A Scandalous Secret: Spies and Lovers Read online

  Garrick ignored his protests and force marched him away from the goggling of the groom and footman to where they could not be overheard. “Are you in possession of an invitation to this house party, Berkwith?”

  “I played a hand of whist with young Mr. Barclay last evening, and he extended an invitation. He is not arriving until the morrow, but I have his letter of introduction.” Berkwith pulled a wax-sealed letter from the inside of his jacket, and Garrick let him go in disgust. “Why the devil did you accost me? I should call you out.”

  “Please do. I would enjoy destroying you.” Garrick kept his tone cold and calm, and as he hoped, Berkwith was rattled. “I accosted you because of your actions with regard to a certain young lady.”

  Berkwith’s complexion turned waxy, showcasing the blue-and-black bruise peeking out at his temple hairline. “I don’t know what you are referring to. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

  “If it’s a pleasure to be speaking with me, I must be doing this wrong,” Garrick said dryly. “You know exactly what I’m referring to. A young lady was attacked. You—supposedly a gentleman—retreated and left her to the mercy of the streets.”

  Berkwith’s mouth opened and closed, but nothing emerged. His eyes were huge with fear.

  “This is what is going to happen. I will allow you to remain this evening as it is late. However, you will make your excuses to the Barclays and depart in the morning.” When Berkwith made a noise to argue, Garrick held up his hand, and the other man snapped his mouth shut. “In addition, if I hear a hint of scandal attached to either lady involved in your mad scheme, I will make sure your body is never found. Is that clear?”

  Berkwith nodded vigorously enough to overcome the pomade on his hair.

  Garrick crossed his arms on his chest and raised his chin. “You are dismissed.”

  Berkwith turned and made his way to the front door as if the devil’s own hounds were in pursuit. Garrick allowed himself a smile, strolled around the house, and entered through the side entrance.

  While he might not be a traditional servant, neither was he an invited guest. Therefore, the room he’d received along the bachelor corridor had been a surprise. It was small but plush and exceedingly comfortable.

  Gaiety spilled from the drawing room where the assembled guests were gathered for merrymaking. He glanced through the door and caught sight of Victoria. She was talking with Lady Eleanor, Lord Percival, and an unknown gentleman. She wore the green gown from her fitting at the modiste. The color highlighted her pale skin and black hair. A golden ribbon weaved through her hair like a crown.

  A pang reverberated in his chest as he turned to make his way to his room. Alone. He’d won his battle with loneliness long ago in the orphanage. Yet there was no mistaking the feeling. He was lonely. Not for just anyone, but for Victoria.

  “Garrick.” Sir Hawkins quickstepped from the drawing room to intercept him.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Berkwith had the audacity to show his face at the party. Did you see him? I have a good mind to garrote him myself.”

  “I hope you don’t plan on asking me to murder a peer.” Garrick raised an eyebrow, but Sir Hawkins merely harrumphed. Garrick continued, “The situation is handled. He will be leaving in the morning.”

  Sir Hawkins’s outrage deflated slightly. “You should have turned him out tonight.”

  “The man is a coward and an opportunist, but he isn’t evil.”

  “But he knows Victoria was… He could speak indiscreetly.”

  “I made clear he wouldn’t enjoy the consequences if a single indiscreet word falls from his lips.”

  “Very well then.” Sir Hawkins’s eyes narrowed on Garrick. “Clean up and change into your best clothes, then meet me in the library. I wish to speak with you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Sir Hawkins turned on his heel and disappeared into a book-lined room. Garrick found warm water waiting in his room. After repairing his appearance, he changed into a pair of dove-gray pantaloons, a silver-and-cream-striped waistcoat, and navy frock coat. He kept his cravat knot simple and smoothed back his hair. The small looking glass reflected back a man who would never be mistaken for a gentleman, no matter how fine the wrappings.

  He joined Sir Hawkins in the library. The spymaster stood at the fireplace and stared pensively into the flames. Garrick cleared his throat.

  “Ah. Pour yourself a brandy if you wish, Garrick.”

  Garrick wasn’t one to turn down fine spirits. He joined Sir Hawkins with a tumbler in hand. “What do you require of me, sir?”

  “I want you there.” Sir Hawkins didn’t spare him a glance.

  “Where?”

  “In the drawing room and at dinner. I want you to keep an eye on Berkwith.”

  “Would you prefer that I throw him out tonight? I could have accomplished that without changing clothes.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Sir Hawkins turned to pace along the edge of the rug with military precision, his hands linked behind his back. “There’s another matter we need to discuss.”

  The back of Garrick’s neck heated, and his collar tightened like a noose. He forced himself not to fidget. What did Sir Hawkins suspect? Part of Garrick wanted to confess his feelings. He wanted to claim Victoria for more than a night.

  But even now she was socializing with gentlemen who could raise her standing in society. Was it fair of him to force her hand? He wanted her to have the power to choose her destiny, and in doing so, he must accept that he was not the wise choice.

  “You have become a skilled organizer with a head for strategy. The men respect your opinion and obey your commands without question. In short, you are a fine leader, and it’s time for you to actually lead. You will no longer be in my employ.”

  The direction of the conversation was so unexpected, Garrick could do little but gape. Was Sir Hawkins sending him to the front lines to be killed because of his indiscretion with Victoria? It was no less than he deserved. “You’re sacking me?”

  Sir Hawkins paused his pacing to grip the back of the armchair between them and raise a brow. “There is a position being created under the purview of the Home Office that I have recommended you for. Most would consider this a promotion. If you acquit yourself well, further opportunities will open to you.”

  While the position might well offer him a boost in standing, Garrick could only focus on the fact he would be officially, finally separated from Victoria. Their social circles wouldn’t align, and he would never see her. It was an effective, nonlethal way of quashing any further attachment. It was exactly what he had decided for himself, yet the thought of never again seeing her traipse down the stairs with a smile for him was devastating.

  His mind riffled through the implications. Sir Hawkins must be aware of the attachment in the first place. Or at least he suspected it. Garrick quaffed the remainder of the brandy in his glass and straightened his cuffs. “Thank you for the recommendation. When do I report for duty?”

  “In the new year. Tonight, however, you still work for me, and I want you to keep an eye on Victoria.” Sir Hawkins took a seat in the armchair and opened the book on the side table.

  “You aren’t joining in the merrymaking?”

  “Too much noise rattles my thoughts and gives me a headache. I’ll join the group for dinner.”

  Garrick nodded and left Sir Hawkins to his solitude, pausing outside the door to calm his own racing thoughts. He felt adrift in more ways than one. It was difficult to be grateful when he could only focus on everything he was losing.

  Losing Victoria was heartbreaking, but that wouldn’t be his only loss. Sir Hawkins was more than an employer, and Garrick grieved the end of their association. He was also unaccountably hurt Sir Hawkins could dismiss him so readily.

  With heavy feet, he made his way to the drawing room. A game of charades was in progress. He planted himself behind a Greek-style bust of some unfortunate Barclay ancestor with a large nose and narrow-se
t eyes and stared at Victoria.

  She was seated on a lounge next to Lady Eleanor, laughing and calling out guesses to the pantomime being performed by Mr. Barclay, their host. Victoria touched her nape and twisted around. They locked eyes, and her smile turned tremulous. The noise around him faded until it was just the two of them.

  Lady Eleanor grabbed Victoria’s arm and whispered something in her ear. Her gaze broke with his, and Garrick followed the direction of her attention. Lord Berkwith had arrived, looking fresher and attired in a dapper, extravagantly patterned blue-and-green waistcoat and bottle-green velvet jacket. Only the half-hidden bruise along the hairline at his temple betrayed the harrowing experience he’d muddled through by luck and cowardice.

  Berkwith smiled broadly at Lady Eleanor, who rose as if he were a puppet master. Victoria made a grab for her wrist, but it was too late. Lady Eleanor drifted over to speak with Berkwith. Someone guessed that Mr. Barclay was trout fishing, and a round of clapping ensued. A young lady bounced up and chose a slip of paper from a gentleman’s black hat for her turn.

  Victoria rose and meandered through the room, stopping to chat with ladies and gentlemen, but Garrick could feel the ties that bound them growing shorter as she worked her way closer and closer.

  “I suppose Father sent you to keep an eye on me,” she murmured before taking a sip of wassail.

  “Mostly due to Berkwith, but I don’t expect him to cause any trouble.”

  She sent him a side-eyed glance. “Did you threaten him with bodily injury?”

  He harrumphed. “Of course I did.”

  He was rewarded with a smile that was a lighthouse to his adrift soul. What would happen when he no longer had her smiles and wit to keep him from drowning in his loneliness?

  “I do hope Eleanor doesn’t make a fool of herself over him.” Victoria shook her head and turned to regard him. “I’ve rarely seen you attired for company. You look exceedingly handsome.”

  “The sharpness of your eyesight has now been called into question, Miss Hawkins.”

  “It is you who fail to recognize your charms in the looking glass.” Her flirty eyes kindled a fire in his chest. Their banter had taken on new dimensions now they were intimately acquainted.

  He smiled. How could he not? Just as he was debating the merits of yet another bout of madness in the middle of the night, Lord Percival approached and made a bow. “Miss Hawkins, would you take a turn about the room with me?”

  Lady Hawkins had stepped closer, her glare doing its best to slice him away from Victoria. What could Garrick do but cede the field? He inclined his head and retreated with a murmured, “Enjoy your evening, Miss Hawkins.”

  Lord Percival monopolized Victoria’s attention for the rest of the evening. He even escorted her to dinner. Three long tables were arranged in the large dining room. Garrick found himself sitting in the corner next to a local curate who seemed to be practicing his Christmas sermon on the table.

  Victoria was seated between Lord Percival and another gentleman Garrick didn’t recognize. She favored them with smiles and laughs, and both men seemed to take equal delight in her. And why wouldn’t they? She was witty, intelligent, and beautiful.

  His stomach soured, and by the time the sweet pudding arrived for dessert, his appetite had been stamped out. Was he jealous? Most assuredly so. Had he any right to his jealousy? Not a whit.

  With a trip to the village planned for some guests in the morning, the party broke up soon after port was taken by the men. Garrick sent Berkwith one last withering look before heading upstairs, not to his room, but to tuck himself behind a pedestal and vase in an alcove down the hall from Victoria’s room. He would sleep better knowing Victoria had arrived there safely.

  The sound of feminine voices drifted up the stairs, and Garrick imitated a statue. Lady Eleanor, Lady Hawkins, and Victoria strolled toward him. After exchanging “good-nights,” Lady Eleanor entered her room.

  Lady Hawkins stopped in front of her door. “You enjoyed Lord Percival’s company this evening.”

  “He is charming.” Victoria fiddled with her lace cuffs.

  “But?”

  “Just because I enjoyed our dinner conversation doesn’t mean I wish to spend the rest of my life with him by my side.”

  “Not yet, perhaps, but it’s a promising start. I’ll send Margery over as soon as she tends to me.” Lady Hawkins leaned in to brush a kiss in the air next to Victoria’s cheek and disappeared into her room.

  Victoria made her way to her door but hesitated with her hand on the latch. “Why are you lurking in the ladies’ hallway?”

  He grunted. How had she seen him? Was he getting careless? He stepped out and shushed her, motioning her inside her room. “I wanted to assure myself you were safely abed.”

  “Safely abed? Is that what you’re calling it?” Her tone was dryly amused but turned dark. “I’m tired of keeping secrets, Thomas.”

  Didn’t she realize he would stand on a mountaintop and declare his devotion to her if he could? “I understand.”

  “Do you?” Her eyes narrowed on him.

  In that moment, what he understood was that any spark of hope had been snuffed out. He was merely a pawn to be sacrificed by Sir Hawkins. This was the end.

  But if it was to be their end, he would leave with one last kiss.

  He stepped forward and cupped her face, tilting her head back. The brace of candles at the entrance made her eyes dance with light and life. “I love you, Victoria. That is a secret I will no longer keep to myself.”

  Her breath hitched, and her lips parted, but he didn’t give her a chance to respond. His lips met hers with all the longing, regret, and anger of a last kiss, and she responded in kind. It was in turns gentle and fierce.

  Knowing their time was short, Garrick broke away and hugged her close, trying to memorize her scent and warmth and softness. He ran his hands down her back to map her curves so he could find his way back to her in his dreams.

  Then he stepped away, leaving her swaying on her feet, lightly touching her kiss-swollen lips. They stared at one another for a long moment. He slipped out the door and retreated to the far end of the corridor to the servant’s staircase. And not a second too soon.

  Margery emerged from Lady Hawkins’s room to rap softly on Victoria’s door. She answered and ushered the lady’s maid inside. Before she disappeared, she cast a glance up and down the hallway, but this time she didn’t see him in the shadows.

  The shadows were where he belonged and where he would remain.

  Chapter 10

  Victoria and Eleanor strolled arm in arm through the garden on their way to gather pinecones at the line of trees at the back of the terraced lawn. The ground was patched with snow in the shadows and mud in the bright sunshine.

  It was the first time Victoria had been able to speak with her friend in private since Lord Berkwith’s unexpected arrival the evening before. “Have your tender feelings toward Lord Berkwith changed since everything that happened?”

  “Of course not.” Eleanor barked, but her sigh softened the knee-jerk defensiveness of her answer. “I don’t know. If I had kept the meeting with him at the Bear and the Crown, what would have become of me? I wouldn’t have had a Mister Garrick to ride to my rescue. By your own telling, Lord Berkwith was incapable of dealing with them. He didn’t even attempt to rescue you. Wasn’t that dastardly?”

  “I’m nothing to Lord Berkwith. He might have put up a fight to save you. But don’t forget, the men weren’t actually after you. You and Lord Berkwith might even now be wed if I hadn’t appeared in your stead.” Even as she made the declaration, the same question niggled. How had the men known to follow her when she had only made the decision to take Eleanor’s place mere hours earlier?

  “I can’t help but think that a true gentleman would have rescued you.” Eleanor flashed Victoria an uncertain look. “Do you approve of a match with him?”

  Lady Hawkins’s assessment came flooding back. Eleanor did dese
rve better. Victoria stopped under the leafless branches of an oak and took Eleanor’s hands in hers. Winter had blunted the undergrowth, but bushes reached out of the woods, seeking sunlight.

  “Do you truly love him?”

  “He says such pretty things to me. My mother favors Mr. March. He is rich but so old. If I were able to choose…” Eleanor tipped her head back and looked to the sky, blinking back tears. “I envy your freedom.”

  “Oh, Eleanor—”

  A noise in the woods whipped Victoria’s head around. The two men from the alley pounced before Victoria could gather the air for a scream. A kerchief was shoved into her mouth, and a gag tied around her head.

  She used the heel of her hand and punched the man on the bridge of his nose.

  “Ye bloody bitch.” One man held her hands together behind her back while the other bound them at the wrist. Victoria craned around to see Eleanor. She had either swooned, or the men had bashed her unconscious.

  She kicked at the man she had punched, aiming for his knee but only managing to hit the top of his shin. Still, it must have pained him somewhat, because he released a longer, more colorful string of curses.

  “There’s no one to save you, my lady.” The man tossed her over his shoulder.

  Her breath left her in a whoosh. Panic rose up like a fog, obscuring everything but her need for air. Finally, she was able to pull in a deep breath through her nose. After a dozen more, she accepted she wasn’t yet dying.

  Branches and brambles picked at her gown. A branch whipped back from their passing and scratched her cheek. A drop of blood trickled toward her temple. Her hands were numb, and her wrists grew raw as she worked against the coarse rope.

  How had these men managed to evade her father’s extensive grasp in London? Even though they had captured her easily, they did not seem unusually skilled. After all, she had landed two blows. That gave her hope. As did the fact the men did not bother to hide their tracks.

  At first, she tried to keep her head raised to mark their progress, but all she could see were trees. When the ache in her neck became unbearable, she counted their paces instead and estimated they’d walked at least a mile.