Love and Let Spy (Lord and Lady Spy) (32 page)

The tears that had filled her eyes spilled down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry.” She fell to her knees, burying her face in her hands. “Can you ever forgive me?”

He bent and pressed his lips to her hair. “Yes. I do forgive you.” And then he turned and walked from the room, leaving her to sob and mourn the past. For his part, he was done with it. It might take years to remove the talons of the memories from his mind and his heart, but he would no longer dwell on what was and what had been. He had a new life ahead of him, and tonight he would turn toward it.

The meeting with his mother had also presented some interesting questions. Why
had
Melbourne lied to his niece? Why not tell her the truth? Surely adultery was as great a sin as covering up a murder. As the leader of the Barbican group, Melbourne had undoubtedly hidden many murders. Had Melbourne lost faith in his niece? He’d sent her away to the country in what appeared to Dominic to be the agency’s greatest hour of need. And now he had restricted her to headquarters. True, she was injured, but even Dominic had to admit the injury did not seem to hamper her much. It was more than a scratch—as she claimed—but it warranted only two stitches, and therefore, not much more.

And so it stood to reason, what else was Melbourne lying about?

Danbury was waiting for Dominic in the vestibule with his greatcoat in hand. Dominic donned it and said, “I am going to White’s. If I miss Edgeberry or my brothers, tell them I’ve asked that they stay here tonight. In addition, gather every available footman, groom, and valet. Set up a rotation of guards. I want the house secure for the night.”

Danbury’s face paled. “Is there cause for concern, sir?”

“Yes. I hope it is nothing we need worry about, but I want to take every precaution.”

“Yes, sir. I will see to it.”

Dominic felt a sense of relief when he left the house. For the moment, his mother was as safe as could be expected, and soon he would see his brothers and the marquess safely inside the town house as well. Perhaps that feeling of relief was the reason he did not see the man coming for him. By the time he sensed something was amiss, the hood had been pulled over his face, something crashed over his head, and all went black.

***

Pierce Moneypence raised his head gingerly. His head had thudded on the floor when Q tackled him, and his ears still rang. “What the devil—” he began.

“Booby trap,” Q said, raising her own head. Her face was alarmingly close to his own. Come to think of it, her body was pressed to his, and she was still lying on top of him. He followed her gaze and inhaled sharply when he saw the blade gleaming beside the window. It was attached to a string and had swung down, in the manner of a guillotine, when he’d climbed through the window.

“You must have tripped it when you went through,” Q said.

“Yes.” He glanced at her, and their gazes met for a long moment. Pierce became aware that Miss Qwillen’s body was rather warm and soft. Her breasts were pushed against his chest, and the feel of them was a rather pleasant thing. His gaze dipped to her lips, and he wondered how it would feel to kiss her.

And then, quite suddenly, she scrambled to her feet. “I apologize for my conduct,” she said primly. “It appears Bonde forgot to warn us there might be death traps.” She brushed at her skirts, diligently avoiding looking at him. Pierce rose to his feet, his heart thumping, but with quite a different sort of excitement now.

“We must be careful,” Miss Qwillen said.

“Right.” Back to the mission then. He could not forget the reason they were here, and it was not to think about kissing. Though he hadn’t quite forgotten how lovely a shade of pink her lips were.

They found the key Bonde had told them about and unlocked her desk drawer. There was another booby trap there, but it consisted solely of ink, which spattered Moneypence’s face and chest. Q offered her handkerchief, and he rubbed it off as best he could, but from the way her mouth quirked each time she looked at him, he had the feeling he had not quite succeeded.

He would not have minded the ink so much if they had found anything of use in the drawer. They did find a document pertaining to the Maîtriser group, but it was little more than a summary of the action Wolf and Saint had taken against Foncé last year. He perused it quickly, and then stood rooted firmly in place. Q was reading it over his shoulder. Her hair had come loose at some point, and a lock of it rested on the sleeve of his coat. He had the urge to touch it, to see how it felt between his fingers.

Slowly, he turned and met her gaze. “Sorry!” she said quickly and stepped away. Was it his imagination, or had her cheeks turned bright pink?

“Should we continue to search?” he asked.

“I can’t think where else Bonde might keep documents,” Q said. “Or was that an excuse to paw through her chemises?”

Now he blushed. “The thought did not occur to me. I meant we might search Melbourne’s library.”

She cast her eyes down. “Oh.”

“Jane Bonde is not the only thing I ever think of, you know,” he said curtly.

“Ha.” Now she looked up, her hazel eyes glittering. “You could have fooled me. You’ve been mooning over her for as long as I’ve known you.”

“I’m not mooning over her now.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Really? Only because Dominic Griffyn will flatten your nose if you look at her too long.”

“I’m not afraid of him. And he has nothing to do with it.”

“Then why aren’t you pining for her?”

Daft woman. Couldn’t she see? “Because I’m thinking about kissing you!” Pierce could not have said what came over him, but he didn’t question it. He reached out, clamped his hands on her upper arms, and dragged her to him. Before she could slap him, he planted a swift kiss on her lips and released her. “There. See?”

She stared at him, her eyes wide, her mouth agape. “I-I—”

He felt a strange sort of pleasure knowing he’d flustered her with the kiss. “We don’t have time to stand about all day. Follow me to the library.”

Either they were extremely fortunate, or better spies than they’d been given credit for, because they managed to find the library without alerting any of the servants. In fact, Moneypence wondered if Melbourne had dismissed them for the day. The house was eerily quiet. Once in the library, he and Q rummaged through the desk. She seemed particularly intent upon her work, and he supposed that was because if she looked at the desk and the bookshelves, she did not have to look at him.

Had she disliked the kiss that much? She hadn’t slapped him, which he thought was a positive development. But he’d never kissed a woman before. Perhaps he had not done it correctly. Perhaps he should ask if they might try it again. He looked at her, on the other side of Melbourne’s leather desk chair, and found her looking at him. With a scowl, she went back to her work. So right now might not be the best time to suggest another kiss.

All of the drawers in Melbourne’s desk were locked, but Moneypence had the keys to his desk at the Barbican, and the keys also fit this desk. Pierce had known this, because once, M lost his keys and had to borrow Moneypence’s spare set until he located those he’d misplaced. However, the lock for one drawer at the bottom of the desk did not match any of the keys he possessed. He’d tried them all twice, when Q approached. “Would you like me to try?”

“I think I can bloody well open a desk drawer.” He sat back. “None of the keys fit.”

“Hmm.” She studied the drawer, her head cocked to one side. On her face was an expression he knew well.

“I do not like that look,” he said.

“Which one?” She didn’t glance away from the desk.

“The one that says you will shortly use explosives.”

She grinned at him, and fiend seize it if she did not look beautiful when she smiled. He almost kissed her again. “Stand back,” she said and drew a letter opener from her reticule.

Pierce did not need to be told twice, and from across the room, he said, “Are you intending to force the drawer open?”

“In a manner of speaking.” She inserted one end of the opener into the crevice where the drawer met the frame of the desk. She then bent, and he thought she might have tapped the edge of the letter opener, but he could not be certain, because the next thing he knew she was racing toward him. “Duck!” she screamed, and the room shook.

***

Dominic opened his eyes and immediately attempted to close them again. The world was too bright. He squinted and tried to thrust an arm up to block the light. But he couldn’t manage to make his arm work. He might have wondered at that if his head did not feel like it had an axe sticking out of it.

“Mr. Griffyn,” a voice said. The voice was away from the light, and Dominic turned his face to it. “Thank you, Tolbert. You may pocket the smelling salts and leave us.”

Tolbert, whoever he was, made an unintelligible grunt and walked away. He must have been a large man, because the floor shook with every step. Dominic’s eyes were beginning to adjust to the light, and he realized he was in a room—a drawing room from the look of it—and the room was bright because he’d been seated beside a window. The day was not particularly sunny, and so the fact that he could barely keep his eyes open spoke to the pain piercing his head at the moment.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Griffyn?”

It was the voice again. This time Dominic made a concerted effort to look at the man. He was seated in a chair a few feet away, one leg crossed elegantly over the other. His black hair flowed over his shoulders, long and thick. He was tall and broad-shouldered with light eyes and an air of ennui.

“Who the hell are you?” Dominic asked, his voice raspy. He still couldn’t use his hands, and it occurred to him to look down. They were bound to the chair. Upon further inspection, he noted his ankles were bound as well. “What the hell is going on here?” Anger flared in him, but there was something else as well.

Fear.

“Oh, now, Mr. Griffyn, do I really need an introduction? I should think you know all about me by now. Your betrothed certainly has a keen interest in me.”

“Foncé.”

The man clapped his hands. “There, you see. You do know me. What a pleasure to finally meet in person. Your Miss Bonde has given me quite a time of it lately.”

Dominic’s blood chilled upon hearing the man speak of Jane. For all the man’s charm and affability, Dominic could see in the man’s eyes something was not right. “I’m not a spy,” Dominic said. “I don’t know anything about their plans.”

Foncé waved a hand languidly. “No, no. I did not expect you to provide me with information. I can glean that very well on my own.” He gestured to Dominic, proving by Dominic’s very presence that he could gather information.

“What do you want?” Dominic asked. “I won’t betray her or the Barbican.”

“There is nothing for you to betray. I know it all already.”

That was rather disheartening. Dominic twisted his hands, but the rope with which he’d been bound held. He needed to find a way out of here, to warn Jane and Melbourne.

Jane.
If anything happened to her, if this man so much as touched her… Dominic clenched his jaw.

“I merely want to ask you one
petite
favor.”

“I don’t owe you any favors.”

“No, no, monsieur, you do not, but I can be most persuasive.” He reached into a large black leather bag resting at his feet. Dominic had not noted it before. He did now as Foncé withdrew a long, sharp blade. “Do you see this, Mr. Griffyn?”

Dominic swallowed. “Yes.”

“It is called a scalpel. It will slice you open from neck to navel. Shall I demonstrate?”

“I have the general idea, thank you.”

Foncé smiled. “I thought you might. And now, for that favor…”

Eighteen

Jane paced the empty Barbican offices, her gaze on the bracket clock she’d taken from M’s office and set on the desk before her. Dominic should have returned by now. She’d made three trips to the Dungeon, all of them fruitless. He was not at the secret entrance. Had something happened to him? She was at war with herself, trying to decide whether or not to look for him. But where would she start? And what if he returned while she was out? And where was everyone? She was the only agent in the offices at the moment. Was everyone doing something productive but her? She would have thought Q and Moneypence might have returned by now.

This waiting and wondering was going to drive her mad. With yet another glance at the bracket clock, she decided to make one last trip to the Dungeon. If Dominic was not at the secret entrance, she would leave headquarters and search for him. She had just stepped out of the offices when she heard voices in the stone corridor leading to Piccadilly.

“Finally,” she muttered, not knowing who had returned and not caring. She stopped short when Moneypence and Q approached. Moneypence’s face and chest were covered with smears of black. “You’re back,” she said, meeting them halfway. “Moneypence, what happened to you?”

“Your booby traps,” he said, pointing a finger at her. “You might have warned us.”

She blinked. “Oh, yes. I quite forgot about them.” She waved a hand. “Did you find the document I told you about?”

“Yes,” Q said, moving forward and handing it to her.

Jane read it over quickly, shaking her head when she’d finished. “This isn’t anything new. It appears I sent you on a meaningless errand…although”—she tilted her head so she might see Q’s face better. Was that ink on the woman’s lips?—“it does not appear you lacked for amusements.”