Seduced by a Spy (Mrs. Merlin’s Academy for Extraordinary Young Ladies #2)

Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

T he hired coach kicked up a cloud of dust as it jolted through the winding turn. Orlov flexed his raw hands, and shifted his grip on the reins. Though bone weary and bleary-eyed, he and Shannon had decided it was best to move the dowager and the children away from the area as quickly as possible. It did not appear that D’Etienne had any accomplices, but they were not about to take chances. Not after all they had been through.

The previous night had gone by in a blur after the arrival of the local magistrate and a troop of the local farmers. The fires had been put out, the family shepherded to the shelter of the village rectory and an explanation made of the events. Not the exact truth, of course, but a story that seemed to satisfy the authorities. Angus McAllister’s experiments with gunpowder were well-known in the area.

In deciding what to do about the London party, the dowager had agreed with the suggestion to avoid any public scandal. No doubt some of them deserved further punishment, mused Orlov. But perhaps seeing their own selfish faults so clearly would have some effect. De Villiers—the only one of the group who had nothing to be ashamed of—had offered to see to the arrangements for the long journey home.

As for their own travels, the mood had been strangely subdued since setting out from the village. Despite their triumph, he hadn’t felt much like talking and Shannon seemed lost in her own thoughts.

Was she finding the fruits of victory as bittersweet as he was? Soon he would be back to his old haunts, his old life—wine, women, waltzing until dawn. The prospect left a stale taste in his mouth.

“Another hour should bring us to Dornoch.” Rousing from her reveries, Shannon shaded her eyes to the scudding sun. “We can shelter at the White Gyrfalcon while we decide on how to proceed.”

“The damage to McAllister’s eyrie will take months to repair, so return to the family estate is not an option.” Orlov glanced back at the creaking cab, where Lady Octavia and the children sat swaddled in layers of sheepskins and tartans. “And in any case, I am of the opinion that they shouldn’t remain in Scotland. Lynsley ought to consider reuniting them with McAllister, wherever the military has him sequestered. Napoleon does not suffer defeat gladly.”

But that was not his problem, he reminded himself as he guided the team of horses around a tumble of rocks. He had done his job. It was time to move on.

No matter that the road ahead looked suddenly bleak, the granite and gorse leached of all color by the harsh wash of sunlight .

Shannon’s squint suddenly deepened. “There are two riders coming our way at a fast gallop.”

Orlov felt her stiffen and reach for her pistol. He drew the horses to a halt. “You go guard the dowager while I handle things from here.”

She started down, then stopped for another look. “Gypsies, judging by their brightly colored wraps and flowered headscarves. They won’t usually attempt an attack on a coach of this size.”

“Anyone may tie a garish rag around his head.” He checked the priming of his own weapon, then covered it with his coat. “Besides, I traveled for a time with a tribe in Westphalia. Those two do not ride like Romany.”

“True.” She swung out from the footrail for a better vantage point.

“Let us not fight over the honor of standing in the line of fire.” But before Orlov could say more, Shannon broke into a smile and shot her hand up to wave a quick signal.

“No bullets will be flying. It’s one of my fellow Merlins.”

“What the devil?—”

“Greetings, Fifi,” said Shannon as the lead rider brought her lathered stallion alongside the coach. “What brings you so far from the nest?”

“Things were far too quiet without you setting off sparks.” From beneath the wild tangle of raven curls flashed a pair of thick-lashed emerald eyes. Orlov saw them quickly slant his way.

“So you decided to gallop off into the fire?” Shannon assumed an air of nonchalance, but he didn’t miss the note of underlying tension in her voice.

Damn Lynsley. He knew what she was thinking. And while the marquess could not be faulted for taking precautions, at that moment Orlov itched to punch him senseless for doubting her.

“We thought you might need a hand,” said Sofia.

Her friend’s gaze shifted slightly, allowing Orlov a quick study of her face. This was the third member of Merlin’s Marauders he had met, and if anything, the rumors of their striking beauty had been underexaggerated.

Catching Sofia’s questioning look, Shannon replied, “As you see, I’m not alone. Allow me to introduce Alexandr?—”

“Orlov.” The flowing folds and riotous colors of the exotic garb half obscured the fine-boned features, but he saw her sultry mouth thin to a hard line. “The rascal who nearly bungled Siena’s mission. And then nearly broke your arm. Mrs. Merlin has also filled us in on a few more of his recent exploits.”

“This is my roommate, Sofia,” murmured Shannon. In a louder voice she added, “Let bygones be bygones, Fifi. Mr. Orlov is now an ally.”

Sofia raised a brow. “The Emperor’s Eastern campaign has certainly made for strange bedfellows.”

Shannon colored slightly, but was saved from having to answer by the approach of the second rider, who had come on at a more leisurely pace.

“ Ciao, bella !” He blew a kiss to Shannon, then cocked a jaunty salute to Orlov. “ Ciao , Allessandro.”

Shannon blinked in surprise. “You two know each other?”

“Oh, si, si ,” answered Sofia’s companion. Like her, he was layered in bold colors and his leather bandoleers were bristling with brass ornaments. “Sandro and I are old friends. We met several years ago in a house of . . . lovely ladies. The loveliest in all of Milano, eh, amico .”

It took a moment for Orlov to recognize the fellow as Marco Moretti—a rogue whose exploits with women made him look like a choirboy. His eyes narrowed. Little wonder he had needed a second look. He had rarely seen Il Serpente with all his clothes on.

“I seem to recall there were twin sisters who had taken a fancy to you that night,” continued the Italian. “Sicilians, dark as sin, with sweet, ripe melones” As Marco was speaking with his hands, translation was unnecessary. “Who were only too happy to share their fruits?—”

Orlov cut him off with a sharp cough. “Any chance you might have brought along some bread and water? It’s been a dry and dusty journey down from the moors.”

Sofia gave Marco a shove, setting off a tinkling of bells. “The provisions are packed in your saddlebags. Have a look, and quickly, while I explain our presence.” She flashed a wry smile. “We are here under official orders, in case you were wondering.”

“Of course—I’m the only one hot-tempered enough to break the rules.” Shannon managed a short laugh, but there was uncertainty in her eyes. “So, Lord Lynsley did not think I was capable of getting the job done?”

Her friend’s expression turned serious. “Mrs. Merlin assured me this is no reflection on you, Nonnie. Rather it is a mark of how much the marquess wants to be sure that D’Etienne will no longer threaten England or her allies.”

“He won’t.”

“Shannon saw to that,” said Orlov. “See to it that she gets the credit she deserves.”

She shook her head. “No—it was a joint effort. ”

Orlov started to speak, but Shannon quickly changed the subject. “I take it Lord Lynsley planned a contingency for getting the family out of Scotland. He never leaves anything to chance.”

“Of course.” Sofia straightened in the saddle. “In the event of an emergency, Marco and I were to escort the McAllister family to the fishing village of Tain. The naval cutter that brought us here is anchored there, waiting to whisk them to the North Sea Squadron base at Middlesbrough.” Sofia’s brow quirked in question. “But seeing as you are in command of the situation . . .”

“The enemy is no longer a threat, but the castle has been reduced to smoldering cinders,” said Shannon. “It seems the logical choice to follow Lord Lynsley’s plan.”

Orlov could not argue. Her reasoning made perfect sense . So why was he feeling so perfectly miserable? It was not merely the thought of rough seas that had his stomach churning.

But a thump from inside the carriage reminded him that he had more important considerations than the stormy state of his emotions. “All is well, Lady Octavia. These are friends, not foes,” he called. “We will soon be on our way.”

“Yes, we had better not linger. The tide will soon be turning,” said Sofia. “Take the unmarked turn ahead. It’s a shortcut down to the south shore of Dornach Firth. Then follow the right fork to Tain. We will ride on ahead and inform the captain that he should make ready to weigh anchor.”

Marco finished rummaging in his saddlebags and tossed over a small sack. “Sorry, no sweet melones , Alessandro. Only cider and cheese.” His grin was nearly as brassy as the thick chains looped around his neck. “ Arrividerci for now, bellas .”

Had he been a bit closer, Orlov would have been sorely tempted to throttle him on the spot.

Seeming to sense he was treading on dangerous ground, the Italian gave a flick of the reins and danced his stallion back a few steps. “I’ve a bottle of prosecca in my sea bag. I shall look forward to sharing a laugh or two during the voyage, while we reminisce over our misspent youth.”

“How did your friend come to be working with a snake like Il Serpente ?” he muttered as the man gave a last little flourish of his bejeweled hand and galloped off.

“Marco?” Shannon watched the riders for a moment longer before turning his way. “He is one of the instructors at the Academy.”

Orlov grimaced.” I shudder to ask what he teaches.”

“He’s very skilled with a sword,” she answered with straight face. “And spurs.”

Orlov knew he was meant to laugh, but somehow sound stuck in his throat. Given the Italian’s lust for lovely women, it seemed likely that he had given Shannon a private tutorial in anatomy, She had, after all, mentioned that her classes included the art of seduction.

“If he keeps on acting like an insufferable prick, he will be fishing his cods out of the North Sea.”

“That would be a pity—his gioielle di famiglia are quite a treasure.”

The carriage gave a sudden lurch. Swearing, he loosened his grip on the reins. “You mean to say you have seen him naked?

“Of course.” A pause. “In art class. Marco sometimes served as a model for our drawing lessons.” Shannon shot him a quizzical glance. “Is something wrong? Your usual sense of humor seems to have deserted you.”

He didn’t answer, fearing his attempt at a sardonic drawl would come out as a sulky snarl.

She waited a moment before going on. “You must know that his braggadocio is greatly exaggerated. At heart, Marco is a good friend, unwavering in his courage and loyalty.”

“Then no doubt the two of you will enjoy the chance to spend so much time in each other’s company.”

Shannon looked about to speak again, then fixed her gaze straight ahead and maintained a stony silence.

Damn. In contrast to the Italian’s bright colors, he felt cloaked in unrelenting black. It seemed his Russian penchant for melancholy brooding had returned. With a vengeance. Strange, but over the last few weeks Shannon had made him forget his many faults, his many failures. And where in the past, he had often felt aimless, she had helped him rediscover a sense of purpose.

Now, he was about to be back on his own.

His mood was even darker after another hour of contemplating the coming days. “I am damn sick of sea voyages,” muttered Orlov to himself as the horses rounded the last turn into Tain. Adding an oath in Russian, he stared out at the small harbor tucked in the lee of a spit of stone.

A lone ship was riding at anchor, and he watched with sinking spirits as a longboat was lowered and began the short row to shore. With its rakish masts and narrow hull, the naval vessel was clearly designed for speed. Flying on wings of canvas, it would carry him that much faster to port—and to his parting with Shannon.

“Next time I see Yussapov, I may carve his grin into gills.”

It was a cruel cut of fate that he must share her with the others during the voyage. What chance was there for any privacy amidst the crowded confines of a ship? That he would likely be too seasick to take advantage of their last bit of time together only rubbed salt into the wound.

His ill-humor was not shared by the others. The children raced to the longboat, eager to be aboard a real fighting ship. Even the dowager did not look displeased to be leaving Scottish soil.

“Look, look, Mr. Oliver!” Prescott was beside himself with delight on spotting the line of bright yellow gunports below the main deck. “A real broadside. Isn’t that smashing!”

“Smashing.” His voice had a rather hollow echo.

“Try not to look as though you have just swallowed a mouthful of seaweed,” murmured Shannon as they climbed aboard the frigate.

“A whole platterful of the slimy stuff would be more palatable than the prospect of another ocean voyage.”

“Come, it will only be for a day or two.”

What little resolve he still possessed ebbed out with the tide. She sounded excited to be heading homeward.

A strange constriction took hold of his heart. And his tongue. Without a word, he turned and went below deck.

Shannon leaned on the ship’s railing and watched the coastline dip beneath the wind-tossed waves. The deck began to pitch beneath her feet, the up-and-down motion matching the crosscurrents of her own thoughts.

She felt a certain elation at having triumphed over a difficult, dangerous enemy. Yet, there was a deeper, darker side to victory. A lowness of spirit she could not quite put into words. She had come to care for the McAllisters. And for Orlov. Likely she would never see them again.

“You look blue-deviled.” Sofia took up position by her shoulder. “Any reason?”

“I . . .” As she tugged her cloak a little tighter, her fingers brushed over the silver chain beneath her blouse. “I ought to return this to you,” she said, unclasping the charm. “I’ve no more need of lucky talismans. My mission is done.”

Sofia made no move to take the tiny merlin. “You keep it.”

“But—”

“It seems to suit you. Besides, I’ve chosen something else to take its place.”Her friend parted the collar of her dress to reveal an oval of burnished gold.

“You’ve decided to wear your childhood locket?” asked Shannon. Sofia was the only one of the three who had any memento linked to her past.

“It’s as good a talisman as any, I suppose.” Sofia shrugged. “I’ve had it so long, the tiny portrait inside feels like a friend, though I’ve no idea who it is. Perhaps the lady, whoever she is, will serve as a guardian angel.” Her friend refastened her cloak. “So you hold on to the set of wings.”

“Thanks, Fifi.” The silver charm felt cool and comforting as Shannon slipped it back in place around her neck. She hadn’t realized how much a part of her it had become. She would have felt a little lost without it. Turning away from the sting of the salt spray, Shannon wiped her cheek.

“You did well.” Sofia smiled. “But I knew you would. ”

“Did you?” Shannon sighed. “Despite all my troubles with rules and regulations?”

“You have caused your share of fireworks, that is for sure. But you have always known in your heart what is the right thing to do.” A curl came to the corners of her friend’s mouth. “So always follow your heart. It won’t lead you astray.”

“You have always been the wisest of us three. And the steadiest.”

“Oh, I have my ups and downs. But someone had to take charge of keeping you and Siena out of trouble.”

‘You are the best of friends.”

They shared a moment of companionable silence, watching the setting sun paint the horizon with soft shades of pink and purple, before Shannon stepped away from the rail. “Will you excuse me. I—I had better go check that the dowager and children are comfortably settled below.”

But once down in the narrow passageway, she found her steps veering to the starboard side of the ship. A knock on the cabin door drew no answer.

Setting her shoulder to the planking, she nudged it open. The lamplight was barely more than a flicker, and in the yawing shadows all that was visible was two boots protruding from the tiny berth.

“Alexandr?”

“Go away.”

She entered anyway and balanced herself on the edge of the bunk board. “Just like old times, with you snapping and snarling at me.”

“If you want more convivial company, go seek that damn Italian snake. I’m sure he would be delighted to keep you amused. ”

“Surely you are not jealous over Marco?” The rhythmic thud of the waves against the hull seemed to echo the sound of her own heartbeat. Her hand found his beneath the thin wool blanket. “Don’t be.”

He slowly sat up, and in the smoky half light his face looked oddly vulnerable. Shadows smudged the hollows of his cheeks and his eyes were flat, colorless circles of grey.

“I’m sorry you the sea makes you feel so wretched.” Shannon slid her hand up over his wrist. His muscles were tense under her touch and she began a gentle caressing, up and down the length of his arm.

He gave a wordless groan.

“At least there is no bullet to remove, no torn flesh to stitch up.” Her kneading moved to the knot in his shoulder. The fastenings of his shirt were open, the linen loosened to expose the curve of his neck, the ridge of his collarbones. Tracing the shape of the scar, she felt the heat of the puckered flesh tingle through her fingertips.

“The damage this time around is to my heart.” He gave a sarcastic laugh, sounding almost like his old self. “Maybe it’s been struck by an arrow.” He pressed her palm to his chest. “Do you think it might prove fatal if left to fester?”

“Ah, a glimmer of the Orlov I am used to.” Shannon smiled, a little uncertainly. “Whatever was ailing you, it seems you are well on the road to recovery.”

The shipboard sounds of creaking timbers and pounding seas hung heavy in the air, uninterrupted by any words from Orlov.

“I shall miss your sense of humor,” she continued.

He pulled back from her touch and withdrew as far as his berth would allow. The distance was only a matter of inches but it felt like an ocean between them. “And not much else.”

His expression was shrouded in shadow but the self-mockery in his voice cut through the damp chill with piercing clarity. Her heart ached for his pain, and yet the hurt held a twinge of hope. Was he sorry to see her go?

He swore softly in Russian, then didn’t speak again.

One of them must dare to reach out across the chasm, before its depth grew unfathomable. Shannon felt a flutter of fear in her chest. Where was the daredevil hellion of old? She drew in a breath, then let it out in a rush.

“I shall miss the light in your eye, andthe tiny scar at the corner of your mouth that gives your smile a rakish bend. I shall miss you singing Russian lullabies to Emma and the gentleness in your hands when you help Lady Octavia to stand.”

His boot scraped against the planking but she wasn’t about to stop. “I shall miss your laugh and your snarl and . . .” Her words were muffled for a moment. “And yes, you incorrigible rogue, I shall miss your kisses.” She framed his face with her hands pressed her lips to his cheek. “I shall miss you .”

“Shannon . . .” He hesitated. “I—I am said to have a glib tongue, but at the moment I feel bereft of clever comments or scathing wit. I have so very little experience in speaking from the heart.”

She wasn’t sure whether the echoing in her ears was the pounding of the waves against the hull or the thud of her pulse.

“I can only say that when I left ship that morning in Southampton, I thought I would never see you again. And it hurt like hell—far more than blades or bullets. “ His mouth crooked as he leaned into the light. “Is that love? The poets seem to think that suffering is involved. So I must be deeply, madly in love.”

“Alex—”she began.

“Let me finish, golub, before my nerve fails me.” Scraped and scarred, his hands tenderly traced the line of her jaw, the curve of her neck. “Fate brought us back together. But Fate can be fickle—I don’t want to trust in chance.”

“If you are suggesting that Lynsley and Yussapov can be convinced to coordinate an occasional time off from duty, I think we may be able to negotiate a deal.”

“Lynsley and Yussapov can go to the devil. I am speaking of a permanent alliance, Shannon.”

“You mean?—”

A rap on the door cut off her question.

“Hmmph.” Without standing on ceremony, Lady Octavia entered the cabin, her walking stick steadying her against the roll of the ship. “You looked a bit green around the gills earlier, Alexandr. I thought I had better check and see how you were getting on.” A bottle of spirits materialized from the folds of her shawl. “The captain was kind enough to offer this from his stores. It may not calm a queasy stomach, but it may help dull the pain.”She squinted through her spectacles. “Though perhaps you would have preferred a bit of privacy to port. Am I interrupting something serious?”

Orlov’s mouth crooked in a faint smile. “Just my feeble attempt to convince Shannon to marry me.”

“Well, it’s certainly taken you long enough to get around to it.” She tapped at her chin. “But come to think of it the timing is not bad. No need to go through all the folderol of posting the banns or procuring a special license. The ship’s captain can perform the wedding ceremony on the morrow. Emma will adore being the flower girl, and Scottie will bear the ring . . .”

“I—I don’t have ring,” blurted out Shannon.

“I don’t have a ‘yes’” murmured Orlov.

Lady Octavia ignored the second statement. Her frail fingers slipped inside her bodice and extracted a thin filigree chain. A simple gold band, burnished with age, hung from its links. “This served me well, gel. I would be happy for you to use it until you have a chance to choose one of your own liking.”

But I couldn’t possibly . . .” Shannon stammered in confusion, overwhelmed by the dowager’s kindness. “I’m not even family.”

“Hmmph. Perhaps not by blood, but by heart, you will always be family to me, Shannon.” Lady Octavia’s wrinkled countenance glowed in the lamplight. “Though perhaps you would rather not consider yourself related to an old dragon and two little Highland heathens.”

Family. A few moments ago she had been on her own, and now she was surrounded by love. She blinked a tear from her lashes as Orlov chuckled.

“We certainly make for an unconventional clan,” he said. “I doubt that Debrett’s would approve.”

“Debrett and all his distinguished dolts can go to the devil,” replied the dowager. “Once the castle is rebuilt, I trust you two will visit Scotland often, as often as your work allows.”

“You may count on it.”

Lady Octavia thumped the deck. “Excellent. Let me go confer with the captain and see if he is willing to arrange things.”

Orlov chuckled. “He will dare not disobey.”

“Naughty man.” Stifling a snort, the dowager waggled her stick. “One last bit of wisdom, gel. A reformed rake makes the most interesting husband. He will never be boring—in bed or out.”

As their laughter died away, Orlov found himself once again turning tentative. “Shannon, all jesting aside, I would have a rather large void in my heart were you to leave me. You make me feel whole. I can’t promise to be a perfect husband. You know my faults all too well. But I shall try.”

“Are you sure?” Her lips quivered. “I love you, Alexandr. More than I can say. But I also love the wind in my hair and the feel of steel in my palm. I don’t wish to retire to the domestic duties of a conventional wife.” She made a face. “I don’t think I’d be very good at darning or dusting or . . . whatever it is that proper females do all day.”

“You wish the partnership to be professional as well as personal?” Orlov felt his eyes spark with unholy amusement. “God help any enemy who dares stand in our way.”

“Be serious.” Shannon turned very solemn. “I am hardly the ideal sort of bride for a man of noble birth. I have a hellfire temper, and am more comfortable in buckskins than a ballgown.”

“You do look lovely in leather,” he murmured. “And even lovelier in nothing at all.”

He watched her cheeks turn a glowing shade of pink despite the coolness of cabin. How he loved her face, her fire.

“However, my memory may need a bit of refreshing.”

“Alexandr! That tickles .” Shannon’s squeal dissolved in a throaty laugh. “Do stop. The children might enter at any moment.

“Don’t worry—I intend to nail the door shut.” He resumed removing her garters. “And if the little devils dare filch any gunpowder from the gunnery mate, I shall make them walk the plank.” Her stockings slithered to the floorboards. “Now please say yes.”

“Yes.”

He drew her closer, only to pull back as another sharp smack rattled the door.

“Bloody hell,” he swore as Shannon hurriedly straightened her skirts and rushed to open it. A red-faced midshipman held out a letter. “The captain’s compliments, ma’am. A courier ketch just pulled alongside to deliver this. The order was that you were to have it without delay.”

Shannon stared down at wafer of black wax, crested with a merlin in flight. “Thank you.” She held her breath and waited until the latch clicked shut before cracking open the sea-damp parchment.

He watched as her gaze skimmed over the contents. “Trouble?”

She passed it over without comment.

Lord Lynsley wrote in a neat copperplate script:

A matter of the utmost urgency has arisen. You are hereby requested to change ships at Middlesbrough and continue on to Hamburg. Events in Prussia require immediate attention. As time is of the essence Yussapov and I have agreed to pool our resources once again. I hope you will not mind, but Mr. Orlov seems the natural choice as a partner, given the talents that are needed. I trust the new orders are not too objectionable. If so, you may ask Sofia to take your place, though I would rather use her talents ina different mission. The choice is yours.

It was signed with a looping “L”

There was a postscript, written in a different hand .

Tvaritch, I hope you found that working with a partner is not so onerous. You are, after all, not getting any younger. A little fire may warm the ice from your Russian bones. By the by, this next mission should not take the pair of you long to complete. After all you have been through, Lynsley and I agree you both deserve a short leave of your duties I hear that the spa at Baden-Baden makes a fine place for an interlude of uninterrupted relaxation. No wonder it is such a popular spot for a wedding trip. Put the champagne on my bill.

Orlov could not contain a bark of laughter. “I’ll drink to that.” The crumpled paper fell to the floor. “Now . . . where did I put those nails.”