At the Spy's Pleasure Page 2

  “Would you care to dance?” he asked.

  “After voicing such harsh opinions, you are asking me to dance?” she asked incredulously.

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  “Why?” he demanded.

  Jane measured him with a cool appraising look. “Because you are too cocksure, too arrogant, and far too jaded for me, Mr. Ramsey.”

  To her surprise, he burst out laughing.

  She whirled and walked away. His deep chuckle followed her, the sound rippling down her spine.

  It wasn’t until she was back in the ballroom, passing the gossips who’d sent her fleeing onto the terrace, that she realized she was now too preoccupied with thoughts of Gareth Ramsey to care about the women’s furtive glances and hushed whispers.

  Chapter Two

  Gareth Ramsey walked into Turner’s coffeehouse in the Strand and spotted his friends, Daniel Forster and Robert Ware, seated at a corner table. The strong aroma of coffee wafted through the room. “Well, what do you have for me?” Gareth said.

  Daniel looked up and frowned. “Why do you assume I have anything?”

  “Why meet in a coffeehouse this late in the afternoon? You usually prefer whiskey at White’s,” Gareth said.

  When Daniel scowled and Robert chuckled, Gareth grinned. The three men had been close friends since attending Eton together. Daniel was the oldest son and heir to Viscount Clayborne. Robert Ware, otherwise known as Lord Kirkland, had inherited an earldom and recently married.

  A waiter arrived and set down three steaming cups of coffee.

  Gareth eyed his friends over the rim of his cup. “It’s been a while since I’ve been contacted by the Home Office.”

  Robert had been first to be recruited as a safecracker. Thereafter, the government had need of gentlemen with access to Society, and Daniel and Gareth had been recruited.

  After the death of the previous secretary, who had been found guilty of treason, the Home Office had been in turmoil. But times had changed, and Daniel had recently been appointed undersecretary and had influence over delegating certain espionage assignments for the Crown.

  It had been close to a year since Gareth’s last mission, which had resulted in the arrest of a corrupt Old Bailey judge who had accepted bribes in exchange for favorable verdicts. After his mission, Gareth had been busy with his own legal practice. But lately he’d experienced an unusual restlessness. He’d spent too many hours in his Gray’s Inn chambers researching case law and counseling his disgruntled clients. A new mission was what he needed, and with Daniel’s position as undersecretary, perhaps Gareth’s time had come.

  Daniel leaned across the table. “You were right. I do have something for you. Something that requires a gentleman of the ton.”

  Gareth grimaced. “I rarely associate with members of the ton unless they seek my services.” Gareth avoided attending most of society’s balls and events, and it was only when it aided his role as an agent that he accepted any invitations.

  “You were at Newbury’s ball last night,” Robert pointed out.

  Gareth shifted against the booth’s unpadded back. “Lady Newbury is my mother’s friend. I attended out of obligation.”

  Gareth didn’t regret attending, but he’d never admit it to his friends. An image of Jane flashed through his mind—sleek blond hair, mysterious brown eyes, and an abundance of curves beneath her deep purple gown.

  He knew about her past. The newspapers and scandal sheets had wasted vats of ink printing the gruesome news. Her husband had killed himself supposedly over a gaming debt. She was a widow, yes, but a black cloud hovered above her head from what the gentlemen at White’s said. Lord Stanwell had been an addicted gambler of race horses and when his prized stallion had lost, he’d shot himself in the head.

  Stupid bastard to leave her. And over a horse.

  Gareth couldn’t comprehend suicide over a woman, let alone a four-legged beast.

  Whatever addiction the husband had suffered from, it was clear that his beautiful, young widow was left to pay the price.

  From his vantage point on the terrace, Gareth had overheard the gossips at the refreshment table and witnessed Jane’s flight. Something about her distress had tugged at him. A gentleman would have pitied her and offered her comfort, but he was no gentleman and he instinctively knew pity was not what Jane needed.

  What he hadn’t expected was the jolt of lust he’d felt when fury had flashed in her beautiful eyes and she’d refused him a dance.

  Passion lay beneath the lady’s cool surface.

  Fascinating.

  “The Home Office suspects corruption from one of its military suppliers,” Daniel spoke, drawing Gareth’s attention back to his friends.

  Gareth took a sip of coffee before lowering his cup. “A military supplier? Don’t tell me we’re talking about a trivial matter such as boots that fall apart?”

  “It’s much more serious than that,” Daniel said. “Generals have reported faulty cannons on the battlefield. Cannons that cannot withstand the heat and fail after several uses with disastrous results. They explode and wound or kill our own men.”

  “Several companies manufacture cannons. Can you identify which one?” Gareth said.

  “Yes, but it was tricky,” Daniel said. “Not all the cannons were inferior, less than a quarter of the production. The involved parties were clever, you see. They also bribed military inspectors when the cannons were tested. It was a combination of corruption and collusion. But we have identified the maker of the inferior cannons.”

  “Who?” Gareth asked.

  “The Marbury Company,” Daniel said.

  “The old man? Hasn’t he been in business for years?” Even Gareth had heard of Sir Vincent Marbury. Well into his seventies, he was an avid supporter of Wellington and had been knighted for his efforts in supplying the Crown’s troops.

  Daniel cleared his throat. “It’s true. Sir Vincent Marbury received a royal charter to incorporate the Marbury Company in 1795. Thereafter, the Board of Ordnance granted him a contract to supply cannons to the army. But he’s been ill and bedridden for some time. His son is running the business.”

  Gareth scoffed. “Simon Marbury? You think that dandy is behind this scheme?”

  “We are almost certain,” Daniel said.

  “Then arrest him. Why involve me?” Gareth said.

  Daniel set down his cup. “We know he is the mastermind, but we don’t know how many others are involved. Which military inspectors? Which officers? We need an agent to follow Simon Marbury and unearth this information.”

  Gareth’s brows drew downward. “I’m just to shadow him?”

  Robert spoke up. “Don’t sound so sour. I’ve had plenty of missions where I’ve had to follow a man around for months.”

  Gareth glared at Robert. “Then you take it.”

  “I’m retired from active duty, remember?” Robert said.

  Gareth scowled. Since Robert had married Lady Sophia, he no longer took on missions, but acted as an advisor to the Home Office and was therefore privy to the conversation.

  “You’re both wrong in this instance,” Daniel said. “Gareth isn’t just to watch Simon Marbury, but to befriend him and convince him to do business with you. Your legal background combined with your access to society makes you the perfect candidate for this.”

  “I see.”

  Daniel cleared his throat. “It’s an important mission. The Crown does not want the truth behind the faulty cannons in the newspapers. This must be handled discreetly.”

  “All right,” Gareth agreed. He wanted to get back to work for the Home Office, and if this was the only mission available, he would accept it.

  Daniel cleared his throat again. “As the Season is just beginning, you should have no trouble watching Simon Marbury. He’s quite the town tulip, and I’m told he attends many events.”

  Gareth hated the Season and the thought of attending endless rounds of tedious attractions left a sourness in the
pit of his stomach. “Splendid.”

  An unbidden thought came to mind. If more balls and parties were requisite to his assignment, he would likely run into Lady Stanwell. He’d purposely manipulated Jane at the ball by using his reputation to rile her temper. He’d wanted to distract her from the malicious gossip of the magpies, and it had worked.

  He knew his profession unnerved society ladies. It didn’t matter that he’d stumbled upon what had now become his specialty area of legal practice. The fact was, he’d handled a solitary case for Viscount Harrison, and by proving his wife’s adultery, had obtained the man a divorce through an Act of Parliament. Word had immediately spread, and wealthy and titled men had flocked to his Gray’s Inn chambers. Somehow he’d ended up taking on more and more clients. He promised them nothing, charged his fees, and often obtained for them the more readily available remedies of legal separation or monetary damages for criminal conversation.

  He could still feel the lust reverberating through his body at the spark of fury in Jane’s eyes after he’d insulted her friend. It had been a long time since he’d been challenged—in or out of the bedroom.

  Christ. What was he thinking? He had a job to do and he couldn’t afford any distractions.

  Jane may be enticing, but she was a lady—far from his type. He preferred courtesans and mistresses. Not sensitive, emotionally damaged widows. He needed to forget her and her troubles.

  “I can think of no better man for the mission,” Daniel said.

  Gareth nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll befriend Simon Marbury. It won’t take me long to learn all his sordid secrets.”

  …

  “Simon Marbury is perfect,” Jane announced.

  “He is very attractive,” Olivia said.

  Olivia sat on the bench seat at the end of the bed and smoothed her skirts. The two were in Jane’s bedchamber looking over her wardrobe. Too many dresses were black—black crepe, black bombazine silk, and black wool.

  Last night’s purple gown stood out like a beacon of hope.

  Jane was convinced of her plans. It was time for a completely different experience from her sheltered childhood and her disappointing marriage.

  All her life, decisions had been made for her. First by her family when they arranged her marriage, then by her husband.

  Now she would make her own choices. Starting with her future lover.

  “Are you certain about Mr. Marbury?” Olivia asked.

  Jane recalled Simon Marbury’s attractive features—his golden hair, blue eyes, and slight build. She knew little else about him, but she was confident she could approach him at the next event. From what she’d heard, he rarely declined an invitation during the Season.

  The image in her mind changed and a picture of Gareth Ramsey arose. Marbury’s fair looks were in stark contrast to the sinfully dark, broad-shouldered Mr. Ramsey.

  Jane turned back to Olivia. “I’m fairly certain about Simon Marbury, but I’ve decided to comprise a list of others just in case.”

  “A list?” Olivia said.

  “Why not?” Jane said defensively. “After years of marriage to a selfish husband who never truly loved me, I’m entitled to some pleasure.”

  “O-of course,” Olivia stammered. “I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise. Do you have someone in mind?”

  “I want a man who looks at me with passion and desire.”

  “Didn’t Charles ever—”

  “No, Charles never looked at me that way.” She may have thought so at first, but Charles had been an addicted gambler and well-practiced at lying.

  And she had been so young and naive.

  “Other than Mr. Marbury, who else do you have in mind?” Olivia asked.

  “I’ve made a list of eligible candidates in London.” Jane handed Olivia the piece of foolscap she had been working on.

  Olivia unfolded the paper and read aloud the header at the top of the page. “Possible Candidates as Lovers.”

  Olivia scanned the page before looking up. “The men listed here are all dandies and members of the ton.”

  “I’ve selected men who won’t quibble about having a private affair with the widow of the Earl of Stanwell,” Jane said. “Since I have no desire to marry again, intelligence is not an important factor. I prefer to be in control, the cleverer partner. I seek only a skilled lover in the bedroom, not a conversationalist.”

  Olivia lowered the paper. “I’m shocked. Not because you desire a lover—I think you deserve happiness after all you’ve been through—but because there is no trace of the grieving, withdrawn widow I’ve grown accustomed to.”

  Jane knew it was true. The emotions that had afflicted her after Charles’s suicide and the abrupt end of their three-year marriage had been tumultuous. She’d suffered bouts of melancholy for days followed by fits of rage. Not one unbroken mirror remained in her house.

  But now, finally, she was finished shedding tears over love lost and tragedy.

  It really hadn’t been love anyway, had it?

  She had loved; her husband had not.

  It was time to put the past behind her and move on. Time to live, time to enjoy life…perhaps time to open her heart to another?

  No, never that. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy male companionship, even a lusty bed partner. Sex did not have to be associated with love. Charles had shared her bed without giving her his heart, hadn’t he? She could write a long list of the married and widowed women of the beau monde who engaged in scandalous affairs.

  Why not her?

  “Aren’t you fearful of pregnancy?” Olivia asked.

  Jane stopped short as a heaviness centered in her chest. “My greatest regret is that I was unable to conceive during my marriage. A doctor declared me barren.”

  “I’m so sorry, Jane.”

  Jane pushed aside her dismay. “It matters naught now. You see, there’s no risk of pregnancy if I take a lover.” She took a deep breath. “You are my closest friend, Olivia, and your opinion matters to me. Do you completely disapprove?”

  A mischievous smile touched Olivia’s lips. “No, I do not disapprove. Let’s go through your list then, shall we?” She held up the paper and read the first name aloud. “The Earl of Townsend.”

  “Do you think he’s too old? He’s been widowed for five years now and close to fifty,” Jane said.

  “His dress is always meticulous and he spends a considerable amount of time with his tailor. What makes you think he’s looking for a lover?” Olivia asked.

  “You think him too effeminate?” Jane asked.

  “It has struck my mind.”

  “Keep going.”

  Olivia read the next name. “The Marquess of Carr.” She looked at Jane. “He’s an incorrigible rake. Lady Rumpole claims that he speaks freely of his affairs and enjoys being the center of attention.”

  “That won’t do,” Jane said, shaking her head. “I prefer discretion. What about Sir Walter Miller?”

  Olivia wrinkled her nose. “He’s a notorious fortune hunter and must marry for money. He’s courting Alice Hitchens whose father has made a huge sum in shipping.”

  “Then he’d be a fool to start an affair. It could ruin his chances of a wealthy union. How about Baron Umbridge?” Jane asked.

  A look of unease crossed Olivia’s face. “He gambles. He once borrowed money from Father. The loan was never repaid.”

  Jane’s jaw stiffened. “I’d rather bed a leper than another gambler.” She held out her hand.

  Olivia gave the list back to Jane, who marched to the escritoire, dipped the quill in ink, and proceeded to cross off Baron Umbridge’s name with a long black line.

  “Perhaps there is a man who is not on your list that would…fulfill your requirements and accommodate you,” Olivia said.

  Jane set the quill down. Once again, an unbidden image of another man came to mind. Black eyes and a cynical twist to hard lips. Not handsome like Charles, but a towering dominant male with a muscular frame.

  Sh
e tried to banish the thought. The last man she should be thinking of was Gareth Ramsey.

  He was rude, obstinate, insulting—unlike her charming late husband in every way. Perhaps that’s what made Mr. Ramsey even slightly attractive.

  Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if he had thought of her since he had asked her to dance at last night’s ball.

  “I shall think of additional names.” Jane quickly lowered her gaze before Olivia could read her thoughts.

  “Meanwhile it shouldn’t be difficult to cross paths with Mr. Marbury. He has a reputation for enjoying all the Season has to offer. Mother aided Lady Sefton with the guest list for her upcoming annual masquerade and Simon Marbury was included.”

  Jane looked up and smiled. “I received an invitation as well. I do believe I’ll accept.”

  Chapter Three

  The evening of Lady Sefton’s ball arrived a week later. In a daring move Jane chose to dress in a scarlet gown. She had ordered the deep silk from the most fashionable London modiste, and the bodice was cut to show a provocative amount of cleavage and hug her curves.

  “You look lovely, Jane.”

  Jane smoothed her skirts and turned to see her maternal aunt in the doorway. Aunt Eleanor was a plump elderly woman with a steel gray bun. Her arthritic joints occasionally pained her, so she was never without her cane. Jane had moved into her town home in Piccadilly soon after Charles died. Eleanor was a dear mother-like figure to her, and as affectionate as her own birth mother had been before her death.

  Again Jane was grateful for her widow’s portion, which Charles had been unable to gamble away. Combined with her aunt’s wealth, the two women had been able to keep their staff and maintain a comfortable standard of living.

  “You do not think the scarlet is too daring?” Jane asked.

  Eleanor clicked her tongue. “Nonsense. You are a beautiful woman who should wear beautiful clothes. Now sit and let Monique style your hair.”

  Jane obediently sat at her dressing table as her maid’s skilled fingers fashioned her blond hair into stylish curls atop her head. Monique purposely left a loose tendril to brush her cheek and rest against the swell of her breast. Jane barely recognized herself as she gazed into the looking glass.