No Ordinary Mistress (Entangled Scandalous) (2 page)

“Did he send for you?” Fenton asked.

“No, Sir, I went to seek his assistance when my mark was murdered.”

Chapter Two

Emma Masterson.

Remy Hawthorne did his best to school his features as he returned to his seat. It had been two years since he’d left her in Paris, since her assignment to seduce Comte Gibrault. Remy had made certain she’d be safe working with another member of the Seven, one he trusted, and then he left. He knew she’d accomplished her task because they’d acquired the necessary intelligence from Gibrault.

Remy had done everything he could since then to avoid seeing her, but here she was, standing before him, covered in blood. He fought the urge to go to her and check her for injuries, even though she’d said the blood wasn’t hers. He slowly returned to his seat.

She had been the brightest and bravest in the group of women they’d recruited into espionage, but she’d also been the most stubborn; quite possibly the most stubborn of all women—not just the ones who worked for the Seven. Still, Remy leaned back in his chair and took in the sight of her. She was slight of build, and her current dress made it a mystery as to whether or not she had any curves. He knew from working with her in Paris that she had delicious curves any woman would envy. Tonight, though, she hid her body beneath a plain wool gown. Hell, he couldn’t even tell if she had a bosom worth perusal because she wore a silk spencer fastened tight beneath her neck. When the light shone just right, he could see the bloody handprints marring the front of her dark skirts.

“Lord Comfry was murdered?” Harrison asked.

“Yes. Right in front of me, though I never saw the killer’s face. I was hiding.”

“Clever girl,” Fenton said. His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “But then we wouldn’t have recruited you if you weren’t. Sit, sit, you must be exhausted.”

Harrison moved an empty chair next to him. She took a seat and angled her body so as to not face Remy, despite the fact she sat directly across from him.

“Can you tell us what happened?” Harrison asked.

“Tonight?” Remy asked. “She’s obviously been through quite the ordeal.”

She shot him a glance. “I can certainly discuss things tonight just as any of you would.” She recalled details, her voice devoid of emotion. It was a technique taught at the Academy. Weariness slumped her shoulders. Her red-stained fingers massaged her temples.

Harrison stopped her. “We’ll go through everything again tomorrow, Emma. You probably need to sit by a fire with some nice warm tea.”

“And a change of clothes,” Remy said. “She’s covered in blood.”

She looked down at her hands and flinched. “A bath,” she said.

“Of course,” Harrison said. He rang for his butler and gave him instructions to ready a room for Emma along with a hot bath and a change of clothes. He also told the man to send for Franklin. “You can stay here tonight.”

“Well, she can’t very well go back to the Comfrys,” Remy said.

“True. We’ll take the necessary steps to ensure his family is safe, especially the children.” Fenton came to his feet. “In the meantime, I charge you, Harrison, with finding a place to keep Miss Masterson safe in the interim. Also, send some men to Comfry’s townhome to collect any evidence. Keep me notified with any new information.” With that, Fenton left the room with more grace than his girth would suggest.

“Who is Franklin?” she asked.

“A man we had following Comfry when he’d leave his townhome. You could only gather intelligence from inside the house,” Harrison said.

She nodded. “Perhaps he saw whoever came into the townhome.”

“You can go, too, Emma. We can talk more tomorrow.”

She eyed him, obviously not certain if she should accept the reprieve or try to pick more details from her tired mind.

“There’s nothing more that can be done tonight, Emma,” Harrison said. “Go, clean up, and get some rest. Tomorrow we’ll come up with a plan of how to move forward.”

“If you’re certain it can wait. If not, I am fit enough to go over everything again tonight,” she said, her chin bumping up a notch.

“We have business to finish here, so it might as well wait,” Harrison said.

She exhaled slowly, stood, and left the room.

Remy wanted to leave it alone, let her retire to a room and get herself cleaned up, but damn if that wasn’t enough for him. He stood, said nothing to the other men, and followed her out of the room.

“Emma,” he called.

She turned, her stance etched in weariness. “What do you want, Remy?”

“I merely wanted to ensure you were all right. You obviously went through quite the ordeal tonight,” he said, unable to hide his concern.

She took a shaky breath, and it took every ounce of his control not to pull her into his arms. But she’d made her choice a long time ago; she chose the job over him.

“You look tired,” he said. Still beautiful, though; he couldn’t deny that. Hell, he’d never been able to keep his eyes off her.

“I shall be back to my usual self by morning. I need to wash up and get a good night’s sleep,” she said. “Thank you.” She turned and walked the rest of the way up the stairs.

Remy waited until she turned the corner at the top of the stairs before moving back into the room. “She needs protection.”

“Obviously,” Harrison said.

“She is trained. Can she not protect herself?” Brentwood asked.

“She is trained, yes, and she is as clever as any of us. But she is still a woman and therefore, not as physically strong as we are. There is obviously a killer on the loose,” Harrison said.

“Not to mention her field experience as of late has been that of a governess, sneaking around the house to listen to conversations and pilfer through his mail,” Remy said. Some had blamed him for Emma refusing more active fieldwork. She claimed she preferred to work alone. “That hardly gives her the type of skills to keep herself from getting killed.”

“So it falls to us to babysit the chit?” Brentwood rolled his eyes. “Honestly, this was why I told all of you that recruiting females into the Seven was a terrible idea.”

Remy wanted to tell the bastard Emma was twice the spy Brentwood was, but there was no reason to fight with the man tonight.

“They serve their purposes. They are often able to get into places we cannot,” Harrison said. “Men with your attitude, Brentwood, will say nearly anything in front of a woman because you don’t believe them to be intelligent creatures.”

“If she needs to be watched until Comfry’s murderer is caught, she should pose as someone’s mistress. That would keep her safe,” Remy said. “Ensure she was guarded at all hours.

“Excellent idea,” Harrison said. “Thank you for volunteering.”

Remy sat forward. “I never volunteered. You know Emma and I have history.”

“Everyone in the Seven knows you and Emma have your differences,” Harrison said.

“This goes beyond mere differences. She loathes me. There is no possible way she could pretend to be my mistress. Not to mention no one would believe she was a mistress. She’s too…” But he stopped himself. She wasn’t too proper, by any means. She’d seduced one man to gather information; pretending to be a mistress wouldn’t be that different.

“She is a professional, she can pretend to be anything we ask her to be, just as you or I could.” Harrison nodded. “It is settled. I shall bring her to your townhome tomorrow.”

Remy looked at Harrison and then Brentwood. Her playing mistress had been his idea, and if he were honest, would he want her pretending with any other man? Brentwood would certainly do nothing to protect her; he didn’t even consider her a member of their team. And Harrison was far too busy to keep a watchful eye. There were other members, but none Remy would trust with her safety. Harrison’s brows rose in a question.

“Splendid,” Remy said.

…

Emma felt human again now that she was clean of blood. She’d been thankful Harrison had dismissed her for the evening. She’d done her best to recall all the details, but the two scenes were blurring in her mind. There had been darkness, blood, and death in both locations. She finger combed her damp hair and brought it to the front where she worked it into a thick plait.

Now that she was feeling better, her anger simmered to the surface. Damn Remy for being so handsome. And damn him for pretending to be concerned. Her foolish body betrayed her for noticing his wicked good looks. She’d once thought him different from other men. She’d thought he believed her capable of her position with the Seven. But once she’d received notice to seduce the Comte, Remy revealed the truth. He thought her in need of saving. She was surprised he hadn’t come up with some ridiculous scheme in order to “protect” her from her current situation.

Yes, she had doubts herself. This very night. But to hear those doubts coming from him had been too much. In working with him, she’d done the unforgiveable and gotten too close to him. When he proposed, she wanted to say yes, and she hated him for it. She didn’t need his or any other man’s protection. Besides, she had yet to fail an assignment.

She crossed the bedchamber and pulled back the curtain. The city loomed before her, dark and full of secrets. Somewhere out there was a murderer, and if she could find him, she’d find the rest of the traitors.

Chapter Three

The following morning, Emma felt remarkably well rested.
She’d fully expected a restless night, but after a long soak in the hot bath and some bread and tea to settle her stomach, she’d fallen asleep. The last image in her mind hadn’t been of Lord Comfry’s dying breath, but instead was Remy’s expression as he stood at the foot of the stairs. He’d been so earnest with his concern.

Harrison had put Emma in a carriage where she currently sat waiting for him to join her. She concentrated on her breathing. He’d said he already had another assignment for her, but that the nature of this assignment was highly unusual. He jumped inside and said nothing as the carriage rumbled down the street.

“Did you find your man, Franklin?” she asked.

Harrison nodded. “We did. He’d been hit over the head outside of Comfry’s townhome. Needless to say, he didn’t see anything. We gathered what information he could tell us about Comfry’s comings and goings, but it doesn’t appear that it will amount to anything.”

She fell quiet, scouring her mind for more details of the night before.

“I’ve taken the liberty of requesting Madam Dupree meet us to take your measurements. You’ll require a new wardrobe for this assignment as your governess rags will not suit.”

They weren’t rags, she wanted to tell him, but rather her own clothing. She had always been a conservative dresser, mostly due to the fact she’d inherited her mother’s voluptuous curves, and if she were to wear clothes more fitting with today’s fashions, she knew men would ogle her, expect that she were a certain type of woman. So she’d started young wearing modest clothing, and when she’d been placed as governess at Lord Comfry’s, her own attire worked perfectly. Though, of course, she left all her clothes at the Comfry’s when she fled the townhome. Perhaps she could beseech Harrison to send someone over to retrieve them. She certainly could not go back herself. In the meantime, she wore a gown obviously borrowed from Harrison’s mother or aunt; it was ill-fitting and a non-descript gray.

This assignment was now hopelessly muddled. None of her training or her years on the job had prepared her for this. She’d even used her first name to avoid confusion. Now perhaps she’d have to give up her name as well, at least for a time. But before she could ask questions or comment on the “rags” she wore, the carriage stopped, and Harrison assisted her down.

“Where are we?”

“Lord Westbridge’s townhome.”

Emma frowned. Westbridge was Remy’s title. She wanted to ask Harrison if he’d gone mad, but she couldn’t be argumentative. Remy Hawthorne was a much-admired man in the Seven, not to mention good friends with Harrison. But certainly Harrison knew of her history with Remy. Not that their history bothered her. To her, he was nothing more than a rogue who believed women needed men to take care of them. Evidently, he must do something right else he wouldn’t be in the organization.

She and Harrison climbed the stairs, and upon knocking, the butler gave them entrance. While working with Remy, first training with him at the Academy and then on assignment in Paris, she’d often wondered what his home would look like. The butler showed them to a large parlor at the back of the house that overlooked the gardens. He made them wait nearly fifteen minutes before gracing them with his presence.

“A bit early, don’t you think, Harrison?” Remy asked. He came in barefoot with his cravat untied. A swath of his golden skin peeked out, and Emma’s mouth went dry. Did he have to be so handsome? She looked away, cursing her body for reacting to his mere presence.

“Madam Dupree will be here in half an hour. We have much work to accomplish before then,” Harrison said, ignoring Remy’s question.

The man sat, crossing his long legs out in front of him. He looked out of place in the delicately decorated room. He grinned at her wolfishly, and again she looked away, but not before she released a sound of derision.

“Now, I know the two of you have not always seen things precisely the same way,” Harrison said. “But it is imperative you work together for this investigation. With Remy, I know you’ll be protected until we can catch Comfry’s murderer.”

“I’m sorry, did you say that
we
had to work together and that
he
was protecting me?” Emma asked, not quite believing what she’d heard. No! She couldn’t work with Remy. She thought Harrison understood that. She forced her panic aside.

Harrison nodded. “Yes, that is what I said.”

“I do not require anyone’s protection, least of all his. As a full operative of the Seven, I have extensive training in self-defense. The same training Remy has, I might point out.”

“Only because I taught you said defenses,” Remy said under his breath.

Harrison’s lips curved slightly, but she couldn’t tell if he was amused by the idea that she could protect herself or by Remy’s annoying sarcasm. “Yes, Emma, I am fully aware of that, having supervised your training myself. However, you will not merely be under Remington’s protection.” Harrison seemed to realize what his words implied, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. “You will still be on assignment searching for the link between Comfry and the other traitors, not to mention his killer. By working with Remy, he can get you into places that you cannot go yourself.”

“Of all the men in the Seven, why must I work with him?” She didn’t want to be paired up with any man, least of all Remy, who tempted her so and muddled her thoughts and made her wish for all the things she could never have.

“Did you not tell her any of this?” Remy asked.

“No, I thought I’d wait until we were all here together.”

“Coward,” Remy said with another grin.

“Tell me what, precisely?”

“You’ll be posing as my mistress, sweetheart,” Remy said with a lecherous wink.

Emma came to her feet. “I shall do no such thing.” She turned to Harrison. Working with Remy would be bad enough, but pretending to be his mistress? It was intolerable! “There must be another way.”

“We need to make certain you’re protected while we investigate the murder. We can’t afford to pull you from the assignment altogether. You know Comfry’s circumstances and habits better than anyone else. We cannot know if the killer saw you or knew you were there,” Harrison said. “Remy is a qualified spy, Emma. He will take good care of you.”

Her training had taught her how to slow her breathing, gentle her pounding heart, so she could appear in command of her faculties. Inside, though, she stewed in turmoil.

“Indeed.” Remy leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “And I’ve been needing a new mistress.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “You are a pig.” Her fate was sealed.

“We need to get you into Pennington Hall so you can search for Comfry’s journal, but you can’t just show up there. You need an appropriate cover,” Harrison said.

“Which is?”

Remy leaned forward. “I’ve been invited to a party very near there, and we’ll be attending. You, as my new mistress.”

He was so damned cocky; she wanted to box his ears. Sitting like he was with his legs out and his feet bare. The smirk on his face nearly made her forget how damned dashing he was. Nearly. This scenario was perfect for him since he so desired to
protect
her. But she knew a man’s protection was nothing more than a veiled nicety for control. “This was your idea, wasn’t it?”

“As a matter of fact, it was,” he said.

She closed her eyes briefly, willing herself to stay calm.

“You shouldn’t have any problems pretending to be a seductress, should you, Emma?” One of Remy’s brows shot up.

For the briefest instant, she thought she saw a flash of pain in his eyes, as though the thought of her seducing another man brought him grief. In that moment, it was as though she was back at that cramped boarding house in Paris where they had lived together for all those weeks. This was the man she’d believed was her friend, and then he’d betrayed her. Then the moment passed, and in the place of the hurt, she found smirking arrogance.

He was a bounder of the worst sort.

How dare he call her out like this, in front of her superior, no less. How dare he act as though she were somehow morally deficient for doing her job when he apparently had carte blanch to do whatever he damn well pleased. And mostly, she wanted to wipe the smirk off his face by telling him the truth. That she had never seduced the Comte. That she had used her intelligence and her cunning to get the information she needed without dropping her drawers. However, she also had the intelligence and the cunning to impress her superior without putting down another spy. Instead, she turned her attention back to Harrison. “I am accomplished at covert operations, certainly I can search Pennington on my own.”

“No, it is not safe for you to do that. You will work with Remy.” Harrison turned his attention to Remy. “And
you
shall be professional. Stop taunting her. She has already been under enough stress.”

They thought her weak, in need of protection. “I can assure you, I can take care of myself.”

“Be that as it may, you are assigned to be here until further notice,” Harrison said. “I’m going to wait for Madam Dupree and have a word with her before she comes in to measure you, Emma. While I’m out, I fully expect the two of you to work this,” he waved his hand, “whatever this is between you, work it out.” He left the room.

Emma wanted to run, she couldn’t deny that, but she wouldn’t give Remy the pleasure.

“I knew I’d eventually get you in my bed,” Remy said as soon as they were alone.

“As soon as we find that journal, this charade ends. And I don’t appreciate you insinuating I’m nothing more than a whore, especially in front of Harrison.”

“What the devil are you talking about?” He stood, closing the distance between them.

She looked up at him and, for a moment, got lost in the mossy depths of his eyes. She tried, desperately, to read his emotions, but he’d been a spy longer than she. He was better at this game of hiding his true self to carry out a mission. “You shouldn’t have any problems pretending to be a seductress,” she said, doing her best to mock his tone.

His brows rose. “Is that how I sound?” When she didn’t answer, he continued, “I was merely referring to your secret skill. Should I be worried about my virtue?” he asked. He leaned in, bracing his hands on either side of her and effectively pinning her against the bookshelf behind her. He was so close she could smell his sandalwood soap. So close she thought he might kiss her.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “First, you have no discernable virtue. Second, I wouldn’t touch you if my life depended on it.”

“Promises, promises.” He shoved off the shelf and walked away.

She wanted to protest more. Surely Harrison could be persuaded to see reason, though she had a sinking suspicion he had made up his mind. However, before she could protest more, the parlor doors opened, and Harrison re-entered with a petite woman with a riot of bright red hair and enough cleavage to stop the war. Two other women came in behind her.

“And perfect timing, Madam Dupree,” Remy said.

The woman pointed at Emma. “This is her?” she asked, her French accent thick.

“Yes.”

“
Vous ne pouvez pas faire une bourse de soie avec une oreille de cochon,
” the woman muttered to her assistants, who laughed in response.

Emma winced. Her French was impeccable, and she knew precisely what the woman said. But she had no desire to be transformed into a silk purse, and she certainly thought she was more handsome than a pig’s ear. She realized she was not beautiful, not in any conventional ways, but she’d never thought she was particularly unattractive.

“Harrison, I believe I have a new pistol to show you. In my study,” Remy said, walking toward the door.

“Ah yes, I’ve been wanting to see that.”

Madam Dupree rolled her eyes. “Men.” Once they had left, the
modiste
stood in front of Emma for several moments. She was going to tell her there was no hope. She was too plain for anything fancy. How about a lovely shade of brown?

“This will not do.” Madam Dupree’s lips pinched, and her eyes narrowed. She grabbed Emma’s waist. “What is this frock you are wearing? Look at your tiny waist and your rounded hips,” her French accent filled the room. “And to hide your bosom beneath.” She clicked her tongue.

Emma closed her eyes, willing this moment away. Why did it matter how she looked? She was a spy, a crucial element in his majesty’s defenses. What did it matter where her bosom was or if anyone could see it?

“There is no need to apologize. Some women are uncomfortable with their bodies and do not like to flaunt their figures. But we will change that for you, no?” She moved her finger down to the center of Emma’s chest. “A dress with a bit more décolletage. And something lush.” Madam Dupree turned and glanced around the room, scanning the gowns they’d brought in. “Marie, bring me the burgundy velvet. No, no, the blue damask.”

The blond head flitted over to the trunk they’d brought with them and dug inside. After a moment, she pulled out a ball gown made of the deepest, most luxurious looking blue fabric. It moved like water as the woman carried it over to the
modiste
. Emma was nothing if not practical, but she wasn’t completely immune to the pretty things in life, and that fabric was beautiful.