No greeting. No pretense of friendship. But Sebastian was accustomed to Carlisle by now. “I did,” he confirmed, striding across the small room and folding his body into one of the uncomfortable wing chairs facing his superior in command. “According to the aunt and the girl both, it is unlikely Vanreid will alter his course of a union between Miss Vanreid and Breckly. I’ll be meeting her clandestinely tomorrow afternoon and we’ll wed immediately. But are you utterly sure it’s necessary for me to marry the girl?”
Carlisle remained impassive. The man had no conscience, of that much Sebastian was certain. Very likely no soul either. “The marriage is a necessity, so do what you must. We need a reason to keep close to her and to Vanreid, McGuire, and the rest of the plotters. Arresting them now will only undermine our efforts, and as it stands, we haven’t enough against them to keep them in prison for long. We need more information.”
“Information you expect me to acquire,” Sebastian finished for him.
Carlisle inclined his head. “You’ve done well entrenching yourself in the life of a scoundrel. After you marry the girl, you’ll approach Vanreid about a dowry, making it seem as if you ruined her intentionally so that you could benefit from the union. Press him for information about his firearms factory and the illegal arms trade he’s engaging in here.”
The ruse seemed dashed transparent. “You expect him to confess he’s engaging in the illicit selling of weapons on the streets of London to a man who compromised his only daughter and ruined the match he intended for her? Forgive me, but that seems deuced unlikely.”
“Greed is never unlikely, particularly not with Vanreid’s sort,” Carlisle said. “I understand your aversion to this mission, but you cannot allow that to stand in the way of what must be done. As unpalatable as such an arrangement may be, we are fighting a unique battle. We’ve men in civilian clothes, blending in with ordinary folk on the streets, intending to kill innocents. Extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures. If we can put Vanreid in prison for the illegal firearms, it stands to reason that we can bargain with him for a great deal more information. The names of all the plotters could be within our grasp.”
Damn. There would be no eleventh hour reprieve for him at all, it seemed. “I will be granted an annulment without any repercussions? I don’t take my familial duty lightly. One day, I’ll need an heir.”
He would not—could not—sacrifice the future of the duchy to a forced marriage with anyone, let alone someone as inscrutable as Daisy Vanreid. A woman who could be plotting against his country and its people.
The duke inclined his head. “Your service to the Crown will be rewarded. I have every suspicion that this operation will end in Miss Vanreid’s arrest, which will only aid your cause.”
A chill of foreboding traveled mercilessly down his spine. No matter how much he distrusted her, the thought of Daisy imprisoned made his chest feel tight. “Her arrest?”
“Yes.” The duke’s expression hardened to rival marble. “I have several eyes on her. This afternoon, she met with an Irish shop girl who is believed to be connected to the plots. The girl has been seen meeting several suspected Fenians here in London.”
Jesus. He allowed the information to sift through his brain. Of course, he wasn’t at all shocked to learn that Carlisle had other operatives following Miss Vanreid. Sebastian was tasked solely with trailing her at social events and learning as much as he could about her habits and associations, all of which he had loyally done. But evidence—true evidence—of her complicity in any dynamite campaign seemed implausible at best.
“Miss Vanreid has not presented any indication of guilt to me,” he said stiffly. An odd surge of something streaked through him. Defensiveness? On behalf of a woman he scarcely knew? How bloody absurd.
And yet, there it was, lurking like an unwanted guest. Undeniable.
Carlisle raised a brow, his expression resembling nothing so much as a vulture who’d scented carrion. “If you’ve developed a weakness for the chit, perhaps it would be best to send another man in your place tomorrow. Briarly would do just as well, I should think.”
Damn it to hell. Briarly was a callous son-of-a-whore, League member or no, and the thought of him supplanting Sebastian on the morrow didn’t sit well. Not at all. The man had allowed six people to burn to death inside a merchant’s building in Cheapside and had nearly killed Sebastian in the process. The fire had gutted the premises, resulting in a spectacle so severe that even the Prince of Wales had visited the charred ruins the next day. The general public would never know the true story of what had happened, but Sebastian would never forget. Since that day forward, he had never again tolerated Briarly’s presence. And Carlisle knew it.
“She’s a lady, Carlisle. You can’t just marry her off to whomever you like.”
“She’s a pawn, and you’d be wise to remember that.” The duke’s voice was frigid as Wenham Lake ice. “Moreover, she may be dangerous. Don’t let a pretty face and a luscious pair of bubbies distract you from your main aim, Trent. I saw the way you pawed at her last night, and I know you want her, but you cannot have her. She’s poison to you. Lives are at stake. I repeat: if you cannot carry out your mission, I’ll pull you off the assignment. Briarly is more than qualified. The incident in Cheapside couldn’t have been avoided, and his record remains sterling in the eyes of the League.”
Sebastian clenched his jaw. Sterling, Briarly sure as hell was not. But he didn’t need to be taken to task or reminded of the risks they all took in the name of keeping England safe from the bloodthirsty miscreants who sought to despoil it. Nor did he appreciate being rebuked and threatened, even if part of him inwardly admitted it was deserved. He was a good spy, damn it, one of the best.
What was it about Daisy Vanreid that afflicted his mind? It wasn’t her undeniable beauty, for he’d seen and bedded his share of lovely women. Nor was it her fortune, for he possessed a formidable sum himself thanks to his father’s service to the Crown and generations of temperate investments. It wasn’t his unwanted attraction to her. Other women had made his cock hard before her. Others would after her.
What the devil was it, then? Self-disgust warred with irritation. “I haven’t given her tits a second thought,” he lied with an icy hauteur that matched Carlisle’s. He had touched them, by God, has kissed the creamy swells he’d bared in the moonlight. And they’d been softer than silk. The sort of temptation he could ill afford. The sort of temptation that thundered through his veins with a potency far more alluring than any drug or spirit.
“Daisy Vanreid is a means to an end.” The duke took a slow drag of whisky, prolonging the air of reproach that hung heavy between them in the tiny secret chamber.
“She’s been beaten by her father,” he informed Carlisle, hoping the revelation might offer an explanation for the both of them as to why Daisy Vanreid, by all accounts an untrustworthy siren potentially abetting a dangerous coterie of would-be assassins, affected him the way she did.
“According to the lady, I trust?” Carlisle’s voice dripped with derision. “Good God, man, did the fire erase all memory of training from your mind? Gaining the sympathy of your mark is one of the oldest gambits in the bloody book.”
Of course it was, but his training and his experience had both shown him how to recognize true emotion and true fear when he saw it. Fear could be capitalized upon, manipulated to gain an advantage over one’s opponent with relative ease. In Miss Vanreid’s case, her fear had only made him weak. Because something—some instinct deep in his gut—told him she was innocent. That she was ignorant of any dynamite plots and wanted no part of whatever insidious dealings in which her father was embroiled.
It wasn’t lost on him either that Carlisle would refer to the Cheapside fire in such a cavalier fashion, as though it had been nothing more than a ride in the park. Sebastian bore scars on his hands and arms that attested to that. It took every bit of the training to which Carlisle had alluded to maintain his calm.
“Mytrainingsuggests her fear of her father is genuine.”
Carlisle stared at him in that penetrating, disconcerting way again. Almost as if he could read Sebastian’s mind. “Whether or not she fears her father and whether or not he beats her is irrelevant to the matter at hand. You’d do best to watch yourself, Trent. Any sign of weakness for the chit, and I won’t hesitate to pull you off this assignment.”
Sebastian held himself rigidly. Perhaps he had earned his superior’s scorn, but he couldn’t shake his gut feeling. In all his years of service, his instincts had never failed him. Still, he had no choice but to kowtow, because the thought of any other man—Briarly in particular—wedding Daisy Vanreid appalled him. “Understood, Your Grace.”
The duke nodded, seemingly mollified. “You’ll marry her tomorrow, then?”
