Shana Galen (8 page)

Trollope glanced wildly behind him, noted Smythe, and Winn saw all the blood drain from his face. “Potential—?”

“You are an agent for the Babylon group, is that correct?” Smythe asked. Winn scowled. He wanted the privilege of making the man look a fool.

“I-I don’t know what you are talking about,” Trollope sputtered, looking from man to man with wide eyes.

“Likely story,” Winn said. “Unfortunately for you, we have a double agent in our employ, and she has identified you.”

“She?”

“That is correct.”

Trollope shook his head. “No, Elinor cannot be an agent.”

“Why? Because you made up that mission in order to seduce her?”

“But I did not know she was a-an agent. I’m not a spy. I’ve never been a spy.”

“Of course not,” Winn said sarcastically. “We don’t expect you to admit your involvement in Bonaparte’s escape scheme so easily.”

Trollope waved his hands frantically. Behind him, Smythe was having a difficult time not laughing.

“But I don’t know anything about an escape scheme. I don’t know Bonaparte. I’m not a spy.”

“And I’m certain the phrase
oranges
and
lemons, say the bells at St. Clement’s
means nothing to you as well.”

“It’s a song, a children’s rhyme. Nothing more.” He was all but screeching with fear now.

“It’s the password for the spies involved in Bonaparte’s escape plan,” Winn told him. “And do you know what it means that you have given it?”

Trollope shook his head. He looked perilously close to tears. Winn’s enthusiasm for beating him bloody was waning.

“It means we have to kill you.” Winn pulled out his pistol.

“No!” Trollope screamed.

“A pistol ball to the brain is a quick, painless death.”

Smythe cleared his throat. “But perhaps you’d rather die by having your throat slit?” Smythe tapped Trollope on the shoulder with the blade of a long knife he produced from his pocket. Winn had no idea where it had come from, but he had to give Wolf credit.

“No, please!” Trollope was all but crying now. “Don’t kill me.”

“It’s too late for that,” Winn said. “You know too much.”

“I know nothing! Nothing!”

Winn cocked the hammer of the pistol. He hadn’t even primed it with gunpowder. Trollope screamed, and then he looked down. Winn’s gaze followed. Liquid dripped onto the brown and yellow leaves under Trollope’s feet, and a wet spot grew and grew in the crotch of his breeches.

Winn shook his head, and Smythe was laughing out loud now.

“Please.” Trollope fell to his knees. “Do not kill me.” He clasped his hands, begging.

Smythe shook his head, raised his hat, and mouthed,
let
him
go
.

“I will allow you to go under one condition,” Winn said.

“Anything!”

“You must admit to the entirety of the
ton
that you are a fraud and a womanizer.”

“I’ll do it.”

“And you must never speak to Lady Keating again. If you do, she has orders to terminate you immediately.”

“I shall not even acknowledge her.”

“Good,” Winn said.

“Let’s go.” Smythe gestured to Winn.

“One last thing.” Winn drew his fist back and slammed it into Rafe Trollope’s pretty face. Trollope fell backward and uttered a sob. Winn left him lying among the wet leaves and walked out of the copse with Smythe.

“Feel better?” Wolf asked.

“Marginally.”

“Good. Might we begin work on the Maîtriser case then?”

“Tonight,” Winn said. “This afternoon we have a garden party to attend.”

Sophia, Lady Smythe, was tired of lying about in bed. It was true Adrian had forbidden her so much as to sit up. It was true the doctor had cautioned her that rest was necessary. It was true that she had fainted.

Mortifying, that. She had never fainted before in her life. When she had come to and Adrian had told her what had happened, she had almost punched him for lying. But then she’d become light-headed again and had to settle for a potent scowl.

But she felt much better now. Cook had fed her hearty broths and warm, buttered bread. She’d had her fill of tea and cakes. Wallace, her butler, had made certain the household was quiet and she had no visitors. And now she was in want of diversion.

She wanted to do something useful, especially as she knew Adrian was out doing something entertaining. He had not told her his plans, but he was not at home, and she was willing to bet he was involved in some dangerous plot or another, getting himself chased or shot at, and she was missing all of the fun.

And so when he entered their room at half-past nine in the morning, creeping quietly so as not to wake her, she gave him an annoyed look.

He gave it right back to her. “Why are you out of bed?” he asked, going to her directly. She was standing at the window, looking down at the street.

“I’m not tired,” she said. “It’s morning.”

“The doctor said you should rest,” he pointed out.

She glared at him, challenging him just to try and order her back to bed. “Yes, but I think we both know it won’t make any difference. If I’m going to lose the baby, I’ll lose the baby whether I rest or not.”

“You are not going to lose this baby.”

She began to pace, and she saw him flex his fingers. He would have liked nothing more than forcibly putting her back to bed. “I’m not going to lie in bed and fret for the next several weeks. Not only will it drive me mad, it won’t do any good. I told you before, if I am with child, I’m going to approach the pregnancy without fear. What happens will happen. I cannot sit about idly imagining the worst.”

“Sophia.” He stepped in front of her and enfolded her in his embrace. The feel of his warm, strong arms around her made something in her soften, and then she surprised herself by falling against his chest and burying her head in his shoulder. She needed his strength now, more than ever.

“I want what you want,” he whispered into her hair. “And perhaps I have an idea that will satisfy both of us and the doctor.”

She leaned back and raised her brow. “Oh, really? Is this some sort of plan?”

“No, merely a suggestion.” And he told her about his meeting with Baron in Hyde Park.

At the end of his summary, she shook her head. “So you spent the morning skulking about the park, listening to this lovers’ tryst? And I thought you were off having an adventure.”

“I don’t skulk.”

“My mistake. I don’t understand why Keating didn’t simply confront his wife or the two of them together.”

Adrian sighed. “Because we needed to determine whom we were dealing with. This Rafe Trollope might have been one of ours or a rival spy.”

“And now that he’s dealt with, you and Baron will find Foncé and the Maîtriser group?”

“We will formulate a plan.”

She refrained from rolling her eyes. Adrian and his plans. “Of course. And in the meantime,” she said, moving away from him and leaning over to straighten the brush and comb on her dressing table, “you want me to stay home and thumb through piles of dull documents on the Maîtriser group while you have all the excitement.”

“No.”

“No?” She looked up, holding a silver brush in one hand.

“Keating and I will discuss Foncé this evening. Afterward, I thought I might assist you with research.”

She smiled. “It could be quite the romantic evening.”

He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her lightly. “A stack of files, a glass of wine, a brace of candles, and the two of us filling pages of parchment with notes on strategy. I think it will be our most romantic evening yet.”

***

When Elinor returned from Hyde Park, the first sound she heard when she stepped into the vestibule was laughter and music. The girls were laughing, which was a surprise, as she expected them to be deep into their studies by this hour.

She gave Bramson a bewildered look, and he shook his head and sighed. “Lord Keating, Miss Keating, and Miss Caroline are in the music room, my lady.”

“And where is Miss Pilar?”

“I believe Lord Keating dismissed the governess for the morning.”

Elinor raised her brows. The household and the girls’ education were hers to oversee. How dare Winn interfere? She did not interfere in his sphere. “Thank you, Bramson.”

He bowed, and Elinor marched into the music room, a sharp retort on her tongue. But when she opened the door, the words died. Winn was seated at the pianoforte, his back to her and the girls flanking the stool where he sat. He was playing Haydn’s “Un cor si tenero,” and the girls were calling out the names of arias. “Is it ‘Prüfung des Küssens’?” Caro asked.

“No. Try again.”

“I know!” Georgiana said. “It’s ‘Mentre ti lascio, o figlia.’”

Elinor was impressed. Georgiana’s music teacher had been earning his salary. “No. Try again,” Winn said.

Elinor stared at him. She had forgotten he could play the pianoforte. Not only that, she had forgotten how utterly charming he could be. It seemed today was her day to be reminded. She might have slipped silently into the room and observed longer, but she did not want to be reminded of Winn’s charms. She had all but put Winn and his charms behind her and embraced a new romance with Mr. Trollope. And now, on the day she was to start her new adventure, Winn had the audacity to remind her why she’d fallen in love with him in the first place.

“It’s ‘Un cor si tenero,’” she said.

Three heads turned toward her, and she smiled. “I would have thought you’d recognize it, Georgiana.”

“I do, Mama. Now that you name it.”

“Have you returned from your shopping so soon?” Winn asked. Elinor could have sworn there was a mocking tone in his voice, as though he knew she had not really been shopping.

“Yes. I need to prepare for the Hollingshead garden party.”

“Very good. I am looking forward to it.” Winn returned his attention to the piano and began playing another aria.

“Are you planning to attend?” she asked. The last thing she needed was Winn making it difficult for her to deliver Trollope’s message to the secret agent.

“I am invited, I assume.”

“I know!” Caro interjected. “It’s ‘Heil und Segen’!”

“No.” Winn shook his head. “But you are close. It’s Bach.”

“Why should you wish to attend the garden party?” Elinor asked, coming around the instrument so she could see everyone’s faces. “I did not think you cared for such amusements, and you made an appearance at the Ramsgates’ ball so recently.”

“Is it ‘Was die Welt’?” Georgiana asked.

“No,” Winn said.

“‘Wer Gott bekennt’?” Caro asked.

“It’s ‘Domine Deus, Rex coelestis,’” Elinor said, frustrated with the slow progress of their conversation.

“Mama!” Georgiana whined. “This is our game!”

“I’m sorry, but I am trying to speak with your father. And you are supposed to be studying mathematics with Miss Pilar this morning.”

Caro groaned. “I detest mathematics.”

Winn rose. “Your mother is right. I have distracted you from the Pythagorean theorem for far too long. Run along and find Miss Pilar.”

“Oh!” Caro stomped her foot petulantly. “But I don’t want to learn about mathematics. I want to stay with you.”

Winn leaned over and kissed Caroline on the cheek, surprising the girl and Elinor both. “I am afraid if your mother insists upon attending this garden party, I must dress. I will see both of you later, at which point I should have a surprise.”

“Really?” Georgiana clapped her hands together. “I cannot wait.” She took Caro’s hand. “Come now, or he may change his mind.”

Elinor watched the girls scamper away and turned her gaze back to Winn. He sat and smiled, but she was not charmed. Well, not much. And she was especially not charmed when he began to play the pianoforte again.

“I am not insisting you attend the garden party at all,” she told him. “You are free to do as you choose.”

He nodded and continued playing. “That goes without saying. I choose to attend the garden party with you. Someone must stand at your side and fend off your suitors.”

She blinked at him, uncertain how she should respond. She’d never had any suitors, save him.

“Do you not need to dress for the afternoon’s entertainment?” he asked, his fingers racing over the keys. She had difficulty looking away from those fingers. They were thin and long and elegant, and she could imagine them touching every inch of her naked body. She blinked and tried to focus on his face. But that was no good either. She could not seem to stop staring at his mouth, and his mouth conjured even more sinful thoughts than his fingers. It was the music. That had to be how he was bewitching her.

“Do stop playing!” she ordered.

He raised a brow and lifted his hands from the keys. “Certainly, madam.”

“You have some surprise for the girls? I thought we agreed that all such
surprises
—ponies and such—should be approved by me.”

He rose and took a step around the pianoforte so he was within arm’s reach. Elinor stepped back. She had felt far more authoritative when he was seated and she standing. Now she was reminded how tall he was, and how easily he could wrap her in his arms.

“I am not one of your children, Ellie,” he said. “I don’t obey your orders.” He stepped closer, and she stepped back.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Call you what?” He moved closer.

“Ellie. It is not my name.” Her back bumped the pianoforte, and she tried to scoot around the edge, but he pinned her with his body and planted his hands on either side of her waist.

“It is my name for you.”

“I would appreciate it if you would call me by my given name.”

“I don’t give a bloody farthing what you would or would not appreciate.”

Her eyes widened. Where had her aloof husband gone? This man’s eyes were burning with intensity and… was that desire? She dared not hope, not only because she did not relish having those hopes dashed yet again, but because what she saw in his eyes made her nervous.

“I will go to Tatt’s tomorrow to choose a pony for Georgiana.”

Elinor put her foot down, literally. “No. She has had little to no experience riding, and—”

“I thought of that.”

“—she is too… you thought of that?”

“Yes. She has not spent much time outside Town.”

Elinor bit her lip. It was the only way she could avoid saying:
And
whose
fault
is
that?
She could not count the number of times Winn had promised to take them on a tour of the Lake District or to sample the waters at Bath and then later reneged. Biting her lip had the added bonus of slowing her breathing. This made it more difficult to breathe in Winn’s scent, something she had always thought dark and tantalizing. She had not been this close to him this often for months, and her defenses against him were considerably weaker than she had anticipated.

“I thought both of the girls might benefit from some time with my mother.”

Elinor gaped at him. She shook her head. Now she knew this was not the man she had married. That man was not on speaking terms with his mother. She’d had to beg him to invite the woman to their wedding.

To be fair, it was not actually the dowager baroness he objected to, but her much younger husband—one of her former grooms. The union had been something of a scandal, but no doubt the woman felt she had done her duty by the deceased viscount and was entitled to enjoy her remaining years however she saw fit. At least that was Elinor’s view—not that she expressed it. By all accounts, the late Baron Keating had been rather a bore—much like Winn. Rather, much like the Winn Elinor was used to. She did not know this new Winn at all.

Elinor had very rarely visited Keating’s country home, but she did know of its renown for breeding and raising horses. Winn had grown up around thoroughbreds, but he’d never shared the family passion for breeding. Still, she was certain were he to evaluate the horseflesh at Tattersall’s, he would choose the perfect horse for Georgiana.

“Georgiana and Caroline could benefit from riding lessons. Where better for the girls to learn than Montworth House?”

“I don’t understand.” Elinor’s head was spinning. “You are suggesting we go on holiday to visit your mother?”

“No. I am suggesting we send the girls. You and I will stay here. Alone.”

Elinor was not at all certain she wanted to stay alone with Winn. Her nervousness was increasing. She had not felt like this around him since he had courted her—if it could have been termed courting. “Do not be ridiculous. I shall accompany the girls to your mother’s. After all, I haven’t seen the dowager in years.”

“No, you won’t.” Winn shook his head. “We have a garden party to attend, and I intend to send the girls this afternoon.”

“But they haven’t packed!” Panic seized Elinor, and not because she worried Caro and Georgiana would not have the right gowns. She had never been away from her daughters for more than a night. Now Winn was sending them away for an indeterminate amount of time.

Winn gave her a look as though he knew exactly what she was thinking. “The nanny—what’s her name?—will assist them,” he said calmly.

“But I haven’t spoken with them about how to behave.”

Winn raised a brow. “They are twelve and nigh fourteen. If they do not know how to comport themselves by now, they never will. In any case, my mother is perfectly capable of dealing with any sort of recalcitrance Georgiana or Caroline exhibit. I assure you, my brothers and I were far more difficult to manage.”

Elinor blinked. Winn had been difficult to manage as a child? She had never heard him say so before. She had always thought he had been birthed perfect. “But…” She struggled to think of another excuse. He’d said he sent a note to his mother, and she’d been asking for years to see the girls, so there was no objection there. The dowager lived in Richmond, which was a short distance from London and ensured the girls would not be traveling after dark.