Sebastian's Lady Spy (10 page)

When Gabrielle awoke, Sebastian was gone.

She lay on her back, looking up at the ceiling, fighting the disappointment. What had she expected? That he would stay? He'd left her every other time they were together, whether it was in the middle of a ball or in bed in Venice. That's what he did, and she shouldn't be surprised.

Her arm burned where Wilcott's pistol ball had cut it open. It was hot and swollen, and she concentrated on that pain instead of the pain inside.

So what was to become of their mission? Was she to work alone, or would Atwater take her off, as she had asked him the other night?

She supposed she would be taken off.

She closed her eyes, but not before the tears welled up and spilled out. She was being ridiculous, feeling this much grief over Sebastian's absence. After all, she'd told him that nothing could come of their affair.

She rolled to her good side and buried her head in the pillow to vigorously wipe the tears from her eyes and take control of her wayward and unwanted emotions. She needed to decide where to go from here. Back to Venice? That was her home and the one place where she felt truly safe and secure, but it held too many memories of Sebastian.

She could go anywhere she wished. Anywhere in the world. She had the funds and could demand some time off.

Eliza entered and opened the curtains, humming a tune that made Gabrielle's head pound. She wanted to tell the girl to go away so she could pull the covers over her head and hide from the world. Surely she deserved to hide for one day.

But that wasn't who she was. In all her years she'd never pulled the covers over her head to hide. She'd faced her problems and pushed her way through life. Today would be no different.

She tossed the bedclothes off and left the bed to get ready for whatever the day would bring. Even though her arm burned like the devil and her body ached from her encounter with Wilcott and making love to Sebastian, she would do what needed to be done because there was no one else in her life to do it.

Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself, Gabrielle. You're such a twit.

Sensing her mistress's mood, Eliza was surprisingly silent as she helped Gabrielle dress. Gabrielle hissed in a breath at the pain when she pulled her gown up over her arm. Damn, but she was angry at herself for allowing Wilcott to dupe her in such a way. She'd had no inkling that she was walking into danger when they entered the maze. Usually her senses were much better tuned.

The house was quiet as she made her way down to the dining room. Despite her injuries and the revelations from the night before, she found that she was very hungry and couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten. They'd missed dinner at the ball.

She entered the dining room and stopped short.

Sebastian was sitting at the table, reading
her
newspaper, as if he belonged there. She had to blink a few times to make sure she was seeing things right.

“I didn't expect you to be here,” she said as she forced her legs to move toward the table and sit down.

His brows knitted over the top of the paper. “Why ever not?”

She shrugged and looked away, unwilling to let him see how disappointed she was that he had not been there when she awoke.

He folded the paper and put it beside his plate. “Damn Americans. Mark my word, but they will want to break away from England and become their own entity someday.” He shook his head in disbelief and disgust and sipped his tea. “How is your arm?”

“Tender, but I will survive.”

“I imagine you are accustomed to surviving all manner of things.” He cut off a piece of ham and chewed it thoughtfully while watching her.

To avoid looking at him, she put her napkin in her lap and took a sip of tea that a footman placed before her. She motioned for the footman to leave so that she and Sebastian could converse in private.

“Does it concern you? My survival both past and present?” she asked.

He put down his eating utensils and looked at her with what she could only surmise was confusion and surprise. “Yes. Your survival—both past and present—does concern me. I…care about you, Gabrielle.”

She could tell that his admission disconcerted him. He didn't know what to do with this “care” that he felt for her, and even though the word was far less than she had wanted to hear, it warmed her heart to know he felt something other than disdain for her. “Thank you, Sebastian.”

“For what?” He looked genuinely perplexed.

“For caring.”

He shook his head and speared another piece of ham.

She knew she should keep her mouth shut, but she felt compelled to be honest with him. “You do understand that, because of my past, nothing can happen between us.”

He pierced her with a smoldering look. “Quite a bit has happened between us.”

Her face heated in a blush. She hadn't blushed in years. Usually nothing flustered her, but Sebastian's seductive tone undid her. “That's not what I meant, and you know it.”

He reached across the table and placed his hand on hers. “If and when the time comes, we will discuss it.”

She frowned and wanted to argue, but Sebastian's determined expression had her biting her tongue.

“I called upon Wilcott,” he said, pulling his hand away to cut off another piece of ham.

Her head jerked up. Was that where he had been, then? “And?”

“And he's terrified. Someone has visited him twice in regard to you. The last time to tell him to bring you to a warehouse on the dock. I went there, but it was empty and no one was about. I spent most of the morning watching, but no one came or went.”

“So someone used Wilcott to kidnap me. How strange.”

“The man is terrified. Said he would be ruined one way or the other. I have no idea what that means, but the blackmailer's choice of weapon has been effective.”

Gabrielle knew what it meant. Someone had discovered Wilcott's secret and was using it against him. “He has a lover,” she said. She had told Wilcott she would not divulge his secret, but these were extraordinary circumstances, and Sebastian had a right to know.

“A lover? Lots of people have lovers. It's nothing worth blackmailing someone over.”

“Wilcott is in love with a bookshop owner over on Oxford Street. A man named Charles.”

Sebastian paused in the act of taking another bite of ham. “Ah. Well, then. That explains much.”

“Why would someone want
me
? Do you think the person we are seeking has become aware of our mission?”

“That's what I'm beginning to believe. I have a description from Wilcott of the man who threatened him. Tall, reddish hair, green eyes. Does that sound familiar?”

“Yes. It sounds like the description we have of Grant McFadden.”

“My thought as well.” Sebastian put his napkin beside his plate and stood. “I have a meeting with Atwater within the hour.”

“About our case?”

“Nothing serious and nothing you need to be present for. You should rest today. Let that arm heal.”

She pressed her lips together. She thought they'd reached some sort of agreement concerning their partnership days ago, but apparently she'd been wrong. No wonder he hated working with a partner. Partners tended to get in the way when they wanted to be kept informed. “Nevertheless, I feel I should be there. This is my case as well.”

“No, Gabrielle. Stay here. All I'm doing is updating Atwater. I'll tell him about Wilcott and have him assign a Scottish operative to find what he can on the warehouse you were supposed to be taken to.”

“I have your word that is all you will do?”

“Of course.” He seemed taken aback that she'd even asked.

“Very well, then. What is our next step? Are we attending the theater tonight?”

He shook his head. “I was serious when I said I wanted you to rest. Let's take a night off. I will return as soon as possible.”

The conversation didn't sit well with her, and she realized it was because she didn't trust Sebastian. Not when it came to this case. He was up to something, but damn if she knew what.

Sebastian entered Atwater's home and followed the butler to the office. His anger was tightly controlled, his emotions in check. While watching that damn warehouse, he'd had a lot of time to think, and his thoughts had centered around Gabrielle.

She claimed she was happy with her life, but he wondered. The Office had made her into something different. Had taken the little girl she'd been and turned her into a lethal weapon. Yes, he understood that her life had been miserable and that she'd been doomed to a future of hunger and poverty or, worse, prostitution and an early death. That was why he didn't understand his thoughts. He knew he shouldn't worry about what had happened to Gabrielle fifteen years ago. He should worry about what was happening to Gabrielle now. And he was. But he couldn't get that little girl out of his head.

Atwater looked up from his papers and smiled. “Good afternoon, Claybrook.”

Sebastian strode closer, placed his fists on the desk, and leaned over. “She was twelve years old, damn it.
Twelve.
”

Atwater carefully put down his pen and sat back to contemplate Sebastian with a narrow-eyed stare. “And?”

Sebastian pushed away from the desk to pace across the room because he was afraid that he would unleash all of his anger on Atwater, and that would not be good. He spun around. “What right do you have to pluck a twelve-year-old off the street and press her into service?”

“First of all, it wasn't me.”

Sebastian sliced the air with his hand. “Makes no difference.”

“Second of all, you are aware she came from Seven Dials?”

“Yes.”

“She was alone, living on the street, picking pockets, and desperately attempting to avoid the flesh peddlers. We found her and gave her a better life.”

“By forcing her to sleep with suspects to get information?” Sebastian barely contained his need to bellow the words. Even so, they came out louder than he intended. When he thought of the danger she and the Office had put her in, he knew a rage he'd never experienced. “She slept with enemies of the state,” he practically yelled. “Men who wouldn't think twice about slicing open her throat in the middle of the night if they even
suspected
who she was.”

“We never force any of our operatives to sleep with a suspect to gain information,” Atwater said. “However, if the operative feels that is necessary and the efforts are…rewarded with information the crown can use, then…” Atwater shrugged, and Sebastian fought to keep his fist from smashing into the man's nose.

“She was never given a chance to be a child.”

“If she was never given a chance to be a child, that wasn't our doing. When we found her, she was fighting to stay alive, and we gave her that chance.”

“She was a
child.
She had no one to watch out for her, no one to protect her, and you took advantage of that.” Sebastian paused, suddenly understanding the source of his anger. He pictured a younger version of Gabrielle, all alone, fighting for survival with no one to turn to. And the big, bad Office swooping in, promising her food, a home, pretty gowns, and coins to buy what she wanted. They had taken advantage of her desperate straits.

“Trust me when I say that even then Gabrielle could take care of herself,” Atwater said. “Have you heard of a gentleman—and I use that term loosely—named John Cuthbert?”

“Cutthroat John? Of course I have. He runs Seven Dials as his own empire.” The man was a force to be reckoned with and someone you wanted on your side. Unfortunately, the only side Cutthroat John took was his own. If you wanted information, you paid him. If you wanted protection, you paid him. If you wanted someone dead, you paid him well.

“Then you also know that Cutthroat John is a flesh peddler.”

Sebastian didn't like the direction the conversation was taking. “Yes.”

“For six months Gabrielle avoided Cutthroat's men. He had plans to make her into a high-paid courtesan whom noblemen would fight to have. Look at her, Claybrook. She's beautiful. Now imagine how she looked at twelve, fifteen, eighteen. She would have been the toast of the demimonde, and Cutthroat wanted a piece of that. He'd already found a buyer for her, and she knew it. Time was running out for her.”

Sebastian's gut tightened, even though Gabrielle had told him much the same. She just hadn't gone into as much detail.

Atwater steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them, contemplating Sebastian for the longest time. “Gabrielle came to me a few days ago and asked to be removed from the case.”

What the hell?

“She told me of your…affair.”

Sebastian cursed silently. What in the hell had Gabrielle been thinking? Did Atwater already know what had transpired last night? Had Gabrielle run to him with that bit of information as well? He felt betrayed and was angry at himself for being so weak as to succumb to his damnable lust last night. The loss of control unnerved him, and he was feeling even more out of control now.

Atwater picked up his quill and turned it over and over. “I told her I wouldn't remove her from the case, but I'm second-guessing that decision. She's a damn good operative. Better than some of the men we have.” He contemplated Sebastian. “Maybe it's you I should remove from the case. You're too invested. You need to step back and take a breath. Gabrielle can handle whatever comes her way.”

Sebastian opened his mouth to argue, then snapped it closed. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Atwater was right. Sebastian was in too deep with Gabrielle. He was far too emotional when it came to her. That was the very reason he'd left her in Venice and never contacted her again. And the very reason he'd been so adamant that he did not want to work with her this time.