The Enigma of a Spy Page 16

  Lydia was quite sure she had never seen a more beautiful man at that moment. Beautiful and broken, and yet holding her as if his very life depended on it. Perhaps it did. “I am truly sorry for your loss,” she murmured.

  She felt his nod and how his arm seemed to tighten around her shoulders. Sure he kissed her hair, or perhaps merely settled his head atop hers, Lydia was reminded she hadn’t braided it. This would be one night it would remain loose.

  “Come to bed. We’re both exhausted,” she whispered as she moved to get up. When Adonis didn’t lessen his hold on her, she gave him a questioning glance. “What is it?”

  “May I hold you? Whilst you sleep?” he whispered.

  A frisson shot through Lydia just then, the thought of his body pressed against hers a rather pleasant one. Even now, there was something positively scandalous and yet so comforting at having him hold her as he was doing. “Of course,” she replied. “Just be sure to take off your boots before you get into bed.”

  Adonis allowed her to remove herself from his hold and return to the bed. He watched as she settled into the mattress, her body well past the middle of the bed when she pulled the bed linens and counterpane over her shoulder. She gave a glance back in his direction. “Are you coming?”

  The knight removed his boots and gave a thought to removing far more, but in the end, tiredness had him simply crawling into the bed fully clothed. With a sigh, he draped an arm over Lydia’s middle and pulled her against the front of his body. He was asleep before he realized he held one of her breasts in his hand.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  A Kerfuffle in the Coach

  The following night, May 18, 1816

  Lydia took one last look in the cheval mirror as she threaded wires through the piercings in her ears. A set of crystal chandeliers then dangled from her plump earlobes, their multifaceted surfaces reflecting the candlelight. The matching necklace graced her neck, a gift from Jasper on the occasion of their first wedding anniversary.

  The gown she wore was appropriate for the theatre, but showed her décolletage only when she leaned forward a bit, a pose she expected to employ frequently that night. If Adonis Truscott even once attempted to get lost in his thoughts, Lydia had every intention of bringing him back to the here and now with a few well placed fingers and a reason to stay in the present.

  After last night’s session of puzzle solving, Lydia found herself rather torn about the man and his mission. As she feared, the man seemed intent on providing protection for her, perhaps for the rest of her life.

  If he did so whilst in her bed, she doubted she would have any reason to complain. After he had joined her, after he had pulled her body against his and wrapped his arm around her and held her in a cocoon of comfort, she had slept so soundly, she was completely unaware of when he had taken his leave of her. It had probably been at dawn, she reasoned, but she remembered waking and wishing he were still there.

  “Oh, who am I trying to kid?” she asked herself in a whisper just as Rachel reappeared in her bedchamber with a length of silk that matched her gown.

  “I found it, milady,” the maid announced happily.

  Lydia straightened and regarded the sapphire watered silk with an appreciative eye. “I don’t remember ever having worn it,” she murmured.

  Rachel gave a shrug. “I don’t either, milady.”

  Wrapping the shawl about her shoulders, Lydia decided it would hide the top of her gown until it was advantageous to remove it. Probably after the play had begun. Certainly after Sir Donald had joined her in the box.

  Whatever was she thinking to attempt seduction with the knight? After what had happened the night before, seduction suddenly seemed unnecessary. What new information did she hope to learn with such a bold move?

  Lydia sighed and made her way down the stairs and to the vestibule. Although Jenkins held a mantle, she gave him a shake of her head. “Not tonight,” she said as she sailed out the front door and hurried to the waiting town coach. Although she couldn’t see her breaths in the night air, it was rather chilly. She almost turned back for the mantle, but remembered why it would be counter to what she hoped to achieve.

  Stepping into the dark town coach, Lydia frowned when she realized the lanterns weren’t lit. She was about to chide the driver when she realized she wasn’t alone.

  “I nearly sat on you,” she murmured as she settled into the squabs.

  “I was rather hoping you would.”

  The sound of Oliver Preston’s voice should have sent shivers down her spine. Should have had her breathless with anticipation of whatever he had planned for the two of them as the coach made its way to Drury Lane. But Lydia found herself feeling annoyed.

  Even more annoyed than she used to feel when thinking of Adonis Truscott.

  “I thought you would be on your wedding trip by now,” Lydia whispered. “Whatever are you doing in here?”

  Oliver managed a look of hurt that Lydia could make out despite the darkened interior of the coach. “Hoping to steal a kiss or two ... or more,” he said in that voice he used when he thought he was being irresistible. “I leave in the morning.”

  Rather disgusted by the rogue’s behavior, Lydia rolled her eyes. “You are a married man now, Oliver. Except for an occasional dance at a ball, I intend to have nothing to do with you.”

  “Oh, Lydia, my darling ...” Oliver started to argue. But Lydia would have none of it. She was supposed to be on a mission tonight. The last thing she needed was the distraction of a man who was supposed to be a newlywed—and out of her life.

  “Now get out of this coach before I have my driver bodily remove you,” she warned in a voice loud enough to be overheard by the driver.

  “Really, Lydia. You’re being unreasonable,” Oliver argued.

  The door to the town coach suddenly opened.

  “The lady has made her wishes known, sir. You would be wise to honor them.”

  Lydia blinked when she realized the voice wasn’t that of her driver’s but belonged to someone else.

  Oliver dared a glance toward the open door but didn’t see who stood beyond the opening. “Perhaps when I return from my trip to the Continent ...”

  “Perhaps not, Oliver. Really, sir, you’re a married man now, and I’m not about to allow you to make an adulteress out of me,” Lydia managed with a good deal of venom.

  Giving her a look of offense, Oliver stepped out of the coach and closed the door with a slam just as the opposite door opened and Adonis Truscott stepped in and closed the door behind him. He used his cane to tap the ceiling and the coach lurched forward just as he took a seat across from a rather stunned Lydia.

  “I do hope the rake didn’t manage anything untoward, my lady,” he said in a low voice.

  Lydia blinked. “I wouldn’t have allowed it,” she replied with a shake of her head. “How ...?” She paused, realizing just then that Adonis had obviously been waiting to follow her to the theatre—or perhaps he had intended to ride with her all along. “Where is your horse?”

  “In the mews behind my apartments, of course,” he replied, his eyes suddenly widening. “At least, I expect that’s where he is.”

  She gave a huff. “And if Mr. Preston hadn’t left this coach? What then? Would you have walked to the theatre?”

  This seemed to have the knight a bit shocked. “Of course not. I would have seen to his removal with a right cross to his jaw. Then, if your ladyship didn’t care for my company either, I would have hired a hackney,” he claimed with a sigh. “Thank you, my lady, for saving me from having to do so, as I find them rather ... unpleasant.”

  Lydia rolled her eyes, knowing the reaction would go unseen in the dark coach. She couldn’t blame him for his opinion of hackneys. She found them rather unpleasant as well, and silently thanked Jasper for having left her a comfortable town coach.

  As for what the knight might have done to Oliver had he not taken his leave of the coach, she rather wished she could have paid witness to Sir
Donald’s right cross and the stunned expression Oliver would have sported directly afterwards. “You’re welcome, Sir Donald.” She regarded him in the dim light, rather surprised how handsome he appeared. Not beautiful, with the planes of his face darkened as they were, but rather dangerous.

  The knight made a sound of surprise. Lydia couldn’t quite make out what he was doing until his capecoat was suddenly draped over her shoulders. “Your butler should have offered you a mantle, my lady,” he murmured, the censure clear in his voice.

  Lydia angled her head as she breathed in the scent of his familiar cologne. “He did,” she replied simply.

  The knight settled back into the seat opposite of her and regarded her with a quizzical brow. “You don’t find the evening rather chilly?” he wondered.

  Allowing a small smile, Lydia gave a shrug. “I do, actually. But by wearing a mantle, I take away the opportunity for a gentleman to practice chivalry.” She heard the catch in Adonis’ breath and silently congratulated herself on having surprised the knight. “Thank you for reinforcing my good opinion of your sex.”

  “Do you include Mr. Preston in your estimation?”

  Lydia shook her head. “I do not, but then I do not think him a gentleman, either.”

  “And yet you would share your bed with him.” The statement didn’t hold a hint of question, but was said more as an accusation.

  A flash of anger had Lydia about to slap the knight across the face. How did he know? She had told no one of the brief affaire—not even her best friends. She was fairly sure her servants were unaware of Oliver when he’d been in her bedchamber. So how had Adonis discovered the affaire? “I admit to having done so on a few occasions,” she countered, her voice taking on an icy edge. “But if you were eavesdropping on the conversation we were having a few minutes ago, you would know the man is no longer welcome—in my conveyance or in my bed,” she stated firmly.

  Adonis allowed a sigh. “Thank the gods. I was quite sure I was going to find myself in Wimbledon Commons on the morrow.”

  Lydia blinked. And blinked again. “Are you saying you would have challenged the man to a duel?” she asked in a startled whisper. In the light of a gas lamp the coach passed just then, she saw Adonis give a nod as one of his eyes brows arched up.

  “Aye. And since I am a crack shot, I expect Mr. Preston would be quite dead at one minute past dawn.”

  A shiver shot up Lydia’s spine just then.

  Fright?

  No.

  Excitement?

  Somewhat.

  Satisfaction, actually. “I would have liked to be a witness to such a scene, Sir Donald. As you have probably already surmised, I find I do not like Mr. Preston’s company.”

  The knight did not respond, and for a moment, Lydia thought he was lost in his thoughts. But Adonis suddenly leaned forward and placed a gloved hand on her knee. Lydia nearly gave a start at the sudden touch. “Have you threatened him with your flintlock?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

  Lydia had half a mind to tell the knight she’d shot Oliver just to see how he would react, but she opted to act coy. “Perhaps,” she answered with an arched brow.

  “I would have liked to be a witness to such a scene, milady,” he whispered. “But I suppose I must allow my imagination to complete the image. A rather easy task given I’ve already been the subject of your steady aim.”

  Sighing, Lydia was about to apologize for having threatened him when she remembered just how incensed she had been at finding him in her bedchamber. Now, she realized she would miss him if he wasn’t in it every night.

  The town coach suddenly halted, and a quick glance out the window had Lydia realizing they were already at the theatre. “How shall we do this?” she asked.

  Adonis gave a shrug. “I was hoping to escort you to your box. That is, if you don’t mind terribly ... being seen in my company,” he replied in his most unsure manner.

  A slow smile appeared on Lydia’s face. There would be gossip, she realized, but perhaps not as much as she originally thought. She was no longer in mourning. “I do not mind a bit.”

  Giving her a nod, Adonis stepped down from the coach and turned to assist her.

  He did so at exactly the same time as several other gentlemen did, up and down the row of equipage lining the street. Given the sudden crowd entering the theatre all at the same time, the pair’s entry into the lobby went unnoticed.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  A Night at the Theatre

  A few minutes later

  Despite the chilly evening, a larger than normal crowd assembled for the opening night of “Bertram, or the Castle of St. Aldobrand” at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. Once Adonis had them through one of the sets of double-doors at the top of the stairs, Lydia paused and indicated Adonis should take back his coat. He did so, but not before leaning over to whisper, “Your gown is stunning, milady.”

  A shiver at hearing the way he said the words had Lydia wondering if she should have kept the coat. “Thank you, Sir Donald.” She noted his evening clothes, the black satin breeches and tailcoat perfectly tailored, his silver waistcoat embroidered in silver and white silk. The only out-of-place piece of clothing was a bright red woolen scarf. “Your tailor is to be commended. Weston, perhaps?”

  Adonis blinked. “Garth, actually, although I’ve had yet to pay a call on his shop since my return,” he remarked.

  Lydia considered the comment. What had the man been doing for the two months since his return to England?

  Being lost in his thoughts, she remembered.

  “My box is this way,” she indicated as she placed a hand on his proffered arm. They made their way toward the stairs leading to the upper stories, their path slowed by clusters of patrons engaged in conversations. Although she paid witness to Lord and Lady Torrington in the company of Lord and Lady Norwick, she didn’t stop to greet them, and then pretended not to notice a few ladies she had seen at the garden party.

  “Are you ... embarrassed at being seen in my company?” Adonis wondered as they made their way.

  Lydia stiffened and nearly paused mid-step. “Certainly not. Why would you think such a thing?”

  The knight glanced in her direction before replying. “Because everyone who has been in my sister’s company for the past two months has been told I am mad, and I am quite sure it would be in your best interest not to be seen in my company.”

  “And yet you rode in my town coach and escorted me into the theatre,” Lydia countered, one eyebrow arched up.

  Adonis blinked. “True. There are times I forget ...” He stepped around a couple who had stopped so the lady could retrieve one of her slippers. “That I forget I am supposed to act a certain way. In order to meet expectations,” he clarified quickly, giving an arched brow to match the one Lydia had aimed in his direction. They headed down the narrow hall behind the second-story boxes.

  “To which expectations are you referring?” Lydia wondered as they reached the door to her box. Adonis opened it and stepped aside as she entered into a space that could easily seat six or more people. Although she could have moved all the way to front—there would be no one else sharing her box this evening—she elected to take a seat in the second row. The stage was still visible from the vantage, but her action seemed to reinforce what Adonis had implied earlier.

  Taking the seat next to hers, Adonis angled his head. “Those that would have me a candidate for Bedlam,” he answered in a quiet voice.

  Her gaze having swept what she could see of the theatre’s audience, Lydia jerked her attention to his face. “You’re saying you’ve been ... playing at being insane?” she countered in a hoarse whisper. The idea was so ludicrous, she nearly accused him of being mad right then and there.

  “For my sister’s sake, yes,” he acknowledged. “She caught me staring at nothing at all ...”

  “As have I,” Lydia interrupted.

  “And I didn’t immediately respond to her question because I ... I preferred being whe
re I was. When I was,” he corrected himself. He turned in his chair to better face Lydia. “Milady, I know this sounds ... mad, but because she caught me doing it three or four times, she was convinced I was insane, and she began telling everyone who would listen that I was mad. If I were to act ... normal, then those people would think my sister the mad one,” he explained with a wave of his hand.

  Lydia blinked. And blinked again. “That’s the most ridiculous reasoning I’ve ever heard,” she replied.

  “I know,” Adonis acknowledged with a nod. “But what was I to do?”

  A bell sounded and the noise level in the theatre quieted as Lydia considered how to respond. “Does she know you’re not insane? Now, I mean?” she whispered, leaning in his direction so her lips nearly touched his ear.

  Well aware of how close she was, Adonis couldn’t help but notice how she had allowed her shawl to drop from her shoulders, how her décolletage was on display for his eyes only. How her collarbones were highlighted in the dim lighting.

  What was the question?

  An actor appeared on the stage, and applause sounded from below.

  “You’re doing it again,” Lydia accused, turning to stare at him.

  “I assure you, I am not,” he countered. “It’s just ...” He closed his eyes, as if he had to break the spell she had over him. “You’re just so damned bewitching,” he whispered. “I want nothing more than to be in your company. All the time. He warned me, you know,” he added as he turned to face the stage. “He tried to make you out to be some sort of siren. But he was not nearly as stern with his warning as he should have been.”

  Lydia stared at Adonis for several seconds, realizing he spoke of her late husband. Bewitching? Jasper had never accused her of such a thing.

  “I am not a witch,” she whispered with a shake of her head, rather stunned by his words. By their implication.

  Adonis turned to face her, his lips mere inches from hers. “Then how do you explain your effect on me, my lady?”