A Spy Unmasked (Entangled Scandalous) Read online

  The deafening crack of the pistol firing resounded through the room.

  For a heart-stopping moment, she feared Robert had been hit.

  Then he rose with the pistol in his hand. Blood flowed from the guard’s chest and began pooling on the floor.

  Shouts sounded and were followed by screams from panicked guests in the vestibule.

  “Good God!” she shrieked. “Is he dead?”

  He grasped her arms and shook her. “Are you going to faint?”

  “No!”

  “Good, because we have seconds before more guards arrive.”

  He caught her hand and pulled her to the French doors behind the desk. Throwing them open, he dragged her into the back gardens.

  A thousand questions rose in her mind, but self-preservation outweighed her curiosity.

  Escape.

  She had to escape before she was captured and murdered.

  Just like Father.

  “Move!” He started to run, pulling her with him.

  Clutching her skirts in one hand, she followed as he headed away from the manicured lawns, toward the wooded acreage separating the mansion from town.

  Her voluminous skirts hindered her, and sharp stones bit into the dainty soles of her ballroom slippers. A drizzling rain had begun to fall, leaving the grass wet, and she slipped. His hold was like an iron manacle about her wrist, catching her before she fell.

  Shouts sounded from the open library doors. “In here!”

  “He’s dead!” another called out.

  “Find them!”

  She could hear the screams of panicked guests as they fled from the ballroom and crowded together on the front lawn.

  Robert and Sophia sprinted past a fountain, stone benches, marble statues of Roman gods and goddesses. Running past a formal maze, they made it through the tended section of the gardens, and reached a dense copse of trees.

  They continued to run, weaving through tall elm and oak trees.

  The terrain was wild here, and brambles snagged her skirts. Sticks snapped beneath her slippers, and she was forced to leap over low brush. Her chest heaved in her tight bodice, and her breaths came in rasps.

  “Hurry. We’re almost there,” he said.

  Almost where? she wanted to ask, but she couldn’t catch her breath quickly enough to speak. She knew Delmont’s property stretched for a half mile more, up to the back road. Did he plan to hire a hackney and disappear into the London streets?

  Shouts sounded through the woods. She glanced back to see a dozen blazing torches weaving among the trees.

  Her panic rose to fever pitch. Delmont’s guards were gaining ground. A surge of energy, fueled by fear, made her dash onward.

  Robert’s fingers tightened on her wrist, halting her.

  “This way,” he said.

  He headed not in the direction of the back road, but east, where the dense forest foliage opened up to reveal a small river, its banks lined with stones and soft earth. Here they would be out in the open, completely at the mercy of the pack of men hunting them.

  She resisted. “They’ll see us!”

  “No. Trust me.”

  Trust him?

  Sophia stared up at him. Moonlight gleamed in his eyes through the mask. Gone were both the charming thief she had interrupted and the intoxicated coxcomb the guard had confronted. He now gave the appearance of a soldier, from his broad shoulders, to the firm set of his chiseled jaw, to his deep voice. He had an unmistakable air of efficiency, and the thought struck her that he was used to issuing commands, used to obedience.

  A dangerous man.

  Angry shouts sounded closer. She could hear the snapping of branches as men tore through the forest.

  Panic welled in her throat as the torches bobbed closer and closer.

  She turned back to the woods—not entirely safe, yet far safer than this. There tall trees and an abundance of bushes and foliage left dark shadows where a person could hide.

  “Let’s part ways here,” she said.

  “No. You’ll never make it.” His voice was like steel wrapped in silk.

  Her options were limited. To resist meant wasting precious time battling him, or she could acquiesce and plan her escape when they were no longer being hunted.

  He stepped forward; she didn’t shrink from his grasp.

  Moments later they reached the riverbank, and he let forth a low whistle. A rider emerged from the trees, holding the reins of a trailing chestnut horse. Her eyes widened at the man’s liveried clothing bearing a large D representing the Delmont household.

  “The lady rides with me, Ian,” Robert said in a voice of authority.

  “The marquess is not going to like this,” the footman said.

  “He has no choice.”

  She glanced from one man to the other. He had a man inside the viscount’s household working for him. Why? Who was he?

  She barely had time to ponder the question before Robert lifted her onto the back of the chestnut and mounted behind her.

  “Hold on,” he said. “We’re in for a wild ride.”

  With a swift kick of his heels, the horse took off at a run. Pressed against his solid chest, she clutched the pommel as they wove through the dense woods at a reckless pace.

  Chapter Three

  Sophia’s thoughts were a jumble of panic and confusion. The guards’ shouts faded along with the light from their torches as she and Robert raced through Delmont’s property.

  Low-hanging branches snarled her skirts and silk stockings. All the while, she was conscious of the places where his body touched hers, of his arms around her as he held the horse’s reins, and the occasional jolt of his thigh brushing her hip. The heat from his exertions seeped into her, and her heart pounded in an erratic rhythm. She struggled to shut out any awareness of him.

  Think, Sophia!

  She had made a dreadful mistake. She had failed in her plan to secure the evidence needed to arrest Viscount Delmont. She would have been better off walking into the ballroom and shooting the blackguard with her pistol.

  Her position was precarious. She was in the clutches of a dangerous mystery man whose motives were unknown. One thing was certain. He was not searching for a book to read during the ball.

  She reached up to make sure her mask still concealed her face. Her scalp itched from the red wig, but she dared not remove it. Anyone who had seen her at the masque would be hard-pressed to identify her, thanks to the disguise.

  They reached the end of Delmont’s property, and Robert and Ian slowed their mounts to a walk. She had hoped they would end up in Mayfair, where even at this time of night, it would appear improper for a lady to ride astride before a gentleman and she could make a quick escape. But to her dismay, they emerged into a quieter section of the city. The drizzling rain had stopped, and the night air was heavy with the scent of coal smoke. Modest town houses of red brick appeared ahead.

  She turned in the saddle to glimpse at the man’s profile. “Please let’s part ways here.”

  “Not yet, but soon.”

  She thought he was heading for the town houses, but he turned down an alleyway leading back to the mews. The gas lamps that lit the main street illuminated nothing here, and she struggled to see in the dimness. No passersby were present, and her stomach churned with anxiety.

  “Put me down now, or I’ll scream,” she demanded.

  His lips were close to her cheek. “You’re in no position to make demands, my lady. Not a sound or you’ll alert Delmont’s men or the night constables. Either could be close by.”

  She stilled. The truth of his words cut through her haze of panic. If she screamed, she could bring both the guards and the authorities bearing down on them. Neither were viable options. She had to take the risk that the man who called himself Robert would keep his word and release her. He had not harmed her tonight; rather, he had aided her in her escape from certain capture.

  “And what about you?” she said.

  “I don’t plan on
answering to either.”

  Who are you? The question asked itself again.

  They entered the mews, and the scent of horses, hay, and dung permeated the space. She was not surprised to find that there were no stable boys to assist them at this time of night.

  Ian dismounted and proceeded to take off the liveried footman’s jacket.

  Robert leaped down, then reached up to grasp her waist and help her to her feet. Bowing gallantly, he flashed a pearly smile, then raised her hand and brushed his lips across her fingers. “I never did learn your name,” he murmured.

  She was momentarily taken aback by his appealing smile and the brush of his lips against her flesh. Her relief that he was letting her go was slow to penetrate her senses. She felt the inexplicable pull of attraction testing her will. He had a coiled power, a captivating presence that hinted at forbidden excitement and temptation—certainly thoughts that a lady should never ponder. Yet, she longed to reach up and remove his mask, to see the whole of his features, how cheekbones, nose, and brow combined with the sensual lips and those piercing blue eyes.

  Her voice was shakier than she would have liked. “My name is of no consequence, sir.”

  “Ah, even after our adventurous evening?”

  “Especially after this evening.”

  No matter how charming he appeared, he was prying, still attempting to learn her identity. Thank heaven her mask and wig had remained in place during their flight. She doubted they would ever run into each other again. Although she had failed to obtain the documents she wanted from Viscount Delmont’s library, her imminent freedom was what concerned her. She would find another way to incriminate the viscount.

  He sighed as he loosened his cravat and pulled the silk free of his shirt points. “I do apologize, my mystery lady, but necessity requires it.”

  Too late, she realized his intent.

  “No!” she cried out.

  His hand snaked out, and he pulled her back to him. She struggled wildly, slamming her heel into his instep. He grunted, but his grasp didn’t loosen, and he removed her mask and flung it aside. Covering her mouth with the cravat’s snowy silk, his strong fingers worked a knot behind her head.

  “What the devil—”

  The red wig dropped to the straw at her feet. Night air tingled her scalp. She continued to struggle, but he was relentless as he worked the pins that held her hair in a knot atop her head. Chestnut tresses tumbled down her shoulders.

  “Ah, that explains the eyes,” he said in a low voice.

  Unable to speak, she twisted in his arms and shot him a withering glance.

  Ian handed Robert a short rope from the stable wall and he quickly bound her hands in front of her. He then retrieved the wig and stuffed it in his jacket pocket.

  He turned to his accomplice. “I’ll contact you once I’ve delivered the package,” he told Ian.

  “The marquess is going to want answers from her,” Ian said.

  Robert’s voice was firm. “I’ll get them.”

  A shiver ran down Sophia’s spine.

  Moments later, she found herself upon the horse with him mounted once again behind her. As he guided the horse farther down the alleyway, a cold knot fisted in her stomach. Why was he taking her with him? If he had stolen the “package” he was after, why did he not release her?

  He pulled the horse up at the rear of one of the town houses. Lifting her down, he held her arm firmly as he guided her to the back servants’ entrance.

  Her brain was in tumult. Once he took her inside, she would be completely at his mercy. He could use any of the dastardly tactics Delmont was known for during interrogation. She struggled anew, kicking at his shins.

  Never breaking his stride, he snatched her up like a piece of baggage and swept her over his shoulder. With one arm clamped about her thighs, he proceeded to the back door.

  Before he knocked, the door opened to reveal a stern-faced butler with the look of a gunnery sergeant. He didn’t even arch an eyebrow at the sight of a lady bound and gagged, dressed in full evening wear, and flung over a man’s shoulder.

  “The marquess is expecting me.”

  The butler opened the door wide. “Put your guest in the sitting room.”

  Robert strode inside. From her awkward angle she saw the slate tiles of a kitchen. The air was redolent with the aroma of roast lamb. Continuing through the kitchen, they turned left down a long hall and entered into a sitting room where he unceremoniously deposited her on a settee. Struggling to sit upright, she glared up at him. The butler lit two lamps and departed.

  Robert crouched, and she found herself looking into the enigmatic blue of his eyes. Her first thought was that he had discarded his mask. Her second was that she had never seen a face as vividly handsome.

  Bronzed skin stretched over high cheekbones and classically chiseled features. The dip in his chin was designed to make a woman want to press her lips there to see if he was truly flesh and blood or an artist’s marble carving. A lock of his hair fell artfully across his forehead to brush straight brows in a style many dandies would surely envy.

  But despite his handsome countenance she could see him for who he truly was—deceiving and unscrupulous.

  She cringed as he pulled a knife from his boot, the lamplight flashing off the steel blade, but he merely cut her bindings and loosed the cravat tied behind her head. She swallowed hard and rubbed her wrists.

  “My superior does not like surprises. I’ll ask you again, who are you?” he said.

  His superior? Good Lord, what had she gotten herself mixed up in?

  “You first,” she said. “And don’t you dare tell me you were merely a guest at the ball. You had a well-organized escape plan tonight.”

  “I told you. My name is Robert.” He reached out and traced her collarbone with his finger. His touch was gentle, catching her off guard. But before she knew it, he had her filigree chain wrapped around his finger. With a slight tug, the latch gave way.

  “My locket!”

  The necklace had been given to her by her father on her eighteenth birthday. He opened the heart-shaped locket, and read out loud, “To my darling Sophia. From Papa with love.”

  “You swine!” She tried to snatch it from his gasp, but he held it out of her reach.

  He studied her intently, his stare bold as he assessed her disheveled chestnut hair, then her eyes before lingering at her mouth. “Sophia.” He repeated her name as if testing the sound on his lips.

  Then he stood, his fluid movements reminding her of a jungle cat. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out the red wig and tossed it into her lap.

  His lips curled into a lazy smile. “You look better as a brunette, Sophia.”

  He strode to the door and closed it behind him, the distinctive sound of the bolt locking her inside reminding her of the gunshot that had torn through Delmont’s library tonight.

  She sprang to her feet, studying her surroundings for any means of escape. It was an elegantly furnished sitting room, of a type that could be found in any of the beau monde’s town houses. Decorated in the Egyptian style, the windows were hung with blue silk drapes; a pair of chairs with sphinx feet was situated before a stone fireplace, a writing desk in the corner. Small brass replicas of the sphinx flanked an ormolu clock on the mantle. Attempts at opening the casements failed and she realized they had been deliberately sealed.

  She returned to the settee and rested her head in her hands. She had been certain the potential reward of her actions justified the means tonight. She needed solid proof of Delmont’s perfidy, and what better place to look than his own library. Her father had mentioned Delmont’s safe.

  Unbidden images of her father burned her memory, and she swallowed back tears. In her mind’s eye she saw him tinkering in his workshop, the table cluttered with steel pistons, mechanical parts, and shelves of jars containing labeled gases and liquids. She pictured him writing furiously in his ledgers, drawing diagrams of chemical formulas and inventions still
in development, awaiting prototypes.

  Her earliest childhood memories were of him inviting her into his workshop, discussing his latest inventions, grease beneath his fingernails as he pointed to rough sketches on the pages. His enthusiasm had ignited a similar passion within her, and she had spent hours alongside him, studying his experiments in the hopes of one day coming up with her own inventions.

  But most recently, she recalled his troubled expression and deep frown lines between his brows when his work was deemed eccentric, not worthy of notice from the London Inventors’ Society. He had been labeled the “Mad Marquess,” and had become a figure of fun—the object of the ton’s cruelty.

  Sophia had been embarrassed. What a fool she’d been.

  His inventions had been noted worthy by the Crown. The Society had stolen them from him, and then they had murdered him.

  I failed you in life, Father. But If I escape this, I won’t fail to avenge your death.

  Chapter Four

  Robert entered Wendover’s study to find him seated behind his desk. Wendover removed his gold-rimmed reading glasses and looked up from the stack of papers he had been studying.

  “I retrieved the package, but I ran into a complication,” Robert said.

  “By a complication, are you referring to the young lady locked in my sitting room?”

  “I am.”

  “What else?”

  “One of Delmont’s guards was killed.”

  “Were you spotted?”

  “No.”

  “Is she working for the Inventors’ Society?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  Wendover sighed and clasped his hands before him on the walnut surface of his desk.

  Robert studied him. Everett Radley, the ninth Marquess of Wendover, had been Robert’s superior at the Home Office for eight years. In his late forties, perhaps early fifties, he had a head of thick, graying black hair and a dark complexion more akin to a Spaniard than an Englishman. He was a quiet man and highly respected in society.

  The ton did not know the true nature of his work, only that he maintained government offices in Whitehall and was privy to the secretary of the Home Office as well as the prime minister. It was common knowledge that he assisted the ordinance department and had been pivotal in supplying English troops with the munitions necessary to defeat Napoleon at Waterloo. Most of society assumed that he had no interest in marrying and was a reserved, brooding gentleman of duty. Only a hand-selected few knew of his covert workings.