A Spy Unmasked (Entangled Scandalous) Page 4

  Ruthless.

  Wendover stood and went to the door. “I’ll leave you two alone to discuss the arrangement.”

  Chapter Five

  Robert pushed away from the wall and walked toward Sophia with loose-limbed grace. Stopping within a foot of where she perched on the edge of the settee, he glared down at her.

  “I never work with a partner,” he said.

  She stood and raised her chin a notch. “Then who was the footman bearing Delmont’s crest?”

  “Ian was a necessity tonight, not a partner.”

  “That’s illogical.”

  “Nothing about this situation is logical.”

  She took a deep breath. “It seems we don’t have a choice in the matter. The marquess said we are to—”

  “You’re impulsive and reckless,” he said coolly. “A danger to yourself and others.”

  Her temper flared. “And you’re not? Breaking into Viscount Delmont’s safe during a masquerade?”

  “I’m highly trained, not a nanny.”

  She eyed him warily. “What exactly do you do for Lord Wendover?”

  Robert shrugged. “This and that.”

  “What on earth does that mean?”

  “I’m skilled with safes.”

  “A safecracker?”

  “Among other things.”

  “But you are an earl. However did you learn to crack safes?”

  “I studied mathematics and engineering at Oxford.”

  She understood his background. By studying both engineering and mathematics, he had a solid understanding of basic physics and how things worked. For some reason, he’d chosen to apply his aptitude in a highly unorthodox way.

  “But you remain working for the Home Office under Lord Wendover even after inheriting an earldom?”

  “Yes.”

  He was a man of few words. She wanted answers, but he certainly was not forthright. “Other than leading a double life, a titled gentleman and member of the House of Lords by day and a spy in the evening, is there anything else you do that I should be aware of?”

  “No.”

  Frustration roiled inside her. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t like the idea of working together any more than you do.”

  “I highly doubt it.”

  “It’s true,” she insisted.

  “You appear quite eager to go along with Wendover’s plans.”

  “I’m eager only to seek justice for my father’s murder.”

  He hesitated, and his gaze roved and lazily appraised her. “You do realize we’ll attend the house party next week as an engaged couple.”

  She felt her face grow warm, and she looked up at him with an effort. “In name only.”

  “It makes no difference. We’ll have to socialize. Act as a loving couple. Sit beside each other during the evening meal and stare longingly into each other’s eyes. It’s not too late to change your mind.”

  “I won’t.”

  He flashed a smile, his teeth white against the bronzed perfection of his face. “Perhaps we should practice to be certain we can pull it off.”

  He took a step closer and cupped her face with his hand. His palm was calloused, not as smooth as she would have expected of a lord’s hands. But then again, he wasn’t solely an earl.

  He leaned close until she could see the specks of blue in his brilliant eyes. A strange fluttering began in the pit of her stomach as he lowered his head inch by inch until his breath fanned her lips. Her heart slammed against her ribs.

  He’s going to kiss me! She lost her nerve and jumped back just before his mouth touched hers.

  Blue eyes sparkled with mocking humor. “Most ladies find me irresistible,” he drawled.

  She shot him a withering glance. “You flatter yourself, my lord. I’m not ‘most ladies.’”

  He arched an eyebrow, a spark of some indefinable emotion in his eyes. “True, but you should be warned that I’m a man who has a fondness for the opposite sex. I may succumb to my weakness while acting out our charade.”

  She swallowed hard—and to her dismay—her voice broke slightly. “You are the self-professed professional. You should exhibit control.”

  He shrugged a shoulder. “Even professionals experience desire.”

  She met his gaze without flinching. “It’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

  …

  “You look like you could use a drink.”

  Robert took the glass of whiskey Wendover held out to him. They were back in the earl’s study, only this time Robert wasn’t sitting before the large desk, but pacing the Oriental carpet. He felt caged and restless after his confrontation with Sophia.

  He had purposely tried to intimidate her with a near kiss. He had hoped she would back down and change her mind about accompanying him to Delmont’s house party. What he hadn’t expected was the fire in her emerald eyes, the spark of excitement as his mouth came perilously close to hers. The fierceness of his own response had caught him off guard.

  Lust had pounded in his head. Lust that was as dangerous as it was a despised weakness.

  “Do not look so forlorn,” Wendover said, leaning against a rosewood sideboard. “I had no choice. Lady Sophia must accompany you.”

  “So you keep insisting, my lord.”

  “I’m convinced of my decision.”

  “She’s bound to get in my way.”

  “No, she won’t.”

  Robert stopped pacing long enough to shoot the marquess a hard glance. “How do you suggest I keep her from interfering, then? Do you want me to tie her to the bedpost each evening?”

  The marquess sighed. “I don’t expect you to involve her in your clandestine searches of Delmont’s country house. Keep her busy talking with the wives. Perhaps she will learn something of use. Either way, the task will occupy her.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “I trust you to use your discretion. Tell her enough to pacify her.”

  At Robert’s silence, Wendover added, “You’re the best I have, Robert.”

  He knew he was good. Damn good. If not for Sophia’s interruption at the masquerade ball, he would have been in and out of Delmont’s library well before the guards’ rotation. He certainly wouldn’t have had to shoot one of them or flee through the gardens.

  He took a sip of whiskey and walked to a japanned curio cabinet in the corner of the study. He examined the artifacts—an eclectic assortment of painted Greek bowls, Arabic figurines, and African wood carvings, which displayed Wendover’s exotic tastes.

  “She’s not a professional,” Robert said. “She’s bound to make a misstep, possibly put the mission in jeopardy. She doesn’t trust me either. She looks at me like I’m a randy schoolboy ready to pounce upon her.”

  The marquess chortled. “We both know she’s safe from you.”

  Ah, Robert mused. But you don’t know the extent of it, do you, Wendover? After Gwendolyn’s death Robert had sworn off women, not just emotional entanglements, but physical ones as well. His celibacy was a constant test of self-control.

  He swirled the alcohol in his glass. Despite the fine quality of the aged whiskey, he felt oddly dissatisfied. It wasn’t just the idea of marching into his next mission with Lady Sophia in tow. It was the cruel world in which he operated—the deception that was required of him.

  When he had first drawn attention from the Home Office, he was finishing his last year at Oxford. As the nephew of the Earl of Kirkland, he had known he would have to make his own way in life. His family had paid for his education, and upon turning nineteen, he’d left Eton for Oxford to continue his studies. He’d done what young men did best: simultaneously pursue his academics and social life with equal exuberance.

  After he’d started working for the Crown, he had felt a sense of patriotism. Never had he expected to meet and lose Gwendolyn or for his uncle and cousin to be killed in a carriage accident and for him to inherit the earldom. His work had always given him a true purpose in life. But now, years later,
that initial altruism was gone, replaced with cold indifference.

  Perhaps he had become too jaded or too cynical for the job.

  Or, heaven help him, too old.

  “One more?” Wendover asked, raising the decanter. Candlelight reflected off the cut crystal.

  “No, thank you.”

  Wendover set the decanter aside. “You’re acting a bit strange tonight.”

  “Any oddity in my behavior is from learning of my new partner.”

  “Is that all?” Wendover eyed him with a scrutiny that had served him well over his years as a spymaster.

  “Should there be more?”

  “Do not be fooled, Robert. The mission might be a dangerous one. If Delmont or the ringleader, whoever he is, suspects you, then you will be in grave danger. You must have your wits about you.”

  Robert chuckled. “You need not lecture me, my lord.”

  The marquess’s brows drew together. “Don’t misunderstand. I’m merely concerned. We’ve been working together for years. If this is not a mission you wish to undertake, then I’ll have to accept your decision.”

  Robert shook off his melancholy. “I have no qualms about the mission itself. Just the company.”

  …

  The following morning, Sophia woke feeling anxious. After Wendover’s footman had dropped her off at her home on Curzon Street late last night, she had been unable to sleep.

  The memory of the evening haunted her. But rather than the shooting of Delmont’s guard and their mad flight from the masquerade, it was the vivid images of Robert that kept her tossing and turning.

  She relived the heat and strength of his body as he had pulled her to him seconds before the guard had burst into the library, the curve of his sensual lips as he grinned, the confident…dangerously graceful way he moved. And then there had been their private conversation later that night—the hammering of her heart as his large hand cupped her face and he lowered his head to kiss her.

  Sophia pressed her hands to her heated cheeks. She needed to clear her thoughts and prepare for the future, and there was only one place she could accomplish such a feat. Dressing in an old morning gown of blue cotton, she quickly scrawled a note for her cousin Jane and then headed for her father’s workshop.

  As a child, the workshop had reminded her of a mad scientist’s lair, but as she grew older and her own inventive interests had been piqued, she looked at it as a haven.

  A long wooden workbench ran the entire length of the back wall, its oak surface scarred and stained by the years. Tools, nails, oil pots, and iron parts were haphazardly strewn about it. On the opposite wall, rows of shelves held glass jars containing various chemicals of different colors; some were clear, others were blends of the color spectrum from yellow to green to bloodred. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, and the light reflected off the jars, creating a kaleidoscope of color on the wooden floorboards.

  To those brave enough to visit the “Mad Marquess’s” workshop, the room appeared unorganized and disorderly, but Haverton had known where every tool, mechanical part, and chemical was located. Sophia had taken over the workshop after his death. Her father’s working habits had not been orderly, and to the dismay of the servants, she had inherited his traits.

  She spread her father’s notes across the workbench and began to combine chemicals into a glass beaker. Without his latest ledger, which detailed the gas he had been working on, she had struggled to replicate the formula.

  Two hours later, a knock on the door startled her. The butler, Smith, stepped into the crowded room.

  “Lady Stanwell is here to see you,” he said. “She says it’s urgent—”

  Before he could finish, a slender blonde woman burst into the room. “Sophia! I received your note. You said it was important.”

  Smith departed and discretely shut the door.

  Sophia carefully set the beaker down and wiped her hands on a rag. Jane stood expectantly, dressed in the all-too-familiar, somber, black mourning gown.

  “I’m glad you came, Jane,” she said, “I have news. I’m engaged to be married.”

  Jane’s mouth floundered open and closed. “What?”

  “It’s true.”

  “To whom?”

  Sophia motioned for her to sit on the sole sofa in the workshop. Pushing aside additional papers, she sat beside her cousin.

  “A gentleman by the name of Robert Ware,” she said.

  Jane’s brown eyes widened. “The new Earl of Kirkland?”

  First Wendover, now Jane. Did everyone know Kirkland?

  “Yes, you know him?”

  Jane’s voice stilled. “Charles had admired a prized Arabian in Lord Kirkland’s stables.”

  Sophia didn’t miss the slight wince at the mention of Jane’s deceased husband. Other than being the fifth Earl of Stanwell, Charles had been an aspiring inventor and a member of the Inventors’ Society. He had dabbled with improving the axles used in carriages. Unlike Sophia’s father, however, Charles’s obsession had not been his work, but rather his addiction to betting on racehorses.

  Sophia twisted her hands in her lap. “Yes…well…Lord Kirkland has proposed marriage and I’ve accepted.”

  “You never said a word,” Jane said, not bothering to hide the hurt in her voice. “I wasn’t even aware he had been courting you.”

  Sophia stirred uneasily in her seat. “I’ve kept it to myself after Papa’s passing.” She knew she was making a mess of things. Even the man’s name was still foreign to her and did not roll smoothly off her tongue.

  Jane regarded her quizzically. “Yes, about that. I thought you were highly suspicious of the constable’s findings surrounding your father’s death. You believed your father was murdered. You swore to find the criminal and see justice done, remember?”

  Sophia chose her words carefully. “I met Robert by chance at an outing, and he has been an unexpected source of comfort. As a new and influential earl, he agreed to help me with the constables and he has aided me in looking into Papa’s death. Somewhere along the way, he has captured my heart.”

  God forgive me for lying, she prayed silently.

  Jane clasped Sophia’s hands, her eyes imploring. “Be careful, Sophia. The heart can be a dubious thing.”

  Sophia swallowed the lump in her throat. She knew her cousin continued to suffer over her husband’s tragic death. Charles had shot himself with his own pistol after his prized stallion had lost an important race.

  “I must beg a favor of you,” she said. “I understand you are attending the Delmonts’ house party in Hatfield in a fortnight at the viscountess’s invitation. Lord Kirkland is attending as well and I’m invited as his betrothed.”

  “You need a chaperone?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m surprised. You had your suspicions about Viscount Delmont. Why would you want to attend his weeklong house party?”

  As Sophia’s friend and cousin, Jane knew a few details about her investigation into Viscount Delmont. Sophia had never told her about her plans to sneak into the masquerade; she knew Jane would not have approved. And after last night, she understood that there was much more at stake than just her own father’s death. Other inventors had been murdered, a mastermind of the Inventors’ Society was suspected, and the Home Office was involved. Although she wanted desperately to confide in Jane, she was worried about her cousin’s safety. The less Jane knew, the better.

  “I…I admit I may have been wrong about the viscount,” she said. “Delmont’s interests lie in chemistry, and I fear I may have erroneously assumed he was after Father’s work. The truth is Lord Kirkland and I have been unable to find anything incriminating about him.”

  “I see.” Jane sighed. “Due to the excitement of your news, I forgot to mention what I learned. Lady Mason told me that there was a shooting last night at the Delmonts’ masquerade. One of the viscount’s guards was killed. Thieves are suspected.”

  “A thief?”

  “No, thieves. They were s
potted fleeing into the woods.”

  Sophia tried to still the pounding of her heart. “How awful! Were they caught?”

  Jane shook her head. “No. The guards could not even identify the criminals for the constables. With footpads lurking in the streets and thieves breaking into mansions, London is becoming quite dangerous.”

  “Perhaps it’s best if we leave town for a house party. Will you agree to act as my chaperone?” Sophia asked.

  For a moment Jane studied her intently. “I will. I’d like to observe the two of you together. What better way to judge your newfound love?”

  Sophia’s stomach sank. She had no doubt the handsome and deceiving Kirkland could pull off the ruse. But could she?

  Chapter Six

  Later that afternoon, Sophia ceased working. She wasn’t making any progress and her stomach was grumbling, reminding her she hadn’t eaten luncheon. She was on the way to the kitchen when a knock sounded on the front door.

  Smith had already opened it by the time she walked into the vestibule.

  He held out a silver salver. “It’s addressed to you, my lady.”

  Her name was written upon the envelope in bold black ink. She took the note and headed for the library. She broke the seal and tore it open to withdraw a sheet of heavy foolscap bearing the distinct watermark of one of London’s quality papermakers.

  Come to my home at three o’clock this afternoon. The party is less than two weeks away. We must prepare.

  Robert

  The missive was curt and lacked flowery prose, just like Kirkland. Sophia glanced at the mantle clock, her heart hammering. She looked down at her worn work gown and the smudges of dirt on her hands.

  “Smith!” she called as she rushed out of the library. “Please summon the carriage. I must change and then attend to some business.”

  …

  A half hour later, her carriage stopped before an impressive mansion in Grosvenor Square. Smoothing the skirts of her fine morning gown of blue alpaca, Sophia stared at the massive pile that had belonged to the old earl. Built of white stone with painted black shutters, the home’s window boxes were bursting with well-tended, colorful blooms.