Shana Galen (18 page)

“For a long time I was numb,” Winn was saying. They still embraced, and Elinor made no move to see his face. These words were hard enough to say without looking each other in the eye. “But I had a duty. I promised Edward I would take care of his sister, and I have. Her needs have been taken care of. She has a lady’s companion, lodgings, safety. But she hardly knew her brother. She does not mourn him. No one mourns him. Life goes on, and no one cares that he is dead.” Winn pulled back, and Elinor saw the anger in his expression.

“You remember him.”

“And who cares for me? If I had been the one to die, rather than Crow, would anyone have mourned me?”

Elinor wanted to say yes, but he would know she was lying.

“That’s what I thought.”

“Then leave the Barbican group. Spend more time with the girls and with me. They cannot mourn a father they never knew, and I cannot mourn a husband who is little more than a stranger to me.”

Winn dropped his head into his hands. “I have tried to retire. I think of it every day, but I cannot leave. Not yet. Not with Foncé on the loose and you and the girls at risk.”

Elinor raised his head and looked into his eyes. “Then let me in. If you cannot let your work go, then share it with me.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is. Your own director has said he wants my assistance. For once, let’s work together on something.”

“And if something happens to you, how will I ever forgive myself?”

“By realizing it was my own choice to become involved. I’m not a fool. I understand the risks and accept them.”

“I don’t like it…”

Elinor could see she was swaying him, though, and she was not going to back down now. “Then let me prove myself to you.”

Winn raised a brow. “How?”

That was a very good question. “I… don’t know. Not yet. But I’ll make an agreement with you. Before I agree to any assignment, I have to pass your test.”

“I still don’t like it. A test is nothing like the actual experience—”

“Winn.” Her voice held more than a note of warning. “This is the best offer you are likely to receive, and more than generous, in my opinion. You would do well to accept.”

The man had obviously negotiated before, because he gave a heavy sigh, indicating he knew he was matched. “Very well. I accept.”

She put her hand out, but he looked at it as though it were a foreign object. “We should shake on it, like men do.”

“That was not the method I had in mind for solidifying our agreement.” He had that wicked glint in his eye, the one she saw so rarely. The one that made her heart feel as though it might pound itself right out of her chest. But she was not going to give in. Not this time. They had work to do.

She rose and pulled the bell cord before he could protest. “That will have to wait. I have a meeting with Lord Melbourne, and I need time to dress.”

Elinor could hardly keep still, sitting in Melbourne’s office. This was like some sort of dream. She was a spy. She was a
real
spy! In the armchair beside her, Winn was looking sullen and glum, but she was not going to allow his sour mood to infect hers. She was right where she wanted to be.

As an added bonus, before they had departed—together for once—they had received a message from Georgiana, telling them all was well with their grandmother. She wrote extensively on the topic of each and every hunter, racing horse, and town hack in the stables and those she had been privileged to ride and those she had been told she would be able to ride when her skills improved. She was obviously having a wonderful time, and though Elinor was not pleased that Foncé and the Maîtriser group necessitated the girls’ leaving, she was happy the result was so pleasant.

Caroline had inserted a short note with Georgiana’s treatise. It read:

Grandmother
says
we
must
not
neglect
our
studies
and
has
employed
two (this underlined several times)
tutors. Must I really study whilst on holiday?

Elinor had laughed and tucked the note in her reticule to keep that little portion of Caro close to her. Her youngest daughter would never be much of a scholar, she feared. Winn and she had better make the girl a good match.

And then Elinor smiled again, because it had been so long since she had thought of Winn and herself in the same sentence. It had been a long time since he had been a part of her life or of their family.

“Why are you smiling?” he asked, keeping his voice low, even though Lord Melbourne had been called away momentarily.

“No reason.”

“Do not look so happy to be here.”

“Oh, good point. I should practice the art of deception.”

He scowled at her, and she tried to look serious. And then the door opened, and they both turned to see Lord Smythe, Agent Wolf, enter. Elinor waited for his wife to follow, but Melbourne came in after Wolf and closed the door.

Wolf seemed to read the question on her face—she really must practice disguising her expressions—and said, “Lady Smythe is not feeling well. She is resting, and I will give her a report when I return.”

Elinor’s eyes widened, and Wolf met her gaze. His expression told her nothing, but that did not mean she did not suspect. Agent Saint had seemed nothing if not hale and hearty this afternoon. She was a capable woman, and not the sort to accept being told to stay home and rest. Unless there was a reason.

Elinor could think of only one very good reason—she was with child. Now this was truly amazing, because as much as Winn protested her involvement now, she knew his objections would increase a hundredfold if she were pregnant. But that time in her life was over. After Caro’s birth, they had attempted to have another child, an heir, but she had not conceived again. Winn seemed content with the situation and happy to pass the title on to his younger brother or nephew.

“I am glad to see all of you back,” Melbourne was saying. He gave Elinor a brisk nod, and she heard Winn curse under his breath. “I have important information to relay, and I have new assignments for each of you.” He turned to Agent Wolf. “You will inform me if Lady Smythe is not feeling up to the task I assign her?”

“Of course, but she has never turned down an assignment yet.”

Melbourne smiled. “There’s a first time for everything.” He looked at Winn and Elinor, seated across from him. “I do not need to remind you that what I say here must remain strictly confidential. You should not speak of it outside this room unless you may be assured no one will overhear.”

“Of course,” Elinor said.

Melbourne nodded. “Good. Here is what I now know.”

***

Winn had to admire the skill of the agent who’d uncovered the whereabouts of Foncé’s second-in-command. Finding Foncé would be a great deal more difficult, but his lieutenant could very well lead them straight to the leader of the Maîtriser group. He had a suspicion Blue was responsible for the intelligence, but he would never have violated protocol to inquire. “Is it possible,” Winn asked, “that Foncé is also hiding at this brothel?”

“There is that possibility,” Melbourne said with a nod. “However, it is highly unlikely.” The hour was late now, and he had offered everyone brandy. Elinor had shaken her head at the offer, taking tea instead. It was a small concession to propriety, and most likely for his benefit, Winn decided.

“If Foncé isn’t at the brothel,” Smythe said, turning his snifter in his hands, “I’d say there’s still a high likelihood he could be spotted there. His lieutenant and he must meet somewhere to discuss plans.”

“Exactly.” Melbourne nodded. “I have men watching the brothel, but we dare not get too close.”

“Which means we need someone on the inside.” Winn drained the last of his brandy, not liking the direction the conversation was taking. Not to mention that Elinor was suspiciously silent. He wondered what she was thinking.

“I need an agent to get close to Lefèbvre, find out if he is who we think he is, determine whether or not he is in contact with Foncé, and what plans have been made for the assassination of the prince.”

“You need a woman,” Smythe said. “No man he doesn’t know is going to get close to Foncé’s lieutenant in a house of pleasure.”

“I did have Saint in mind,” Melbourne said, his gaze on Smythe, and yet, Winn felt his fingers curl around the arm of the chair.

“No.” Smythe shook his head. “If you ask her, she will agree. She would do anything to stop the Maîtriser group and protect the prince. But I am requesting you find another agent for this mission. Sophia is under a doctor’s care. She needs to rest, or we may very well lose this baby.”

Winn blinked in surprise. Saint was with child? This was unexpected. He glanced at Elinor, but she was nodding as though she had suspected as much. “How far along is she?” Elinor asked.

“A couple of months.” Quite suddenly, Smythe looked exhausted. Elinor rose and went to him. Winn exchanged a glance with Melbourne, and Winn deduced the secretary was as relieved as he that a woman was here to offer Wolf comfort. Winn sure as hell didn’t know what to say.

“She has made it this far before,” Smythe told Elinor, “and lost everything, so we don’t really dare hope. And yet…”

“You do hope. Of course you do.” She smiled at Smythe, and then her gaze drifted to Winn. For a moment, he remembered the secret pleasure he had when he’d found out Elinor was breeding. They had kept it to themselves for a little while, and it had formed a special bond he hadn’t even realized was still there. Until now. In her eyes, he saw that softness again, and he knew she could love him again. If he managed not to do everything wrong.

“And you are right to protect her,” Elinor said, which was a surprise, because only hours before she had argued women did not need men to protect them. “And that is why I am going to take this assignment.”

“What?” Winn jumped to his feet. “No, you are not.”

Smythe’s expression turned sheepish, as though he had known this would be the outcome of his revelation.

Elinor was looking at Melbourne, who sat with his fingers steepled. “Do you have another female agent?” she asked Melbourne.

The secretary looked at Winn. “No.”

“There’s no one else?” Winn sputtered.

“The Barbican group is not rife with female operatives. Lady Keating is our only option at the moment.”

“Then we will have to formulate a new plan.”

Elinor held up a hand. “Wait a moment. My lord, may I speak to you in private?”

Winn gaped at her. Surely she did not think a brief chat was going to change his mind. He had just freed her from the claws of the Maîtriser group. He wasn’t going to send her back in.

“Winn?” She arched a brow.

“Fine.” He moved toward the door, but Melbourne waved him away. “Wolf and I will step outside. Take as long as you like.”

With a last apologetic look, Wolf closed the door, leaving Winn and Elinor alone. She looked at him, the picture of composure.

Winn didn’t like it.

He would have much preferred her anger and indignity. That he was used to.

“Have you already forgotten our conversation earlier?”

Winn opened his mouth to say that of course he hadn’t, before he realized he had no idea which conversation she referred to. “We discussed quite a few topics.”

“We made an agreement.”

Winn frowned. “Remind me.”

“I will accept your decision if you believe a mission is beyond me, but you must agree to test me first.”

“It’s coming back to me now,” he muttered.

“Good. Then before you forbid me to accept Melbourne’s offer—”

“Melbourne’s offer?
You
are the one who made the suggestion!”

“—you must devise a test.”

Winn was in no mood to devise a test for her, especially considering whatever test he devised would have to be one she failed. “We don’t have time for this,” he argued. “Foncé may decide to kill the prince at any moment. Time is of the essence.”

“Then sending me in would be the fastest way to get close to this Lefèbvre.”

“You’re not going into a brothel. You’d have to masquerade as a…” He tried to think of a word for
prostitute
he could use in the presence of his wife. “A fallen woman. Once you went inside, anything could happen to you. A place like that is no place for my wife.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You seem familiar with these establishments.”

Bloody hell.
Now
she chose to play the jealous wife? “At times my work has taken me into less than savory locations. I do not frequent them for personal pleasure.”

“Then where do you go for personal pleasure? It has not been my bed, not for a long time.”

Winn did not need to be reminded of that fact, but the lack of intimacy between them did not mean he had turned his affections elsewhere. He had made a vow to Elinor, and he had kept it. Still, he did not think he would have stayed away from her bed if she had invited him. It was true that, until recently, she never refused him, but she never seduced him either.

Winn blinked. That was the answer.

“Now what?” Elinor asked.

“You requested a test,” Winn said slowly.

“I did.”

“Good. I have a test for you.”

Elinor did not know why she should be nervous. Perhaps the feeling stemmed from Winn’s refusal to tell her the nature of his test. Perhaps the feeling stemmed from the triumphant glint in his eye when they had been alone in Lord Melbourne’s office. Or perhaps the feeling grew out of her own fears of inadequacy. What if she did not have the skills to become a spy? What if being a wife and mother were all she could do?

She had always been proud of these roles, but now she wanted more—adventure, excitement. And she wanted to be part of something bigger than herself. She wanted to know she’d had a hand in preserving the British monarchy and protecting her future sovereign.

She peered through the windows of the carriage she and Winn occupied, watching the other conveyances rattle by. Their lights jounced brightly, and she could hear the happy, excited voices of the occupants they passed. The
ton
was flitting here and there, to this event or that, without a care in the world other than who would hop into whose bed. Once she had been so bored and desperate for entertainment, she’d thought that existence exciting—or at least desirable. She had coveted the most sought-after invitations and spent fortunes on the newest French styles.

Now she wore a gown she had barely glanced at when Bridget dressed her, and she was going home rather than to the theater.

Winn was seated across from her, and she couldn’t have been happier.

Except she still had to pass his test.

“You look nervous,” he said. His eyes had been closed, and she would have sworn he was dozing.

“Not nervous, merely curious. What did you tell Melbourne when you spoke to him?” When she and Winn had exited Melbourne’s office, Smythe and the secretary were waiting outside. Winn had nodded to his superior, and she’d strained to overhear the conversation. Coincidentally—or had it been?—Lord Smythe had spoken to her that same moment, and she hadn’t been able to hear.

“I told him you would give him your answer tomorrow.” He peered at his pocket watch. “Which I suppose means later today.”

“
I
will give him an answer?”

“If you pass the test, you may give him whatever answer you choose. If you fail, you must tell him you will not be a part of this mission.”

She would not fail. “How will I know I have passed?”

“You will know.”

Those words did little to reassure her, and her stomach was tied in knots by the time they arrived at their town house. Winn escorted her inside, and they silently handed wraps, hats, and gloves to the butler and footman. Relieved of her outer garments, Elinor stood immobile and uncertain. Should she retire to the drawing room? Winn’s library? Where would this test commence?

Winn leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Prepare for bed then dismiss your maid. When you are alone, I’ll tell you the nature of your test.”

“Am I to take it tonight?” she asked.

“I see no point in putting it off.”

Elinor nodded and climbed the stairs. What would Winn have her do? Prove she could disguise herself? Escape a locked room? Decipher a coded message? She was not certain she could successfully accomplish any of those feats.

“Are you feeling unwell, my lady?” Bridget asked as she helped Elinor don a robe over her serviceable linen night shift. Elinor had not known what one wore when taking a spy test, and she had chosen the most practical thing she could think of. Winn had told her to prepare for bed. Why did he not want her to prepare to sneak out of the town house undetected?

“I’m fine, Bridget. Merely tired. Thank you. I will do the rest. You are dismissed.”

Bridget bobbed. “Yes, my lady.”

As soon as the door closed, Elinor ran to bolt it. Then she checked to be certain the door between her chambers and Winn’s was unlocked. She’d already checked it, and it was still unlocked. She pressed her ear to the wood and heard the low rumble of masculine voices and then Winn’s chuckle. He certainly did not seem nervous.

She took a seat on her bed, rose, paced, sat down again, and folded her hands in her lap. Then she decided perhaps sitting on the bed was all wrong, jumped off and raced to a small chair in the corner. She crossed her legs, uncrossed them, tried to look bored, and even lifted a book and pretended to read.

Where was Winn? What was taking him so long?

Unable to stay seated, she jumped up again and paced the room, pausing to glance at her reflection in the looking glass. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright. Her hair hung down her back in loose waves, and she wondered if she should have told Bridget to leave it pinned up. Elinor grabbed a pin and hastily secured her hair in a severe bun. Was that the look she wanted?

“Are you ready?” a voice said from behind her. She spun around and stared at Winn, who was resting one shoulder on the door frame. His arms were crossed over his chest.

His bare chest.

Elinor swallowed.

He still wore his boots and his black trousers, and in his hand he held a glass of what appeared to be wine.

Elinor smoothed her robe. “Of course. I’d prefer to get this over with.”

Winn gave her a fleeting smile. “Wine?” He held the glass out to her, pushing off the wall and walking toward her.

She frowned. “That is for me?”

“I thought you might need it.”

Was this a trick? Had he drugged the wine? Poisoned it? Was this part of the test? As though he read her mind—or more likely the expression on her face—Winn said, “This is not part of the test.” He set the wine on a small table next to the bed. “I was merely being courteous. A rare thing, I know.”

Elinor really believed she would scream if he did not tell her the nature of the test soon. Her nerves were frayed, and she was exerting an immense amount of willpower not to begin wringing her hands.

Winn walked toward her, and she had to check the urge to take a step back. There was something feral and almost lionlike about him when he was without his shirt. His chest gleamed bronze in the firelight, and the muscles tensed as he moved, like those of a predatory animal. “It occurred to me in Lord Melbourne’s office,” Winn was saying, “that you have probably never encountered a fallen woman.”

Elinor blinked. She had not expected him to return to this conversation. “I have seen members of the demimonde at the theater and at various balls and such.”

“And how did these courtesans strike you?” He took another step closer, and she caught the faint scent of the polish used to shine his leather boots. It was a dark, masculine scent, and underneath it she detected the barest hint of the spicy scent of his shaving soap. Had he shaved for her?

“I don’t understand.”

“What was your impression of these women?” Winn was before her now, and he raised one hand and tucked a finger in a lock of hair beside her ear. Slowly, he pulled the curl free of its confines so it slid over her shoulder, tickling her neck.

“I…” It was difficult to think with Winn touching her, but perhaps this was part of the test. She thought back to the courtesans she’d seen. She’d been curious about the women. She was not supposed to take an interest in them, which made them all the more intriguing. “They were fashionable,” she said slowly, trying not to think about the way Winn wrapped her hair around his finger. “And laughing. Flirtatious, I suppose. Surrounded by men.”

“Is that all?”

She sensed there was something more he was waiting for her to say. She closed her eyes in an attempt to recall the courtesans as much as to avoid looking into Winn’s alluring gaze. “Sensual,” she said, the word crossing her lips before she even had time to think it. She remembered full red lips, plunging bodices, round, white shoulders, dark, knowing eyes. “I suppose they struck me as sensual creatures.” She opened her eyes.

Winn was looking at her, his expression unreadable. “And do you see yourself in this light?”

Elinor’s heart began to pound again. Her brain screamed a warning, but she had come too far now. She thought of her prim necklines, her matronly figure, her always-proper behavior. “No. But—” Elinor recalled the scarlet gown she had worn to Mary’s ball, the one that had made Winn’s eyes go dark with desire.

“But?” Winn prodded.

“But I do not think I am completely devoid of sensuality.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“You will need that quality to pass this test.” Winn’s hand slid down her robe, gliding over her breast and pausing at her waist. He flicked open the knot of her robe and pushed the garment off her shoulders. “Your test, Ellie, is to seduce me.”

***

Winn returned to his room and slumped in the chair beside his bed. Elinor had looked so shocked, so… completely at a loss when he’d told her of the test, that he’d taken pity on her and allowed her a few moments to prepare. He had no hope she would pass this test. And that was exactly the result he wanted. He did not want her to pass the test. She’d be safer at home. The Barbican group would find a way to apprehend Foncé and dismantle the Maîtriser group without involving his wife and family.

As the hand on the bracket clock beside his bed inched slowly around the clock’s face, Winn became more and more certain Elinor was not even going to attempt the test. He was not surprised. She had never been one to take the initiative when it came to their lovemaking. And yet, Winn couldn’t help but feel somewhat disappointed. Would it have been so bad if Elinor had at least attempted his test? Wouldn’t it have been rather enjoyable if she had passed? Not that he would have allowed her actually to seduce him. He would have stopped her.

Probably.

She had never tried to seduce him, at least not overtly. And this was why she could not be allowed to risk her life playing the role of a prostitute at a brothel.

This was no game. If Foncé’s lieutenant suspected she was a spy or in the service of the Barbican group, he would not hesitate to kill her. And Elinor would never be believed in the role of a wanton.

Suddenly, the door between their rooms creaked open. The doorway was empty. Frowning, Winn craned his neck, supposing he had simply not latched the door properly when he’d shut it.

And then Elinor appeared, and Winn’s jaw dropped. The fire burned in the hearth, and the lamp beside his bed illuminated the room, but they did little to chase away the shadows. And yet, even in the dim light, Winn could see enough that a jab of arousal cut through him. Elinor stood in the doorway in a pretty white chemise with a wide neck, held together by silk ribbons tied in an innocent bow. But what she had done to the chemise was anything but innocent. The linen material was damp. It had to be to cling to her body so. And cling it did, molding to her every curve and slope. She moved forward, and the linen dragged against her legs, revealing the rounded shape of them—and yet revealing nothing, as she was still covered from neck to knee. Winn felt his mouth go dry.

“No greeting?” she said, still moving forward. She moved slowly, a feat he had not thought her capable of. She was always moving quickly and efficiently. There was nothing efficient in her movements now. They were languorous, smooth, and—God help him—sensual. What had possessed her to dampen the material? And why had he never thought to douse her with water before? He would have, had he realized the effect.

“Is your tongue tied in knots?” Her brows arched. “I sincerely hope not. You might need it.”

Winn blinked. Had his wife just made an innuendo? She had never done so before in his memory. What, exactly, had happened in the half hour they had been apart?

“I did not think you would come,” he finally replied.

She nodded, stopping directly in front of him. Her dark nipples were hard and pushed through the wet fabric clinging to the swell of her breasts. The fabric then fell to her waist, where it slid into a V at the juncture of her thighs. “It took me a few moments to dress.”

“I see that. Are you cold?”

“Freezing.”

He reached for her, but she stepped to the side. “And I will need you to warm me with your hands, your body, and your mouth.”

Winn’s hands gripped the arms of the chair, sensing if he rose now, she would only find another way to avoid him.

“But not yet,” she said, reaching out and putting a finger on his chest. “First, we must rectify a most distressing situation.” She pouted, and Winn gaped at her. He had never seen his wife pout. Not once in all of the fourteen years he had known her. And yet, her full red lips had turned down in a moue he found irresistible. He could think of so many things he’d like her to do with those lips. Winn shook his head. This was his wife. He had to remember that, but she was making it quite difficult. She was acting far more the role of the—

Bloody hell. She was doing it. She was playing the courtesan, and she was succeeding. She was going to pass this bloody test if things went on as they had been. He needed to make it more difficult on her. Mentally, he was aware he needed to ensure she failed.

But physically—physically, he was desperate for her to succeed.

“What situation?” he asked warily.

“You, my lord, are wearing too many clothes.” She moved toward him, and Winn tried to scoot back—a feat all but impossible in the chair. But he could see where this would lead. If she managed to undress him, he would never be able to keep his wits about him. But instead of reaching for him, she turned her back on him. For a moment, Winn was confused. For a moment, he was completely and utterly distracted by the way the thin, wet fabric clung to her bottom.

And then she bent over, took one boot between her knees, and pulled. She had never removed his boots before. It was a task relegated to his valet, and not one Winn ever paid much attention to. But he was paying attention now. He could not help but stare at the way her hips wiggled and the way the fabric of the chemise only hinted at what he wanted to see. Horrified, he pulled back his hand just before it could clamp on the flesh of her bottom.

“There!” She dropped the first boot on the floor and looked over her shoulder at him. “That’s one.”

Oh, how he wanted to put his hands on her hips and bury himself inside her. It would take nothing to lift the chemise and plunge into her warm depths. She was not wearing anything underneath. He could see that quite clearly.