Sebastian's Lady Spy (11 page)

He'd never been removed from a case. Then again, he'd never slept with another operative, either. He was walking in uncharted territory, on a thin line between right and wrong, and if he wasn't careful, he could find himself out on his arse and his illustrious career in tatters.

Gabrielle waited in the shadows until one of the kitchen maids opened the back door, looked around furtively, then ran toward the mews, where she was greeted by a very exuberant stable boy. The maid's lust had won out over good sense, and she'd left the back door wide open, which was lucky for Gabrielle, because Sebastian's home was locked up tight. She hoped the maid wouldn't get in too much trouble.

She'd never been inside Sebastian's home and was curious to see what it was like. It was late, dinner long over, and the house was quiet. She took a set of back stairs through the kitchen, listening intently as she went. If Sebastian's servants were anything like hers, they would take action first and ask questions later. However, she had a feeling that this house was run more like a noble's home should be run. At least she hoped he did not have the equivalent of a Riggs wandering about.

The sound of servants' laughter came drifting down to her, but she continued on her way and opened a door that led into the dining room.

She hadn't heard one word from Sebastian after he'd left her at the breakfast table and said he would return as soon as he could. She'd waited all day, and as each hour progressed, her hopes sank along with her heart. When he'd left her in Venice, at least he'd had the courage to tell her goodbye. This time he'd turned coward and not said a word.

By the time Atwater contacted her, she was past anger and into weary acceptance. She'd told Sebastian twice that they were not suited and that nothing could come of their affair. He'd taken her words to heart, and she couldn't be angry at him for that. It hurt like the devil, but she would survive. She always did.

The pain of betrayal and loss would lessen, although she knew her heart would never be the same. Sebastian was the one for her, but circumstances would not allow them to be together. She would have to content herself with the memories of their time together.

And of course they could never work together again. She selfishly hoped that he would retire. He had an earldom to run, a brother and sister to go home to, and eventually he would marry and carry on the title. He couldn't be an operative forever. Whereas she had no one. Her work was her life, her fulfillment, and what kept the loneliness at bay. She prayed that he would allow her to keep that, at least.

She'd been contemplating what to do next. Should she tell Atwater she was finished and walk away from the mission?

But Atwater had contacted her first. He was worried. Sebastian had not checked in when he'd said he would, and repeated visits to his home had proved fruitless. Either he wasn't accepting callers or his staff truly did not know where he was. An agent simply did not turn away a messenger from Atwater, no matter what was happening in his life.

So Gabrielle put aside her thoughts of cutting all ties with him and called upon him. She'd been told by his butler that his lordship was not available. As if that would stop her.

She returned home, donned her dark breeches and shirt, and waited until the sun was long gone to sneak inside. Now she needed not to get caught.

She opened a door and peeked in a darkened room. The music room. No Sebastian. No Sebastian in the library, the drawing room, or the ballroom—she didn't expect to see him in the ballroom, but she was thorough and had to check behind each closed door.

Damn, but he was making this difficult. If she skulked around much longer, she was sure to get caught. Quickly, lightly, she made her way up the front stairs, praying she wouldn't run into the butler making his last rounds.

Gabrielle checked what seemed like ten rooms before she found Sebastian nestled in the shadows in a chair in front of the fire. She shut the door quietly behind her and leaned against it. His bare feet were propped on a stool, his hand dangling over the edge of the armrest, holding a glass of amber liquid. His head was tilted back, his neck bereft of a cravat, his shirt untucked and opened halfway down his powerfully muscled chest.

The relief at finding him alive was surprising. Her knees quaked with it, and she only now realized how worried she was for his safety. The implications of that were disturbing. She was far too emotionally invested in him.

“I told you I wanted to be left alone,” he said without opening his eyes. Gabrielle moved into the room and stopped in front of him, her hands on her hips. He cracked an eye open. “Oh. It's you.”

She pushed his feet off the stool and sat down. “Atwater's worried. You haven't checked in.”

He closed his eyes. She waited for a response, but he didn't seem inclined to give one. She nudged his foot with her boot, and that bloodshot eye popped open again. “Atwater has information for you,” she said.

He sighed and gulped down the last of the amber liquid from his glass.

“You're drunk.”

“Very observant.”

In the short amount of time she'd known him, Gabrielle had seen a myriad of emotions in him—ecstasy, lust, contentment, indifference (that had hurt the most), and anger. But she had never seen him defeated.

“What happened?” she asked softly.

“Nothing happened.”

“You may be able to lie to most people and get away with it, but not me.”

He frowned and put the glass down on the floor beside the chair. “I've never had a lady call me a liar.”

“I'm barely a lady. Now tell me what is bothering you.”

He shrugged, his empty eyes sliding away from hers. “Can't a man take a few days off?”

“Not when there's a traitor to catch.”

He looked at her sharply. “Have you had any more incidents with Wilcott?”

“Sadly, no. He's been rather quiet these days.”

“And the arm?”

“Healing nicely.”

“Lovely.” He dropped his head back and closed his eyes.

Gabrielle kicked him in the shin.

His head jerked up. “Ouch! Damn it!”

“Wake up.”

“I'm awake.”

“Maybe you didn't hear me before, but Atwater wants to see us.”

“Atwater can go to hell.”

Gabrielle studied him. He was disheveled, drunk, half dressed, and completely, totally irresistible. Even in the state he was in, she wanted him. Her traitorous body refused to forget what he could do to her. Like an opiate, she craved more and would not be satisfied until she got more. And that was an even stronger reason to stay away from him. She could not let her body rule her mind and could not give in to the obsession of Sebastian Addison. Not if she wanted to keep her sanity.

“This isn't like you, Sebastian. Atwater and the Office always come first for you. You've never shirked your duties.”

“And how do you know all of this? From the few nights we spent together? You're a good operative, but not that good.”

She tilted her head and refused to let his words hurt her. Something had happened to cause such a drastic change in him. “Pushing me away won't make me go away.”

“You're being a bother.”

“One of my best traits, I assure you.”

“Go away.”

She looked at him with all the pity she had in her, knowing it would irk him to no end. “Oh, Sebastian. I'm afraid you will have to do far better than that if you want me to go away.”

“What will it take?”

She pretended to think about it. “Bodily removing me from the premises, but first you would have to catch me.”

His gaze sharpened with the first hint of interest that she'd seen since the night Wilcott had shot her. “You don't think I could catch you?”

“I would like to see you try. You have yet to see how fast I can run, and I'm wearing breeches tonight.” She plucked at her black breeches.

Sebastian's gaze dropped to her legs and slowly wandered over her, making her tingle in all the places his gaze touched. She forced herself to sit still and not climb in his lap and kiss him until they were both breathless, as she wanted to. She'd done that once, and it had been the most erotic, exciting moment of her life. Just thinking of it now caused her body to tighten and the place between her legs to moisten.

Her gaze went to the straining swell in his breeches. Was he thinking of that same night? Their gazes locked, and she saw the memory in those blue depths and the burning awareness as well.

He grabbed his glass, noticed it was empty, and stared into it. “Do you ever wonder if it's worth it, Gabby?”

“No.” She experienced a thrill at hearing him call her Gabby. No one ever called her that except Sebastian.

“Never? You never stop and think whether all of this, everything we do, is worth it? We finish one case, and there's another to take its place. It's a never-ending tide of people out to destroy England.”

“What if we weren't here? What then? We are the protectors. We stand between the people of England and evil.”

“Why?”

“Because we care.”

“Do you? Do you really care? Or do you do it because you were told you had to?”

“I do it because I'm good at it.”

“They trained you to be good at it. You had no choice.”

“You don't think I had a choice? I could have stayed on the streets and scratched out a living picking pockets. Hell, I would have graduated to stealing jewelry and artwork. I let the Office think they'd captured me, but in truth I wanted what they were offering.”

“You were twelve. How the hell can you have known what you wanted?”

“I knew what I didn't want. I didn't want to live another winter on the streets. I didn't want to worry about where my next meal came from or if my throat would be cut in my sleep while I huddled in a doorway shivering in the cold. I didn't want to sell my body in order to feed myself. The Office was very explicit about what was expected of me. They told me exactly what I would be doing, and I accepted it, just like I accept it now.”

“Don't you ever wish your life had been different?”

“Of course I do. I wish I'd been born an aristocrat, but that didn't happen. I wish I could someday have a family and maybe even kids, but I gave all of that up when I became an agent.”

“For England?” He sounded skeptical.

“For England and for myself. I'm a survivor, Sebastian. I do what I have to in order to survive, but I was lucky enough to find something I am good at and that I love, which will allow me to survive.”

“You gave up everything.”

She raised her eyebrow. “Life on the street? Almost certain prostitution? Hunger? I gave up very little.”

“A husband. A family. Love.”

Love? The last word threw her off. She had not thought of love in a long, long while. Truth be told, she hadn't known what love was before the three days in Venice. “Love is the thing of fairy tales. I've never even seen love to know what it is.”

“Never?”

“Never,” she lied.

“Do you regret it? Giving up your ability of free choice?”

“What honorable man would want me? My mother was the lowest of whores, and who the hell knows who my father was. I lived on the streets and did things no honest person would want to contemplate. I'm independent, outspoken, and deadly. No one wants that in a wife.”

He sat forward and squeezed her hand, his bloodshot eyes flashing anger. “Don't ever say that. Do you hear me? You are good enough. Too good for a lot of people.” He sat back, his anger seemingly spent, and sighed deeply. “Atwater told me about Cutthroat John.”

Gabrielle felt the blood drain from her face. That name never failed to make her blood run cold and bring with it nightmares she'd buried deep. “He was a good incentive to get out of Seven Dials.” The bastard had sold her to someone.
Sold her.
As if she were nothing but cattle. He'd been so determined to get her and so convinced he
would
get her that he'd taken the man's money before he had her. Bastard. There had been many a night, even years later, when she'd dreamed of sneaking into his highly protected lair to cut his throat. A fitting end to someone named Cutthroat. It was only in later years that she understood her ultimate vengeance had been in escaping and succeeding in life. She'd heard through her contacts in Seven Dials that he'd been beyond furious at her escape and desperate to get her back, using any means necessary short of killing her. Delivering a dead courtesan to the buyer was not good business.

Sebastian tugged on her hand, pulling her out of her thoughts. “Come here.”

“I'm here.”

He shook his head. “Closer. Come closer.”

She stood and straddled his legs to sit on his lap. Beneath the V of her legs, his erection prodded her, teasing her and making her wet.

Sebastian ran his hands up the outside of her thighs. “You undo me, Gabby.”

She leaned her forehead against his and just breathed him in, letting her emotions loose. It was painful, far more painful than it should have been, but it was also freeing. She closed her eyes and sat there.

“I don't know what to do with you,” he whispered. “You're like a fever in my blood. All I can think about is you. I should be tracking down the person who blackmailed Wilcott, but I can't.”

She put her hands on his cheeks and lifted his head. “If it helps, I feel the same. I was so angry at you for not coming back to me when you said you would.”

He shook his head and her hands dropped. “I had to leave. If I stayed, I feared I would lose myself in you.”

“And that's so bad?”

His lips twitched, but he did not smile. “Yes. And no. I would like nothing better than to make love to you all day and night, but there are others who rely on me.” He paused. “My feelings for you frighten me.”

She shouldn't feel such joy at his words, she knew. His tone was desolate, as if he truly were lost.

“I just want to protect you. To lock you up and keep you safe, and I know I can't do that,” he said.

“You have to let me fight my own battles. It's what the crown pays me to do, and it's what I'm good at.”