A Spy Unmasked (Entangled Scandalous) (6 page)

“Good,” he said. “We will waltz at the ball and convince everyone of our story. Shall we practice?”

He stepped close and put a hand on her waist. Their eyes locked and her cheeks grew warm under the heat of his gaze. His shaving soap—a subtle scent of bay rum—teased her nostrils.

“We cannot,” she blurted out. “There’s no music.”

He captured her right hand in his. “No matter. We’re just practicing, remember? Put your left hand on my shoulder and follow my lead.”

Sophia slowly raised her arm, and her fingers grazed his shoulder. The heat from his body seared her fingertips through the cotton shirt. Her pulse skittered alarmingly.

He began to move, smooth and practiced. “That’s it, Sophia. One and two and turn…you have the basic steps. Excellent.”

Only it was far from excellent. She was highly conscious of his hand at her waist, his sinewy body inches from hers. A tingling began in the pit of her stomach at his nearness. She stumbled; he steadied her.

Kirkland looked down, his stare bold as he assessed her. “The ball will be a good test to see how well you can handle the deception.”

“I assure you, I can handle anything.”

“Anything?” He pulled her a fraction of an inch closer.

His touch upset her balance, and she inhaled sharply. He was purposefully trying to unnerve her. “Deception comes that easy to you?”

“It’s a requirement of my job.”

“I must keep that in mind when dealing with you, my lord.”

He stopped dancing, but his hand remained around her waist. “We are entering the enemy’s lair. I need to be certain you won’t panic.”

Her chin rose a notch. “I never panic.”

His voice was cold and exact. “Dispassionate control is required, or else dangerous mistakes can occur.”

“If you’re trying to intimidate me into backing out of Delmont’s house party, then you’re failing. I have mettle, my lord. Your seductive tactics won’t work on me.”

He arched an eyebrow. “What do you know of seduction?”

“I’m not completely ignorant. I’m twenty-four years old, and despite what you’ve heard, I’ve attended numerous balls, danced with plenty of gentlemen, and strolled through moonlit mazes. I’ve been kissed before.”

Ocean-blue eyes studied her mouth. “Where?”

She frowned. “My lips and even once on my neck.” She pointed to a spot just beneath her chin.

His gaze dropped to where her finger pointed, then slowly lowered to the skin just above her bodice. Her pulse skittered.

“Then you won’t mind if I test your mettle?”

She stood frozen.

Looking into her eyes once again, he came close, moving slowly. He mouth brushed across hers, once, twice, a featherweight touch before she stepped back. Her fingers flew up to cover her lips.

“Just as I thought,” he drawled. “You lack experience. A few stolen kisses inside a dim maze are not sufficient.”

She bristled with indignation. “Not sufficient? Whatever else do you have in mind?”

“This.” Pulling her close, he swooped down and kissed her.

His lips were full and warm, teasing hers. His tongue ran over her bottom lip with tantalizing persuasion, and she gasped. He took advantage of her parted lips to slide his tongue into her mouth. He tightened his hold, and her breasts pressed against his solid chest.

Sweet heaven! He was right; her prior experiences fell far short when compared to the feel and taste of him.

Despite her prior misgivings, her instinctive response to his kiss was powerful. Her skin grew hot; her heart pounded an erratic rhythm. Her fingers rose of their own volition and trailed up his forearms. She felt the sprinkling of hair, touched the soft cotton of his rolled-up shirtsleeves, then moved higher to grasp his broad shoulders. His muscles were hard slabs beneath his shirt. Arching her body into his, a low growl rumbled in his chest. Encouraged, her tongue grazed his, tentative at first, until shivers of delight raced down her spine, and she returned his kiss.

Lifting his lips from hers, he trailed kisses down her throat, past the spot she had initially pointed to below her chin. Then his lips seared a path above her bodice and the overwhelming heat spread…flooding her limbs and pooling low in her belly.

It was everything she had ever dreamed a kiss would be and more. So much more.

She moaned low in her throat, winding her fingers around his neck and trying to cajole his lips back to hers.

He stiffened and pulled back, a frown marring his brow as he gazed upon her upturned face.

She ignored the strange aching in her limbs and tried to calm her pounding heart. To her dismay, he did not appear the least affected by the kiss.

He does this all the time,
she thought. W
omen must throw themselves at him!

Then she looked into his eyes and changed her mind. There was a wild darkness in the blue depths, a hint of tightly reined lust that was startling in its intensity.

“Did I pass your test?” she asked.

“I believe I had mentioned
dispassionate
control.”

She stiffened, momentarily abashed. “Despite your newly acquired title, you are not a gentleman.”

“I wouldn’t be successful if I were.”

She took a step back from his towering frame. “I may be impulsive, but you are quite arrogant, my lord.”

“Do not judge me too harshly, Sophia. You may think my tactics ungentlemanly, but my past results are unquestionable. I will find who is responsible for your father’s murder and unravel the mystery behind the Inventors’ Society.”

She couldn’t ask for more, could she? Still, she was having difficulty settling her racing heart.

Kirkland reached into his pocket and placed a flash of gold in the palm of her hand. “I believe this belongs to you.”

She glanced down. “My locket!”

“I had the latch repaired. I apologize for my barbaric methods.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“It’s Robert.”

She met his gaze. “I don’t think that’s proper, my lord.”

“The world will soon think us engaged.”

“Still, I don’t think—”

“In private, then. The title is new to me and we are to work together, correct?”

A flutter of nerves swam low in her belly. “All right, Robert.”

He handed her the ledger. “This is yours as well.”

Her father’s leather-bound book felt heavy in her hands. “Thank you for returning it, my lord…Robert.”

“That’s it.” He walked her to the door and raised her hand to his lips. “Until the Camerons’ ball tomorrow night.”

Her treacherous body tingled from the contact, and she nervously bit her bottom lip.

“Are you sure you can carry this off, Sophia?” he asked.

“Yes.”
No!
She wasn’t certain of her resolve around him.

“What about your story?” she retorted. “What will you tell your friends and acquaintances about me?”

“Leave them to me.”

Chapter Seven

Robert looked up from his brandy as his old-school friends, Gareth Ramsey and Daniel Forster, joined him at his table in White’s club.

“It must be important news indeed for you to ask us to meet before noon,” Daniel said, as a waiter arrived at their table and set down two additional glasses of brandy.

Gareth reached for his glass. “Now does this have anything to do with your tedious work for the ordinance department? You have a title now, you don’t need to work in order to keep up appearances.”

Robert leaned back in his chair. He’d been first to be recruited by the Home Office for his unique talents of finessing safes open. Thereafter Wendover had need of more agents—gentlemen who had access to high society and the
beau monde
—and Daniel and Gareth had been recruited. The three were no longer just former school friends; they were colleagues in espionage and akin to brothers.

“No, it has nothing to do with my work for the ordinance department. And I’ve told you before, I remain there because I enjoy it,” Robert said.

“Does it concern your inheritance then? Don’t tell me debt collectors are pounding on your door. Those parasites crawl out of the woodwork whenever someone unexpected inherits,” Gareth said.

Robert chuckled. “No, it’s not that either, but an important matter nonetheless.”

Several tables away, an excited shout drew Robert’s attention. A group of gentleman were playing a high stakes game of whist, a small fortune in banknotes resting on the table between them. The aristocracy and how easily they spent their money had always amused Robert. He was still unaccustomed to his new title and the additional wealth that accompanied it.

“Well, man, what could be so important?” Daniel asked, drawing Robert’s attention back to them.

“I’m engaged to be married,” Robert said.

Gareth and Daniel froze, both cradling their glasses, incredulous expressions on their faces.

“Aren’t you going to wish me future happiness?” Robert said drily.

“We would if it made any sense,” Daniel said.

“Who is she?” Gareth demanded.

“Lady Sophia Merrill, the daughter of the late Marquess of Haverton.”

“Haverton? The Mad Marquess?” Gareth asked.

“I hadn’t heard he died,” Daniel said.

“It’s been kept quiet by the family,” Robert said.

“We didn’t even know you’d been courting her. Come to think of it, we didn’t know you’d been interested in
any
woman lately,” Gareth said mockingly.

Robert expected Gareth’s sarcasm. After all, Robert had always enjoyed female companionship as a university student and years thereafter. His friends would often jest that they would wait by the wayside to console the barmaids Robert would reject. But circumstances had changed, and much to his friends’ vexation, Robert had been celibate for the past two years.

Robert lowered his voice. “I’ve been assigned a new mission and Wendover insists that I need a lady to accompany me.” He knew they wouldn’t ask about the investigation. The Home Office demanded complete secrecy, and as spies themselves, they understood this rule. But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t inquire about Sophia.

“And you agreed to the engagement?” Daniel asked.

“The marquess believes it necessary,” Robert said.

Gareth smirked. “She must be attractive.”

Robert shot Gareth a black, layered look. “What makes you assume that?”

“You would never have agreed otherwise,” Gareth said.

“I told you Wendover was insistent,” Robert said tersely.

Gareth gave him a disparaging look that suggested he didn’t believe a word that came out of Robert’s mouth. “There’s hope for you still.”

Robert knew his friends mistook his current celibacy for lack of interest in women when the truth was it was a form of penance for a guilty conscience and a mission gone horribly awry.

A mission that had resulted in Gwendolyn’s death.

“If either of you are asked, Lady Sophia and I met in dance class,” Robert said.

Gareth laughed. “Damn, Robert. If I’d known you had decided to return to enjoying bachelorhood and the ladies, I would have suggested a few establishments.”

“I never had an interest in brothels,” Robert said wryly. He knew Gareth would be the more difficult of his two friends. As a barrister who exclusively handled matrimonial matters, specifically legal separation, Gareth’s attitude toward love and marriage was cynical and jaded.

Gareth waved him off. “Why not enjoy what life has to offer. Why agree to an engagement, even a convenient one?”

Daniel shot Gareth a hard stare. “Leave him be, Gareth. He’s doing it for King and Country. Besides, matrimony does not have to be interpreted as a legal prison.”

“Never mind you, Daniel,” Gareth snapped. “Women have always been drawn to you. As the heir of a viscount, you have the pick of the litter.”

“Your concern is noted, Gareth,” Robert said. “But I assure you that the engagement will be terminated after the mission is completed. I know what I’m doing.”

“Like hell you do,” Gareth said. “You could easily get trapped into marriage. Don’t come whining to me after the honeymoon is over. Even I can’t undo it.”

Daniel slapped Robert heartily on the back. “Don’t listen to him, Robert. I’m relieved you’ve agreed to Wendover’s demands, even if they are for appearances only. It tells me you’ve moved on after Gwendolyn.”

Robert took a swallow of brandy. Both Daniel and Gareth knew Robert had been enamored of Gwendolyn, but soon afterward she had died and he’d told them she was killed in a riding accident. He couldn’t admit the horrific truth behind her death, even to his close friends. Only Daniel knew how serious he had been about Gwendolyn or that they’d traveled to Scotland to marry.

But Robert had never told Gareth.

“I’d like to meet the lady myself. See what type of loveliness has finally pulled my friend out of celibacy,” Gareth said, his words loaded with ridicule.

Robert studied his hawk-like features. “I’m certain you’ll find her quite charming.”

He’d have to warn Sophia about Gareth. He knew his friend had good intentions, but Gareth had little tact. As for his friend’s legal services, thankfully Robert wouldn’t need them. He had no intention of turning the betrothal into a real marriage.

…

After departing White’s, Robert returned home, closed his study door, and slid the bolt in place. Behind his desk was a stone fireplace ready to be lit. Walking to the fireplace, he pressed the base of a silver candlestick resting upon the mantle and a stone loosened in the brickwork. He removed the stone to reveal a hidden safe.

Inside were a sealed envelope and a miniature portrait.

He reached for the envelope and returned to his desk. After breaking the seal, he withdrew a detailed map. Unlike most maps, this one did not show the distinguishing lines of passable roads, lakes, and hills, but revealed the detailed layout of the interior of Viscount Delmont’s country manor in Hatfield. Neat block print identified each room, right down to the location of the furnishings and area rugs. Robert’s eye was drawn to the small black questions marks in random rooms, noting where safes might be located.

His lips twitched. The marquess must have had an agent inside, most likely posing as Delmont’s servant, who had drawn the map. He wondered if the agent had been Ian and what guise he’d donned. A footman again? Or perhaps a stable groom or manservant?

Ian was proficient, but Robert knew the question marks were just what they symbolized—guesses as to where the safes were hidden.

He would have to locate them on his own and find the best method of nondestructive manipulation. This time he wouldn’t remove the contents, only study them for clues. If all went as planned, Delmont would never know that the safes had been tampered with or their contents investigated.

Carefully he folded the map and returned it to the safe. His hand hovered above the miniature portrait before removing the small gilt frame. Pain and loneliness squeezed his heart as he studied the image. Even now, years later, each time he envisioned Gwendolyn’s death a primitive grief assailed him.

Her smile was just as he recalled, wisps of white-blond hair framing her heart-shaped face. She had been innocent, untainted by the evil and darkness that shrouded him. The talented artist had captured her green eyes perfectly…

He frowned. The image blurred before him, and he pictured another pair of green eyes. They radiated defiance and determination in their mesmerizing depths rather than sweet innocence. The hair was wrong…thick chestnut tresses tumbling in disarray…the lips full and sensual…the complexion not a pale hue, but a golden color that hinted at sunshine and brazenness.

Sophia.

When he had sent the note asking her to come to his home, he had planned on testing her…on dissuading her from the ridiculous notion that they could work together. He had waltzed with her, had kissed her, for Christ’s sake, in an attempt to make her run from him straight to Wendover and cry off. But his plan had backfired.

As soon as their lips had touched, she had been as passionate and responsive as an inferno. He recalled the lush ripeness of her body pressing against his, of the tentative stroke of her hot tongue meeting his, and of her green eyes shimmering in burgeoning sexual awareness.

His response had been instant and combustible; he’d had to use every ounce of discipline to break the kiss and rein in his lust.

His fingers clenched the portrait. Damnation. Why was he thinking of Sophia? It was the first time he had looked upon Gwendolyn’s portrait and thought of another woman. Guilt made his gut clench tight.

He refused to betray Gwendolyn’s memory in such a fashion.

Returning the portrait to the safe, he shut the door and put the stone back in place.