the hut and began the trek back to the inn, numerous thoughts echoed through Isabel's mind. Once she forced it to calm, though, her mind picked the most peculiar one to settle on.

Why did the prince let Owen live?