A Spy Unmasked (Entangled Scandalous) (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

“I never imagined your wedding breakfast to take place in Claridge’s dining room,” Jane said.

“Neither did I,” Sophia said.

They sat in the hotel’s resplendent dining room at a table with a starched gray linen cloth. As soon as Sophia drank her coffee, an attentive waiter refilled her Wedgwood china cup.

The previous morning, they had wasted no time and immediately departed Hatfield. They had stopped at a posting inn for the night and had promptly resumed their journey the next day.

When they had arrived in London early that morning, they went straight to St. George’s church in Hanover Square. Robert had sent a missive ahead and the priest was prepared for their arrival. Jane had held Sophia’s bouquet of roses, and Gareth had stood beside Robert. The only guest present in the pews was the Marquess of Wendover, who had initially arranged for the reading of the banns. The ceremony was surprisingly quick, and before Sophia could comprehend it all, she and Robert were pronounced husband and wife.

Jane peered at Sophia over the rim of her cup. “Is it too late to ask if you are confident of your decision?”

“It is.”

“For a new bride, you look highly troubled and you’ve spoken less than a handful of words since leaving the church.”

Sophia twisted the starched napkin in her lap as she thought of her unexpected marriage and future living arrangements. Her belongings would have to be moved to Robert’s home. And what of her workshop? She finally had her own space, and she would have to relinquish it for the time being.

“Lady Falk and Lady Maxwell are troublesome gossipmongers. They will undoubtedly relish spreading word of your billiard-room antics,” Jane said.

Sophia’s brows drew downward. “We’re married now. Surely the gossip will not last.”

Jane shrugged. “The aristocracy loves a scandal, and the Season is far from over.”

Oh, dear. She’d survived society’s scrutiny when her father was alive. She’d hated every whisper about the “Mad Marquess.” Could she live with the vicious gossip again?

It’s worth it,
she thought.
Everything is worth it if father’s murderers pay for their crimes and they never kill an innocent man again.

She peered at Jane and chose her words carefully. “May I ask you something about Charles?”

“Because it is you, then yes.”

“Did Charles own any watch fobs?”

“He possessed dozens. He changed his clothes and accessories more than I did. His valet was constantly in a frenzy.”

“I’m referring to one in particular. A round gold fob. Something akin to a gear. It may even be inscribed with a capital letter
I
,” Sophia said.

“Why the interest?” Jane asked.

“Robert thinks the gears are a token upon acceptance into the secret group.”

Jane took a quick, sharp breath. “You think Charles was a member?”

“I don’t know.”

Jane lips thinned. “He wasn’t. You are welcome to search Charles’s belongings. But I am certain about this. Charles was self-absorbed and narcissistic and far too consumed with betting on his precious horses to join and commit to a secret, criminal group.”

Sophia nodded. “I believe you.”

Suddenly a look of discomfort crossed Jane’s face. Abruptly setting down her coffee cup, she focused her gaze over Sophia’s shoulder.

Sophia turned in her chair to spot Gareth Ramsey’s tall figure enter the dining room. The gentlemen, including the Marquess of Wendover, had previously stepped outside to smoke cheroots. She had assumed they’d needed an excuse to privately discuss the mission.

“What is going on between you and Mr. Ramsey?” Sophia asked.

“Absolutely nothing.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You face is beet red.”

“Shh. He’s spotted us and is coming our way,” Jane whispered urgently.

“Exactly my point.”

Gareth approached their table and bowed, his massive shoulders filling the coat he wore. “Ladies, it’s been a pleasure, but I must return to my Gray’s Inn chambers.”

“Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Ramsey,” Sophia said.

“Please call me Gareth. I think of Robert as my brother and therefore now consider you a sister.” A mocking smile teased his lips as he turned to Jane. “You need not look so dismayed, Lady Stanwell. A sister is the last word I’d use to describe you.”

Jane stared as he departed. “The nerve of the man!”

“You’re attracted to him,” Sophia said in wonder.

Jane’s head snapped up. “I most certainly am not! Besides, don’t you remember what he does for a living?”

“I do.”

“Can you imagine?
Divorce. Legal Separation. Annulment,”
Jane whispered the words as if they were poisonous.

Uneasiness settled in Sophia’s chest. Robert had mentioned the last choice as a fate for their own marriage. If she was truthful to herself, his insistence upon a temporary union was as much a reason for her post-marriage nerves as anything else.

The door to the dining room opened once again and Robert stepped inside. His hair was ruffled by the wind, giving him a ruggedness that added to his appeal. Their gazes locked, and he flashed a charming smile. In the shaft of light from a nearby window, he looked like an artist’s rendition. Gold highlights gleamed in his tawny hair, and his teeth were white against the bronzed perfection of his face.

Memories of their lovemaking were vivid in her mind, and she recalled the smoldering passion that had thrilled her. She couldn’t help but wonder if he would succumb to the desire that had overtaken them both and visit her bedchamber or would it truly be a passionless marriage of convenience? Was their one night together to be their last? And why did that notion cause her such dismay?

…

Robert studied the financial reports. He was in the Marquess of Wendover’s study, and the meeting had been arranged for the day after his wedding.

He set the pages aside. “Delmont’s income from his properties and investments do not equal his spending.”

Wendover rested his forearms on the massive oak desk and steepled his fingers. “It appears the viscount is being reckless with his spending habits.”

“He’s arrogant to a fault. It will be his downfall,” Robert said.

Wendover’s brow furrowed. “And you found no evidence to indicate the secret group is selling inventions to foreign militia for profit?”

“No. I found a blank sheet of paper in one of his safes, but he had yet to compose a message. I also believe a new member, Mr. Henry Heinz, was inducted into the secret group.”

“And what of Lady Sophia? I must say I was surprised when I received your missive requesting me to make the hasty arrangements for your nuptials at St. George’s.”

His thoughts turned to Sophia.

His wife.

She’d made a lovely bride. Her green eyes had shimmered in the light from the church’s windows as she’d walked down the aisle. There hadn’t been time for a proper wedding gown, but she’d looked beautiful in an ivory silk ball gown that hugged her curves. Despite her brave nature, she’d clearly been nervous throughout the brief ceremony. He’d struggled with the urge to sweep her into his arms, offer her comfort, and kiss her senseless.

After the wedding breakfast, they’d returned to his home and he’d wanted her with a startling hunger on their wedding night. He’d fantasized of opening her bedroom door, stripping her naked, spreading her glorious chestnut hair across the pillows, and burying himself inside her welcoming body.

Instead he’d isolated himself in his library with a bottle of whiskey. It wasn’t until the first streaks of sunlight had shown through the window that he’d deemed it safe to sulk back to his bedchamber.

His musings were interrupted by Wendover’s voice. “And how is Sophia handling the turn of events?”

“The wedding was unforeseeable,” Robert said.

“But for you two to marry—”

“I never wanted her to accompany me,” Robert said curtly.

“You blame me for the outcome?”

“The lady should never have been involved. Missions can easily turn deadly.”

The marquess raised a hand. “No need to bring up the past. I supported your change of plans. However, this mission must be solved, no matter the price.”

…

Sophia’s clothing and personal items were packed and moved to Robert’s home in Grosvenor Square. Robert’s staff was clearly taken aback to learn that their master had married so quickly, but they efficiently saw to her comfort.

His home was even more luxurious than she recalled from her brief visit weeks ago. She remembered stepping inside the polished marble entry, and passing the elegantly appointed drawing room, music conservatory, and dining room. But she was even more impressed by the kitchen and scullery, which were scrubbed clean, and the basement, which was stocked with wine and coal.

Her bedchamber was far lovelier than the one she’d occupied in her father’s home. Decorated in shades of rose with a window seat overlooking the back gardens, it was charming and spacious.

As for her husband, he’d been absent on their wedding night and the entire day after. He rose early and departed before she came down for breakfast, and he didn’t return home until past midnight. She understood he was a busy man, but neither was she used to sitting about and she’d certainly never anticipated being ignored.

Was this part of his plan? To avoid her and assure a marriage of convenience? And what of the mission? Did he intend to keep her ensconced in his home and out of harm’s way? He’d said they were to work together. Had he changed his mind?

The following morning, she rose at the highly unfashionable hour of seven, summoned her maid, and dressed quickly. She knocked on Robert’s bedchamber door only to find the room vacant. Descending the grand staircase with purpose, she intended to have a word with her new husband. The smell of fried bacon and eggs alerted her to someone’s presence in the dining room.

She stopped short upon entering the room at the sight of Robert sitting at the table, a full plate of eggs, bacon, and toast before him, reading the business section of the the
Observer.
All she could see of him were his fingers as he held up the newspaper.

She stood in the doorway. “I was searching for you.”

He lowered the paper and grinned. “Good morning, Sophia. You look lovely.” He rose and politely held out a chair and waited for her to sit before returning to his own seat. “How have you been adjusting here?”

She glared at him. “I’m surprised at your concern. I haven’t seen you since the wedding breakfast.”

“I apologize. I understand circumstances may be difficult for you, but I want you to be comfortable in my home. Shall you require anything, you have just to ask. Mr. Burke will see to your needs,” Robert said.

Her voice was hoarse with frustration. “The staff has been very accommodating, but my husband has not. Where have you been?”

“I’ve been meeting with Wendover.”

“What did he say?”

Just then a maid entered carrying a coffee pot and a plate of eggs and bacon. Setting the food before Sophia, she poured a steaming cup of coffee and left as quickly as she had come.

Sophia waited until they were alone once again. “Well?”

A wry but indulgent glint appeared in his eyes. “I have other plans regarding the mission. I think we should have our first celebratory ball as a married couple. We’ll need invitations, of course.”

She looked at him in bewilderment. “Pardon?”

“Invitations for a ball. Despite the reading of the banns, we did not send out invitations and our wedding was conducted in haste, don’t you agree?”

“I suppose…”

“We need to select the proper foolscap, nothing but the highest quality will do.”

The thought clicked in her mind. “You mean to visit Sir Falk and Sir Maxwell’s stationery shop?”

“You catch on quickly, my dear.”

“When?”

He motioned to her plate. “How quickly can you eat?”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Falk and Maxwell’s shop was located on Bond Street. Clouds blocked the morning sun and a distant rumble of thunder threatened impending rain. Milling pedestrians looked to the darkening sky and rushed inside nearby shops in anticipation of rain.

Robert clutched Sophia’s elbow and stopped before an establishment with a hanging sign that read
F & M Stationers.
The shops bells chimed as they opened the door and entered.

Rows and rows of shelves stacked with reams of paper crowded the perimeter of the room. Tables with samples were situated in the center for a customer’s perusal and displayed everything from creamy velum to rare-colored foolscap to the type of paper used by newspapers.

At the sound of the bells, a large man with a walrus-shaped mustache approached from the back. He smiled in greeting.

“May I be of assistance?”

“We are Lord and Lady Kirkland and are acquaintances of Sir Falk and Sir Maxwell. Are they present?” Robert asked.

“Alas, no. Sir Falk and Sir Maxwell no longer run the day to day business,” the man said.

“We are newly wed and looking to send out invitations for our first ball. Nothing but the highest-quality foolscap.”

“Of course. Our finest wove paper is in the corner.” The shopkeeper picked up a piece of paper from one of the tables and held it to the light. “See the watermark ‘F&M’?”

She accepted the sheet. She knew that wove paper was finer and more expensive than laid. Laid paper was made from a larger screen of brass wires that left an impression on the paper that could be seen when held up to the light. Wove paper used a densely woven wire screen to drain excess water from the wet rag pulp to produce a higher-quality paper with a smoother surface.

“If you choose to commission paper,” the shopkeeper said, “a watermark displaying the Kirkland coat of arms can be created by weaving a design into the screen’s wires.”

“Where is the paper mill?” Robert asked.

“Our factory is at Princess Wharf in Wapping. Both Sir Falk and Sir Maxwell see to the production. They’ve also recently acquired a printing press.” He waved his hand at the tables. “Please feel free to peruse all of our selections.”

Robert went from table to table, picking up sheets of paper and making a show of holding them up to the light.

Sophia followed. “What are you looking for?” she whispered.

“A specific type of paper. I found foolscap in Delmont’s bedchamber safe. There was nothing written on it, and I initially thought he used invisible ink. But after trying several methods to read any writing I came to the conclusion that there was no message.”

“Why would he have a blank piece of foolscap in his safe?”

“My thoughts exactly. We’re going to find out.”

They walked to the back of shop and came to a door that appeared to lead to a rear storage room. Robert turned the handle, but it was locked. “I’ll have to pick the lock.”

“You can’t! The shopkeeper will catch us.”

“Not here. There should be a door in the alley that will gain us access. We’ll go around.”

On the way back to the front of the shop, he grabbed a stack of paper from one of the tables and handed it to the shopkeeper. “These samples will do nicely.” He paid for his purchase and they departed.

The air was hot and humid as they hurried down the alleyway to the back of the shop. The alley reeked of refuse and city. A stray dog with a mangy coat looked up from its meal of chicken bones. An empty crate with puffs of straw rested beside the back door.

This door was also locked. Robert thrust his new purchase at her and removed his lock picks from his coat pocket. In less than a minute, the latch clicked and he opened the door.

She didn’t realize she had been holding her breath until she let it out in a great rush. Following him inside, she scanned the small, cluttered space.

A closet was in the corner, its door ajar, and a battered table was in the center of the room. Resting upon the table was a vat full of sodden rag pulp, a sponge, and a wood-framed screen. On the floor beneath a high window, were blankets of felt.

“The shopkeeper was wrong. They do make paper here,” she said.

He shook his head. “Not machine made, but handmade paper the old-fashioned way.”

He lifted the top blanket of felt to find a dried sheet of newly made paper. He held the sheet up to the window.

“I’ll be damned,” he said.

“What is it?”

“We’ve been wrong all along. They are not stealing military inventions. They’re common thieves.”

“Tell me.”

“The paper.” He continued to study the sheet. “It’s similar in color, size, and weight to the paper in Viscount Delmont’s safe.”

“So?”

“It’s very specific. The feel. The texture. The color. The distinguished swirls. It’s wove paper, not laid. It’s a work of art and finely made. Only an expert papermaker could produce such quality. All that’s missing is a watermark.”

“What does it mean?” she asked.

“Shut your eyes and touch it.” He handed the paper to her.

She closed her eyes and ran her fingers up and down the length, then crosswise. “It feels like…like a banknote.”

“Exactly.”

Her eyes flew open. “Good Lord! You mean they are forging banknotes?”

“If my theory is correct, then yes. They are not after their members’ inventions, but their different skills.”

“But forgers need more than just paper,” she insisted.

“They need an expert engraver to replicate banknote plates and they need a press.”

“The shopkeeper said Falk and Maxwell recently acquired a printing press. As for an engraver…Mr. Brass,” she said amazed.

“It makes sense. I suspect Brass had an episode of conscience and sought to leave the group, but the mastermind could not risk him exposing their scheme,” Robert said.

“What about my father? The other members who were murdered?”

“Your father and the others must have learned the truth. They were silenced before they could report it to the authorities.”

“Henry Heinz did have a stack of banknotes beneath his mattress,” Sophia said.

“And I found stacks of banknotes of varying denominations in Delmont’s safes. But we need solid proof.”

“We need to find the forged plates,” she said. “Mr. and Mrs. Brass are on their way back to London so Mr. Brass can see his own physician. Mr. Brass may keep the plates in his shop.”

“No. The plates won’t be in Brass’s shop,” he said. “They will be at Maxwell and Falk’s factory. They have everything they need there—the plates, the special wove paper, and the printing press.”

“Then we must visit—”

She was interrupted by the excited barking of the stray dog in the alley. A split second later, a man cursed outside the door, then a
crash
resounded and the dog yelped.

Robert pointed to the closet. “Inside. Quick!”

She rushed to obey as he tucked the sheet of paper into his coat pocket, then joined her in the closet. The space was tight with shelves crowded with bins of rags and more reams of paper. They were pressed tightly together, and Sophia was aware of the coiled tension in Robert’s frame. The closet door was cracked open, giving her a limited view of the room. She listened in horror at the sound of the back door handle turning.

A man stepped inside. He was tall, built like an ox, with a bald pate and a short upper lip. He rummaged around, muttering under his breath, as he added torn bits of rag to the vat.

Her heart pounded. The burly man went to the blankets of felt beneath the window. He picked up the top piece, then froze.

Her stomach clenched.
He knows one is missing!

His beady eyes scanned the room and settled on the closet. He stalked over just as Robert shoved the door open, hitting him in the forehead and catching him by surprise.

Robert moved fast, with a punch to the stomach and a jab to the chin. The man’s head snapped back. He stumbled, hit his head on the corner of the desk, and went down hard.

Robert’s expression was fierce as he dragged the man by his booted feet into the alley with Sophia following. It had started to rain and her dress soon became damp. He searched the man’s coat and quickly emptied his pockets. Coins, a pound note, and a pocket watch followed.

She stepped close. “What are you doing?”

“It must look like he was set upon by a thief.”

Once again he was quick to react—just like he had aided her when Mr. Brass had been attacked.

Robert stood and grasped her hand. “Let’s go.”

He ushered her down the alley to the closest cross street. Within minutes they were in his carriage. Leaning against the cushioned seat, she brushed tendrils of wet hair from her forehead. “Heavens! Do you do that often?” she asked.

“Only when necessary.”

“Remind me never to anger you.”

He frowned at her. “It’s not me you need to fear.”

“I want to go with you to the factory.”

His lips curved into a smile. “Wasn’t this enough excitement for you?”

She met his blue gaze. “You should know me better by now.”

…

Sophia lay in bed that night and allowed her subconscious thoughts to surface. It was clear by Robert’s actions that he intended to keep physical distance between them and seek out Gareth Ramsey’s services after the mission was completed.

But the problem was that she was unsure. More and more she admired Robert, was drawn to him, and if she was truthful to herself…desired him. And why not?

They were husband and wife.

She stared at the door separating her bedchamber from his, and every fiber in her body hummed for the pleasure of his touch.

For him.

A low
thud
sounded in the adjacent room. What the devil was that?

She rose and slipped on her wrapper. Perhaps he couldn’t sleep either. Perhaps he was dreaming of her…

She reached for the handle and stepped into his room. Her eyes widened at what she saw.

He was thrashing on the bed and had knocked over a book on an end table. He was dressed only in his trousers, and a sheen of perspiration covered his bare chest. His expression was one of anguish. He was muttering, clearly in the middle of a horrid nightmare.

She rushed to the bed and shook his shoulder. “Robert! Wake up.”

It was more difficult to rouse him than it had been the last time at the Delmonts’ country home. When he finally woke, his eyes were unfocused and his breathing labored.

“Sophia,” he simply said, his brilliant blue eyes staring up at her.

She smoothed his brow. “It was just a bad dream, Robert. Only a dream.”

“Only a dream,” he muttered.

He breathed deeply, the corded muscles of his throat and chest glistening in the candlelight. He was a strong man, capable of cracking safes and taking down large guards, yet he was clearly vulnerable and tormented. Her heart lurched at his distress.

She sat on the bed beside him. Reaching out, she cradled his face with her hand. His eyes were haunted, and she instinctively sucked in a breath.

“Don’t pity me,” he said in a choked voice.

He tried to turn away, but she held him firmly. “Tell me what happened the day Gwendolyn died.”

“I can’t.”

“Tell me.”

“You’ll look at me differently. I can’t bear that.”

“No. I won’t. Trust me.”

“I told you she died during one of my missions.”

“How?”

Silence lengthened between them, and she feared he wouldn’t answer.

“It was a cold December night. I was camped outside the home of the Comte DeForte, a double agent and traitor to England. My mission was to blow open his safe, steal treasonous documents, and assassinate the Comte.”

He hesitated then as if she would cringe at the thought of him killing another. She squeezed his hand, encouraging him to continue.

“I waited for hours in the bushes. The explosives were in place. The Comte’s carriage arrived and just as he stepped down I lit the fuse. But then another person descended…Gwendolyn. I couldn’t stop the fuse in time and the explosion tore her apart.”

Her heart ached for him. “Was Gwendolyn an agent for the Crown as well?”

He laughed a bitter sound. “God, no. Gwendolyn disapproved of my occupation. She didn’t believe in war, espionage, or revenge…only peace. She even thought the Napoleonic Wars could have been diplomatically settled. I promised her I would resign after I completed my last mission.”

Sophia’s brow furrowed. Gwendolyn sounded completely different from herself. Sophia wanted Viscount Delmont to pay for his crimes, and if he died, then so be it. But Gwendolyn sounded truly unselfish.

“Why was Gwendolyn with the Comte DeForte that day?”

“She was with the Comte to save me. A traitorous Englishman had sold a list of all English spies and their immediate family members to the enemy. DeForte had somehow tricked Gwendolyn into meeting him in order to save me.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

He shook his head. “I set the explosives. I lit the fuse.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You were carrying out your assignment.”

He looked at her in amazement.
“I murdered her.”

“No. You were tricked along with Gwendolyn.”

“It doesn’t matter. I was unworthy of her. Just as I’m unworthy of you.”

“Listen to me,” she said, her tone sharp. “You are not unworthy. You save people’s lives. You saved
my
life.”

“You don’t understand—”

She kissed him then. Kissed him with all the pent-up emotion she felt. Her heart skipped a beat as she finally acknowledged that she loved him, knew it with every fiber of her being. She loved this strong, tortured man who blamed himself for past deeds in which he was just as much a victim as others.

His hands tightened on her shoulders as if he would push her away, but he moaned low in his throat and held her to him. Her palms flattened against his muscular chest, and she pushed him down on the mattress and lay atop him.

They were both urgent in their need, undressing quickly. The feel of skin against skin was enthralling, sending desire pooling low in her belly and between her legs. He kissed her breasts and stroked the curve of her hips. Then he slid his hand between her legs, and she gasped as he slid a finger deep inside her.