He saw Thea’s stricken expression and told himself it should come as no surprise. Spying was seen as a dishonorable activity, something no gentleman would want to be associated with. In seven years of marriage, his past had come up once. He’d been having a nightmare, one so intense that Sylvia had apparently heard him from her chamber. She’d woken him, and in his disoriented state, details of his past had come tumbling out.
She’d cut him off in a soft, trembling voice.If you act as if it never happened, it will be as if it never did. Put it behind you, Tremont.We’ll never speak of it again.
Although she’d tried to mask it, he’d seen the horror and distaste in her eyes, her embarrassment on his behalf. From then on, he’d kept his past to himself—as he’d always done. He’d never planned on sharing the sordid facts again, on exposing his filthy secrets to anyone… especially not the woman he craved more than his next breath.
Looking at Thea, he swallowed. She looked so pure in her white frock trimmed with blue ribbon, dangling curls framing her sweet face. His vision of loveliness.
You don’t have a choice,he told himself.
As much as he hated to admit it, the danger was too great for him to handle on his own. The attack by the Spectre had slapped him to his senses. He needed help, couldn’t defeat the bastard by himself.
“A spy?You?” The duchess gawked at him.
“Close your mouth, love,” her husband said mildly. “Tremont didn’t grow two heads. He merely said he gathered information for his country during a time of war.”
“Were you in the military?” William McLeod said.
The strapping Scotsman, Gabriel knew, had been a soldier and scout in the 95thregiment.
“I worked under a different auspice,” Gabriel said quietly. “The French had a vast advantage over us when it came to their intelligence efforts. They were more coordinated, efficient, and experienced, which led to their successes on the battlefield. My superior, who went by the codename Octavian, was given the task of developing a similar covert intelligence team for the British. He hand-selected and trained a group of five agents he called the Quorum. I was one of them.”
Ambrose Kent’s golden eyes were keen. “This enemy who threatens you now—he has ties to your past in espionage?”
The investigator caught on quickly, increasing Gabriel’s confidence that he was making the right decision. He had only one regret… He slanted a look at Thea. Her hazel eyes, which had been filled with such sweet passion the night before, now had a sheen of shock… and disgust? His chest clenching, he told himself to get on with the inevitable.
“A month ago, I found Octavian murdered in his study. I’ve since discovered that he’d been hunting down a French spymaster dubbedLe Spectre. During the war, The Spectre was our nemesis, stealing our secrets, always staying one step ahead. After the war, he began a brisk business selling information to the highest bidder. At one point, he set a trap in Normandy, capturing three of the Quorum, including myself.”
Flesh healed; memories didn’t. His back quivered with the memory of the floggings, beatings. He forced himself to continue.
“When we made our escape, I spotted the Spectre and thought I’d killed him, but there was no proof as the place went up in flames. Apparently, Octavian continued to search for our enemy through the years and what he uncovered led to his demise.”
“What did he discover?” Thea said, her eyes wide.
“Not only is the Spectre alive, but he was one of us. A double agent.” Grimly, Gabriel recounted his mentor’s last blood-marked message to him and the blade he’d found at Cruik’s.
“Bloody hell. A traitor.” McLeod raked a hand through his shaggy hair.
“I believe my mentor was killed because he was too close to discovering the true identity of our foe,” Gabriel said. “Now I’ve been targeted as the information was passed onto me. The carriage explosion, the attempted kidnapping of my son—this is all the Spectre’s handiwork.”
“There were five of you in the spy ring, you say? Minus you, that makes a list of four possible suspects?” Kent was scribbling in a small notebook.
“Three,” Gabriel said quietly. “My colleague Marius was killed during the escape in Normandy. The remaining agents—Cicero, Tiberius, and Pompeia—are alive and in London.”
“Pompeia.” Mrs. Kent’s fair brows arched. “A female spy?”
“She was one of our best, and deadliest, agents. She or one of other two could be the Spectre.” Gabriel expelled a breath. “With the assistance of Kent and Associates, I plan to unmask the true villain and put an end to this madness.”
“We will need to know the identities of the other agents,” Kent said.
He’d known this, of course, but resistance rose within him. Exposing a fellow spy went against one of the few codes of honor in espionage and the grain of his own beliefs. Yet he flashed to Octavian lying in a pool of blood, the fear in Freddy’s eyes, the cloak of the Spectre descending, bringing darkness and flame…
Do what must be done.
“This information must not leave the room. Reputations, perhaps even lives, are at stake,” he said grimly. “As agents, we made powerful enemies, and anonymity is our sole protection.”
“Discretion is the policy of Kent and Associates,” Kent said.
Glancing at Thea, Gabriel couldn’t read her reaction. Not that it mattered. Before the attack, he’d fallen into a moment of gloriously deluded optimism. He’d let his fantasies cloud his judgement. Now, as he lay bare his past, he saw things through the clear, harsh lens of reality.
