Chapter Fourteen
The next afternoon, Thea waited in the drawing room for Gabriel to come down. Upon awakening, he’d insisted on calling a meeting with the others. He’d brushed aside her questions and protests that he wasn’t well enough to leave the bed.
It’s an urgent matter, he’d said tersely. I’ll explain things when everyone arrives.
There’d been no dissuading him.
Now Ambrose entered the room, his wife Marianne by his side. His brawny, brown-haired associate, Mr. William McLeod, followed. The Scotsman greeted Strathaven by buffeting him on the arm. The duke returned the favor with equal force; such was the way between the two brothers who were as different as night and day in look and manner.
Thea went to greet the newcomers. “Thank you for coming,” she said.
“Of course. How is Tremont faring?” Ambrose said.
Dark-haired and lanky, her brother was a solid, reliable man of principles. He was older than Thea by seventeen years, his mama having been their papa’s first wife, yet she’d never thought of him as anything but her full kin. From a young age, he’d provided for her and the family, and his mere presence made her feel safer.
Ambrose’s wife Marianne was his opposite, glamorous down to her very bones. A willowy silver blonde once hailed as an Incomparable amongst the ton, she was clever and possessed of a cutting wit. As different as husband and wife seemed on the surface, their devotion to one another was absolute. And more than once, Marianne’s knowledge of the ton had helped Ambrose in his investigations.
“Tremont shouldn’t be getting out of bed,” Thea said in worried tones. “I tried to convince him to delay the meeting, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”
“Given that his carriage exploded, his haste is hardly surprising,” her sister-in-law said.
Thea’s belly churned with the fear she’d been trying to keep at bay. Gnawing on her lip, she said, “I wish I knew what was going on. Who would be behind such a dastardly attack?”
“That is why we’re here. To find out,” her brother said with reassuring calm.
Yesterday, she had honored her promise to Gabriel and sent word to her brother’s agency. Mr. McLeod had personally arrived to set up what he called a “perimeter,” with his trained men keeping watch on the Strathaven residence around the clock.
“We’re also here to see how you are faring,” Marianne added. “Emma says you’ve been running yourself ragged nursing the marquess.”
Thea shot an exasperated glance at her older sister, who was too busy chatting with Mr. McLeod to notice. “Emma is being a mother hen, as usual. I’m perfectly well.”
“With your condition—” Ambrose began.
“I’m fine. I’m stronger than I used to be.” She huffed out a breath. “Why can’t anyone understand that?”
Her brother and sister-in-law looked startled. Even she was surprised by her piqued tone.
“No one doubts your strength, dear. We’re simply worried about you,” Marianne said.
“I know it.” Seeing the pair’s genuine concern, Thea felt instantly guilty. “Forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” her brother said. “But I must ask, Thea: what is going on between you and Tremont?”
Thea’s face warmed. Since the explosion had curtailed her and Gabriel’s discussion of the future, she didn’t know how to reply. “May I answer that question later?”
Ambrose frowned. “Why?”
“Because she doesn’t know the answer at present,” Marianne murmured to him. To Thea, she said, “As long as you know what you’re doing, dear.”
“I do,” Thea said. At least, I hope I do.
At that moment, Gabriel entered the room, drawing Thea’s attention. His tawny hair was tousled, and his color was still off, the hollows beneath his eyes and cheekbones making him appear more starkly masculine than ever. The slight bulge of his bandage was visible beneath his waistcoat. Even in this state, he was so devastatingly attractive that her heart flipped in her chest.
Yet gone was the tender lover she’d just been getting to know. There was no trace of warmth to him now, nothing but icy resolve. His eyes locked on hers, and they were the cold, lucid grey of dawn. Premonition shivered over her. He’d called this meeting for a purpose, and she had the intuition that she’d soon learn some of his secrets.
Which suited her. Because she yearned to know him, had been drawn from the start to the dark, passionate soul she’d always sensed just beneath his civilized exterior. He was the intensity she’d always craved. He made her feel more alive, more vital than she ever had.
And she was determined to help him in any way she could.
Who was trying to harm him? Was the attempted kidnapping of Freddy related to the carriage attack? What sort of intrigue was Gabriel embroiled in and with what evil enemy?
Everyone found seats around the coffee table, Thea taking the chair next to Gabriel. As tea and refreshments were passed around, he began to speak.
“Thank you all for coming. I owe you my gratitude,” he said gravely, “and I’m afraid that I will be further in your debt before the day is done.”
“Friends don’t speak of debt,” Strathaven said dismissively.
“Neither do families,” Ambrose said. “Any friend of the Strathavens are friends of ours, Lord Tremont.”
Thea felt a rush of love and gratitude toward her brother.
“I am indeed fortunate, then, for I wish to retain the services of your firm.” Pausing, Gabriel rubbed the back of his neck. “Forgive me. Asking for help is even more difficult than I imagined.”
“Thea told us you have an enemy,” Ambrose said. “Perhaps you’d care to begin there.”
“Yes.” Gabriel drew a breath. “Before I start, there is something you must know. A secret that must remain in this room.”
Ambrose inclined his head. “You may be assured of our discretion.”
“Don’t keep us at the edge of our seats,” Emma said.
Thea saw the conflict tautening Gabriel’s features.
“Whatever it is,” she said softly, “you can trust us, you know.”
Gabriel met her eyes. Gave a slight nod, as if coming to some inner decision. “During the war with Bonaparte, I was involved in intelligence operations for the Crown,” he said.
As Thea tried to absorb that startling piece of information, he went on, “I was recruited to a group whose primary objective was the covert gathering of information and guarding of national secrets.” He exhaled, his gaze never leaving hers. “In other words, I was a spy.”
***
He saw Thea’s stricken expression and told himself it should come as no surprise. Spying was seen as a dishonorable activity, something no gentleman would want to be associated with. In seven years of marriage, his past had come up once. He’d been having a nightmare, one so intense that Sylvia had apparently heard him from her chamber. She’d woken him, and in his disoriented state, details of his past had come tumbling out.
She’d cut him off in a soft, trembling voice. If you act as if it never happened, it will be as if it never did. Put it behind you, Tremont. We’ll never speak of it again.
Although she’d tried to mask it, he’d seen the horror and distaste in her eyes, her embarrassment on his behalf. From then on, he’d kept his past to himself—as he’d always done. He’d never planned on sharing the sordid facts again, on exposing his filthy secrets to anyone… especially not the woman he craved more than his next breath.
Looking at Thea, he swallowed. She looked so pure in her white frock trimmed with blue ribbon, dangling curls framing her sweet face. His vision of loveliness.
You don’t have a choice, he told himself.
As much as he hated to admit it, the danger was too great for him to handle on his own. The attack by the Spectre had slapped him to his senses. He needed help, couldn’t defeat the bastard by himself.
“A spy? You?” The duchess gawked at him.
“Close your mouth, love,” her husband said mildly. “Tremont didn’t grow two heads. He merely said he gathered information for his country during a time of war.”
“Were you in the military?” William McLeod said.
The strapping Scotsman, Gabriel knew, had been a soldier and scout in the 95th regiment.
“I worked under a different auspice,” Gabriel said quietly. “The French had a vast advantage over us when it came to their intelligence efforts. They were more coordinated, efficient, and experienced, which led to their successes on the battlefield. My superior, who went by the codename Octavian, was given the task of developing a similar covert intelligence team for the British. He hand-selected and trained a group of five agents he called the Quorum. I was one of them.”
Ambrose Kent’s golden eyes were keen. “This enemy who threatens you now—he has ties to your past in espionage?”
The investigator caught on quickly, increasing Gabriel’s confidence that he was making the right decision. He had only one regret… He slanted a look at Thea. Her hazel eyes, which had been filled with such sweet passion the night before, now had a sheen of shock… and disgust? His chest clenching, he told himself to get on with the inevitable.
“A month ago, I found Octavian murdered in his study. I’ve since discovered that he’d been hunting down a French spymaster dubbed Le Spectre. During the war, The Spectre was our nemesis, stealing our secrets, always staying one step ahead. After the war, he began a brisk business selling information to the highest bidder. At one point, he set a trap in Normandy, capturing three of the Quorum, including myself.”
Flesh healed; memories didn’t. His back quivered with the memory of the floggings, beatings. He forced himself to continue.
“When we made our escape, I spotted the Spectre and thought I’d killed him, but there was no proof as the place went up in flames. Apparently, Octavian continued to search for our enemy through the years and what he uncovered led to his demise.”
“What did he discover?” Thea said, her eyes wide.
“Not only is the Spectre alive, but he was one of us. A double agent.” Grimly, Gabriel recounted his mentor’s last blood-marked message to him and the blade he’d found at Cruik’s.
“Bloody hell. A traitor.” McLeod raked a hand through his shaggy hair.
“I believe my mentor was killed because he was too close to discovering the true identity of our foe,” Gabriel said. “Now I’ve been targeted as the information was passed onto me. The carriage explosion, the attempted kidnapping of my son—this is all the Spectre’s handiwork.”
“There were five of you in the spy ring, you say? Minus you, that makes a list of four possible suspects?” Kent was scribbling in a small notebook.
“Three,” Gabriel said quietly. “My colleague Marius was killed during the escape in Normandy. The remaining agents—Cicero, Tiberius, and Pompeia—are alive and in London.”
“Pompeia.” Mrs. Kent’s fair brows arched. “A female spy?”
“She was one of our best, and deadliest, agents. She or one of other two could be the Spectre.” Gabriel expelled a breath. “With the assistance of Kent and Associates, I plan to unmask the true villain and put an end to this madness.”
“We will need to know the identities of the other agents,” Kent said.
He’d known this, of course, but resistance rose within him. Exposing a fellow spy went against one of the few codes of honor in espionage and the grain of his own beliefs. Yet he flashed to Octavian lying in a pool of blood, the fear in Freddy’s eyes, the cloak of the Spectre descending, bringing darkness and flame…
Do what must be done.
“This information must not leave the room. Reputations, perhaps even lives, are at stake,” he said grimly. “As agents, we made powerful enemies, and anonymity is our sole protection.”
“Discretion is the policy of Kent and Associates,” Kent said.
Glancing at Thea, Gabriel couldn’t read her reaction. Not that it mattered. Before the attack, he’d fallen into a moment of gloriously deluded optimism. He’d let his fantasies cloud his judgement. Now, as he lay bare his past, he saw things through the clear, harsh lens of reality.
Marrying Thea would lead to disaster for both of them. His past had risen yet again to remind him of what he’d been: a spy and cold-hearted killer. A beast through and through. Even though she’d responded to him in the carriage, what he’d shown her there had only scratched the surface of his carnality. His insatiable need for domination.
His blood was cursed. Eventually, if they married, she would get glimpses of the true darkness inside him, and he would repulse her as he had Sylvia. He’d find himself in the same torturous situation as his first marriage—only worse. He’d rather have his guts ripped out than see rejection in Thea’s eyes.
Locking away sentiment, Gabriel focused on the hard facts. “Pompeia is Lady Pandora Blackwood.”
He heard Thea’s indrawn breath and saw eyebrows go up around the room.
“The marchioness?” the duchess said incredulously. “How can that be?”
“As a spy, she had the singular ability to assume any identity. She speaks at least four languages that I know of and can charm or kill a man with equal ease.”
“But she was so nice,” Thea blurted. “I cannot believe it of her. At her masquerade, she chatted with me, introduced me to her guests…”
“Pompeia can seem very nice—until she has her garrotte at your throat,” he said flatly.
Thea’s hand fluttered to her own throat. Above her fichu, the tender column was smooth and white. Exquisitely vulnerable.
“Do you think Lady Blackwood is the Spectre?” Kent asked.
Describing the damning note he’d found in her bedchamber, he concluded, “If she’s not the Spectre, then she’s likely working for him. During our last mission in Normandy, she abandoned our group.” The old bitterness welled in him. “Because of her absence, we were shorthanded and captured. During our escape, one of our own fell. If the past is any indication, she cannot be trusted.”
“This note you found in her desk—it specified a time and meeting place?” Strathaven said.
“Five days from now. At a place called Fielding’s in Covent Garden.”
“Sounds like one of the market stalls,” McLeod said. “We could set up a watch there and see if this ghost of yours turns up.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Kent agreed. “And the other two suspects?”
“Cicero is Lord Cecil Davenport and Tiberius, Mr. Tobias Heath.”
“Good God,” the duke said, quirking a dark eyebrow, “a Tory and a radical with something in common? And that thing being a past in espionage?”
“Davenport and Heath are more similar than you think. Both are ruthless and capable of killing.”
“We’ll have to monitor them as well,” Kent said. “McLeod, do we have the men for it?”
“Aye. I’ll put Cooper and Jones on the job.”
“That covers the known suspects.” Kent’s brow lined with concentration. “Which leaves two other leads: the governess and the carriage explosion. Starting with the former, have you made any progress?”
“I put eyes and ears out for Marie Fournier, but nothing has turned up. She had the foresight to dispose of her belongings from the hotel prior to trying to take my son, so I have little to go on.”
“You have the handkerchief she dropped at the zoological gardens,” Thea reminded him.
Longing throbbed, deeper than his wounds. Why did she have to be so damned beautiful and astute? His every fantasy come true—and now a reality he would never have.
Reaching into his pocket, he removed the item, placing it on the coffee table for all to see. The handkerchief was plain, white, of middling quality. The kind one might find for sale in any shop in the city. Nothing notable about it except the governess’ initials, “M. F.,” sewn in prominent blue thread at the center.
Kent examined the handkerchief. “It’s not much to go on, but I’ll ask around at a few shops. If you have the names of her references, I’ll follow up there as well; chances are, those, too, are false. Which leaves the explosion as the more viable lead. When I examined your carriage, I found remnants of a gunpowder cartridge attached to the underside. My guess is that the overturned cart was part of a diversion; while you were stopped, someone lit the fuse. Do you have any memory right before the blast?”
Gabriel focused on the minute or so before the explosion. The carriage slowing. Vegetables strewn across the path, the cart tipped over. People starting to mill around the scene. He’d put his hand on the door handle, intending to get out and investigate, but he’d paused because—
“A man. He walked past my door just as I was about to get out. He was dressed in working garb, had brown hair and average features.” Gabriel put himself back in time, back in the carriage when he’d glanced briefly at the passing stranger. Why had he looked, what had caught his notice…? Memory glimmered. “He had a limp. Favored his left leg.”
“It’s a start.” Kent closed his notebook. “When we question the witnesses, we’ll ask about a man with a limping gait. Perhaps someone will remember something.”
“What can I do? I’d like to help,” Thea said.
Her words stunned him, warmth flaring in his chest. The flame was extinguished in the next instant by unadulterated horror. His every muscle tensed in denial.
“You are not getting involved,” he stated.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m already involved. I foiled Freddy’s kidnapping, after all. Who is to say that I can’t be helpful in this instance?”
Aware of their audience, Gabriel strove to hold onto his control. No way in hell would he let his noxious history touch her. Time to nip this in the bud.
“This is a dangerous affair. A woman has no place in it,” he said firmly.
“But a woman is involved. Lady Blackwood is a suspect.” She canted her head. “Actually, at her ball, she was quite friendly to me. I could call upon her, use the opportunity to investigate—”
“Out of the question,” he growled.
“Tremont’s right, Thea.” Her brother, thank God, had the sense to back him up. “This is too dangerous for you.”
“Emma works with you. She’s in dangerous situations all the time,” Thea pointed out.
The duchess cleared her throat. “That’s not entirely true. I do help with cases, yes, but not the ones involving physical peril.”
Thea’s eyes narrowed. “You helped to find Strathaven’s would-be murderer.”
“In that instance, I had no choice. His life was in danger,” her sister said earnestly. “I couldn’t stand by and watch the man I love come to harm.”
Strathaven put an arm around his wife’s shoulders.
Thea folded her arms beneath her bosom. “Then you’ll understand why I can’t bear to see the man I care about get killed.”
Her declaration struck the room into silence. A rush filled Gabriel’s ears, his heartbeat spinning into an exhilarated rhythm. She cared… about him?
She doesn’t know all your dark secrets. All that you’ve done and what you are, his inner voice whispered. She’s too bloody innocent to recognize the beast inside you.
Seeing the glances being exchanged around the room, he knew he had to act. To protect Thea from a future of disillusionment and pain. Whatever it took, he had to head this off at the pass.
“Your concern over a guest is a testament to your kindness, Miss Kent,” he said with chilly civility, “but, I assure you, unnecessary. I have everything in hand.”
She stared at him. “Concern over a guest? That is how you characterize our relationship?”
“How else would I characterize it?” he said tonelessly. “Your hospitality to me and my son do you credit, but the last thing I need is an interfering female. Especially one with a delicate constitution.”
A coral flush spread over her cheeks. “Damn you, Tremont.”
He couldn’t have been more surprised if she’d slapped him in the face. The Thea he knew never used anything but gentle language. She surged to her feet, and all the men hastily followed, himself included. Even though he towered over her, he was the one held captive—by a slender princess with honeyed hair and golden fire in her eyes.
“If you think for one second that I’m going to let you face this danger alone, then you don’t know me at all.” Her voice trembled not with fear but… anger? “For the last time, I am not delicate. Play hot and cold if you wish, but I am not going to stand by wringing my hands, waiting for you to get killed.”
Her hands clenched in elegant little fists, she walked out of the room.
Well… damn. He suddenly had trouble breathing. Beneath his jacket, he’d gone rock-hard, arousal rushing through his veins.
“He has a point,” Kent muttered to the room in general. “It isn’t safe for Thea.”
“Wouldn’t want my wife Annabel mixed up in such business,” McLeod agreed with masculine sympathy. “Ladies have no place in murder and mayhem.”
Mrs. Kent rose, her skirts swishing. “We ladies should make ourselves useful, then, don’t you think, Emma?” she said in saccharine tones. “We could, for instance, check on the housekeeping or do some embroidery.”
“Or we could just wring hands with Thea,” Her Grace said.
As the two swept out of the room, Strathaven muttered, “God help us, gentlemen. Prepare yourselves for battle—on more than one front.”