Seducing the Spy (22 page)

An affair with Wyndham.

What a delightful idea.

Alicia reached out to stroke the liquid light and shadow of the silk. "The scandal of the century…" She raised her gaze to Garrett's and pursed her lips wryly. "So… how are we doing my hair?"

"That's the spirit, lover."

A knock came at the door. Garrett answered while Alicia held the gold gown up to herself and examined her reflection in the mirror. The exquisite shimmer of the fabric made her hair all the brighter and her skin turn to smooth ivory with a blush of rose.

She would look like a princess, but for the outrageously low décolletage. "The princess trollop," she whispered to herself. "Well, it certainly beats the spinster whore."

Garrett returned, an opened note in his hand. "It's an invitation for you to take tea with the Marchioness of Wyndham."

The paper was thick and heavy, dyed a pretty lavender. Alicia tipped it toward her nose to catch the heady scent of jasmine.

"Lady Alicia, I beg of you to do me the great honor of joining me for tea in my room in a quarter of an hour. We have much to discuss."

It was signed "
Lady W
."

Even Garrett seemed impressed, and that wasn't easy to do. "You're moving in high circles today."

"Wyndham's circles," Alicia corrected. "Everyone wants to make sure I'm not going to do him some obscure harm. Seeing as my disgrace is thoroughly contagious, you understand."

Still, she was panting to meet Lady Wyndham. How could such an impulsive, lively woman have produced such a controlled, dark man as Stanton?

Oh, heavens. Wyndham would not be happy about her visiting with the marchioness. If he knew about the invitation he'd issue some ridiculous mandate—like the Lord of Misrule!—and declare that she was not to speak to his mother.

Alicia suddenly remembered rule number three.

Contrition is easier than persuasion.

Precisely a quarter of an hour later, Alicia sat across from Stanton's mother in a grand bedchamber that looked out over the elaborate gardens to the east of the great house.

Lady Wyndham took a sip of tea then set her cup and saucer down with delicate deliberation.

"You claim to be in love with my son."

"Ah." Alicia gazed intently at her hands. "I like him. He's handsome and honorable."

"And rich."

"And rich, of course." Alicia thought about it for a moment. "But those aren't my reasons for liking him."

"And your reasons are?"

"He doesn't lie." Now where had that come from? Still, it was true, wasn't it?

Lady Wyndham was looking at her. "You are perceptive. Most are too involved with their own lies to see that about Wyndham." She tilted her head, her bright blue eyes fixed on Alicia. "Do you lie?"

"Of course." Alicia shrugged. "But I am not as good as Wyndham. I am merely human."

Lady Wyndham sighed. "Aren't we all?" She picked up her tea again. "Wyndham isn't very forgiving of mere humanity."

Alicia leaned forward. "Why? Why is he the way he is? If anyone knows, it must be you."

Lady Wyndham blinked. "Goodness, you are forward, aren't you? You wish the subject changed, so you change it."

Alicia dismissed the accusation with a wave of her hand. "I have no wish to discuss my flaws. It would take far too long, anyway. Besides, I came here to find out about Wyndham."

Lady Wyndham raised a perfect brow. "You came here because I summoned you."

Alicia leaned back in her seat and folded her arms. "Do you truly think I come at anyone's summons? I am far too bloodyminded for that. Ask Wyndham."

Lady Wyndham gazed at her for a long moment, apparently speechless. Then she bestowed a brilliant smile upon Alicia. "My dear, I think you'll do nicely."

Alicia smiled wryly. "Thank you. I feel so much better being your son's mistress now that I have your approval."

Lady Wyndham smiled behind her cup. "Is that your only goal? Mistress?" She took a small sip and murmured something as if to herself. Something that sounded very much like "we'll have to see about that, won't we?"

Alicia had other priorities. "Now that you've established my complete lack of character, tell me about Wyndham or I'll go play somewhere else."

Lady Wyndham gazed at her thoughtfully, then nodded shortly, almost as if she'd come to some agreement with herself. "Wyndham wasn't always so cold. He was a sensitive boy. Beautiful and brilliant, and much too observant. He did not have the oblivious self-absorption which many children have. It might have gone better for him if he had. It was as if he could see inside people, as if he had a special sense for liars."

"He is angry at you," Alicia said quietly. "Or on your behalf. I cannot be sure."

Lady Wyndham blinked. "Oh, dear. I can understand if he is angry with me. I was a very poor mother. I was no more than a girl, an unhappy girl at that, wed and bred too young. And I have ever enjoyed the social whirl—although in those days I suppose I tried to lose myself too much within it." She frowned, delicate brows drawn together in a charming manner that Alicia despaired of ever mastering.

"However, if he is angry on my behalf—well, there would only be one reason for that! I have comforted myself for years that he knew nothing of that particular situation…"

She glanced hesitantly up at Alicia through her lashes. Again, delectable, and somehow not the least inappropriate on a woman her age.

"I suppose it doesn't matter anymore," she said slowly. "I suppose it truly wasn't as great a secret as I thought either."

She straightened and looked Alicia in the eye, apparently having had decided something. "My husband had a mistress, as many men do. Unfortunately, she was situated long before I arrived. Inside of a week after my vows, I was put thoroughly in my place. I was to bear the heir. She was to share my husband's bed before my very nose."

Alicia's eyes widened. "She was in your house?" She hadn't meant to interrupt, for she was fairly sure Lady Wyndham shouldn't be telling her anything so personal—although she was absolutely perishing to know!

But Lady Wyndham only nodded miserably. "In my house. In charge of my house. Choosing my meals, directing my staff, even selecting the nurses and tutors for Stanton, when that time came. She was our housekeeper, you see."

Her tone was so miserable with remembered pain that Alicia reached for her hand without thinking. Lady Wyndham gripped her fingers tightly in her own as she continued.

"All of which was bad enough, to be true, but to make matters worse, she was of a resentful nature despite her privileges. She wanted to be his wife, but his lordship was not a man to throw aside generations of Wyndham tradition to marry someone so far beneath him. He merely wanted it all—the woman of common birth he loved in his bed, the woman of high birth giving him his well-bred Wyndham heir.

"Consequently, she hated me and she hated Stanton more—for he was the reason I was there. Except I wasn't, was I?"

"What do you mean?"

Lady Wyndham sighed. "If I had paid attention, I might have realized that Ilsa hired only those she could control and influence against myself and Stanton. His tutors were sots, his nurses ignorant and unkind. I have no idea what he must have endured in that prison of a house. All I saw was that he grew more silent every day, losing himself in his books, or in long rides about the country. He would be out of the house from dawn to dusk, while the people who were supposed to tend him were drunk or carousing or both."

Alicia swallowed. She knew a little something about living in a place that felt like an iron cage. She would have given much for a boy's freedom to ride away—although she escaped often enough to run wild through the very wood she'd traversed this morning.

"As I said, I make no excuses. I am entirely at fault. I was much too lost in my own unhappiness. I had affairs of my own in retaliation, the more public the better. I thought Wyndham far too young and too isolated to have any idea. But Ilsa—Ilsa made sure that my lonely little son heard every story, read every word in the gossip sheets." She closed her eyes. "My husband never noticed, nor cared about my behavior. If only I had known who I was truly hurting." A barely perceptible tremor went through her.

"You must realize what you did to them."

Alicia sat back in her chair, deep dismay coursing through her. Was she any different than the marchioness?

Not in Wyndham's eyes, it was obvious. If she had known of his history… but would that have stopped her need for her petty vengeance?

Vengeance, or validation
? Had she actually wanted to hurt her family? Hadn't she truly been crying out for them to
see
her?

Just like the marchioness. Alicia covered the woman's hand with her own. "I understand."

The marchioness opened her eyes. "I know you do, my dear. Unfortunately, that is the very reason Wyndham might rebuff you in the end." Then she brightened. "On the other hand, he has not let your history diminish his passion for you so far. It might be that you have finally healed those old wounds!"

Sorrow laced through Alicia. It wasn't true… and likely never would be. She had a mighty mountain to climb in overcoming Wyndham's pain—even if she were brave enough to try.

Then again, she wasn't after his heart. A week of passion to take with her into her uncertain future, a chance to experience the very thing she was reputed to be guilty of, an opportunity to possibly make all she'd been through worth the losses and the regrets.

A moment with a man like Wyndham would be more than most women had in their lifetimes.

She wished she could be as open as the marchioness was being, but she dared not expose Wyndham's plan, even to his mother. The Sirens' warnings went through her mind. No, she wouldn't risk it.

"I cannot reassure you of Wyndham's attachment, I fear," she told the marchioness. "Yet, if all goes well tonight," she said, "that might change."

The marchioness smiled. "You are a woman of increasing potential, Lady Alicia." She leaned forward and gave Alicia a wily, mischievous smile. "Have you grand plans?"

Alicia smiled back. "Why do when you can overdo?"

The marchioness's eyes went to sly slits. "Precisely. Have no mercy."

Interested eyes watched from a copse of evergreens while four fine horses thundered past, their gentleman riders upright and laughing with the speed.

Wyndham wasn't alone anymore. Perhaps he ought to have killed him earlier when the fellow wandered the woods looking for his wayward lady. Oh, well. He'd always had a weakness for the appeal of watching one's enemy in pain.

The three gentlemen in question, however…

Four of them.

It was them. A jolt of hot excitement shot up his spine, making his hands twitch in eagerness.

Four men. Four clever, loyal men… just like the legendary Quatre Royale. He felt a fierce grin stretch the ragged scars on his face, breaking the frail new skin. He ignored the hot trickles of blood and pus that ran rivulets through the furrows of his cheeks.

The Royal Four.

At last.

Greenleigh, who had escaped the clutches of the man who had suborned his father.

Reardon, who had turned on his own mentor.

Dryden, who had married that seething bitch Julia. The watcher cackled. "Sonny!"

Once upon a time, the sound of his own shattered laugh would have alarmed him, but no more.

"I'm not the man I used to be," he told the four men in the distance, his tone madly conversational. "Not as subtle, not as surgical, perhaps. Yet, there can be beauty in large gestures as well."

His vision blurred for a moment, but he scarcely noticed. The infection that had settled into the bones of his face kept his fever high and his mind euphoric. He would surprise that puny despot, Napoleon. He would return with four handsome heads in a bag along with his other prize and Bonaparte would be forced to return his lands and titles to him forthwith.

Simple, ham-handed, and crude. Oh, well. Perhaps he could derive some enjoyment from torturing the bastards in the meantime. Or their ladies…

To avoid the intimacy of disrobing in the same room with Lady Alicia, Stanton dressed early for Masque that evening. Herbert swiftly and efficiently turned him out impeccably, after which Stanton went to dawdle precious hours away on the terrace, spinning his severe black mask in his fingers.

The limitations of the house party reminded him of why he avoided such events. Here he was, only days left to prevent the kidnapping of the Prince Regent, and he was cooling his heels, waiting for a lady to curl her hair and attach her garters and—

No. Don't think about garters, because garters lead to stockings lead to knees lead to sweet, silken thighs lead to—

He barely refrained from physically smacking himself on the skull, substituting instead a quick biting of his tongue. The sharp pain helped focus his thoughts. God, she was insidious, twining into his brain when he needed to be thinking of much more important things.

Who was the conspirator? It could be Cross himself, though the man was a loud and generous supporter of George's regency and the British war effort.

A lord
. That ruled out half of the present guests. They were mostly Court hangers-on, kept about for entertainment value. No one took them terribly seriously, least of all George himself. Other than helping George choose his wine, none of them could be considered to have any sort of real power.

It must be someone who had not yet arrived. Better if this unidentified suspect never arrived at all, although Stanton was itching to know who it was that dared such an impossible crime.

At any rate, the conspirator would definitely be in place soon. The separation of the ladies and gentlemen all day was not helping Lady Alicia's efforts to identify the voice of the mystery lord among those present.

On the other hand, she seems to have no trouble getting their attention.

Stanton found himself with a strong desire to spit. That lot of fools were too easily influenced by a bright smile and a delectable pair of—