What the Stubborn Viscount Desires Read online

  His prediction wasn’t wrong. They found nothing of value that first day, nor the second, and not even the third. Each time they returned, the elderly clerk gave him a smirk as he passed the information counter. As if the man knew he was failing the mission.

  By the fourth day visiting the library, Jonathan was ready to tear his hair out in frustration. He slammed a fist on top of the book he perused. “This is not where my skill lies.” A shove sent the dusty text sailing to the floor where it landed on its spine and opened in the middle. The pages fluttered like a dying butterfly. “This gammon is what Archewyne revels in; not I.”

  Sophia knelt on the floor. She closed the book, rose and gently placed in back on the table. “Perhaps you should make the best of it.”

  “How the hell do you propose I do that?” He narrowed his eyes to drive home his snappish comment.

  A shrug pulled the bodice of her dress across her full breasts. Again she wore the borrowed rose satin, and this time the black lace shawl didn’t cover her upper body. “Learn something. That’s what I’ve been doing while I go through these books. Plus, I’ve found a few other works on the nearby shelves that I’d like more time to peruse.” She’d removed the spectacles. They rested on the table.

  He wrenched his gaze away from the tops of her creamy breasts and onto yet another tome of Spanish history he cared nothing about. “I would heartily like to say something, but just now I’ll choose to be a gentleman and keep it to myself.” Later, once he was back in Rathesborne’s presence, he’d let the string of vulgarity fly.

  The sound she uttered was a cross between a snort and a giggle. “You forget I have—had—two older brothers. Whatever you wish to say, I have undoubtedly heard it before.” She pulled her reticule close, dug around in it and then withdrew an ivory envelope. Then she stuck in the spectacles. “Here.”

  “What is it?” He eyed the missive with a fair amount of skepticism, but slid it from her grasp.

  “A Valentine. I thought it was fitting since it is the 14tht today.”

  Heat crept up the back of his neck. “Are not notes of this nature reserved for lovers?” Of which they were most certainly not.

  Her grin was small, and cold disappointment circled through his gut that it didn’t light her eyes. That was his fault. “The sentiment can be shared with anyone, my lord. However, I wished for a way to convey my thanks for this unexpected trip, and that’s what I did.” When he said nothing, she uttered a half-stifled sneeze. “Last night, Maria was making one for her husband and one for her parents who live down the road. It was an amusing way to pass the time after you’d retired.” She turned and her skirts flared enough that he was afforded a glimpse of a slender ankle encased in silken black stockings. “I shall be looking at the books on the shelves while you sulk.”

  “I do not sulk,” he called after her, but she’d already vanished into the maze of wood and books. Damnation, but she was irritating at times. With nothing else to do, and because he certainly needed a distraction from the boring history texts, he slid a pink notecard from the envelope. Lined with gold paper on the edges, a carefully cut out cherub had been glued to one side while, in a circle edged with glued seed pearls, were a handful of words.

  Though our beginning together was turbulent, I have enjoyed the opportunity to travel and to expand my knowledge… of many things. Because of you, and I thank you for it. Your kindness will be remembered long after we part.

  The note was signed with only her first name in a scrolling hand. Kindness. Gah! If he were any sort of gentleman, he would have left her on the London docks, reputation intact. But he hadn’t. For selfish reasons. For an obligation to a dead man he’d barely met. Yet, having the woman around, with her bold speaking and optimistic attitude—though annoying—kept him from hiding into the dark thoughts that had dogged him for a year.

  Blast her.

  With a scoff at such foolish thoughts, he stuffed the note into the envelope and then brought it to his nose. The gentle, happy scent of apple blossoms curled around him. If nothing else, she smelled nice. After tucking the missive into an interior pocket of his jacket, he resigned himself to reading texts and translating more boring information from Spanish.

  Sometime later, when afternoon shadows had crept past the window, her muffled voice roused him from the light doze he indulged in.

  “Jonathan?”

  “What?” The word sounded tired and snarly even to his own ears.

  “Please come here.”

  The excitement in her voice brought him to his feet. “Where are you?”

  “Three rows down and two across.”

  When he reached her location, she was sitting Indian-style on the floor with a book spread on her lap. Rather, what was left of a book, for a rectangular-shaped cavity had been carved within. In one hand, Sophia held up a golden cross. “What the devil is that?”

  “If I had to venture a guess, I’d say it’s a piece from the Spanish Crown jewels.” She lowered her voice, and pointed to the book with her free hand. “Is the library in the habit of stashing treasures inside books? Or defiling books for that matter?”

  Jonathan snatched the antique from her in order to better examine it. In addition to the dusty gold, emeralds and rubies—both square—studded the gold. Scrollwork and vines twisted along the edges. “I’ll venture to guess no to both counts.” He shared a glance with her and then they both looked again to the cross.

  Quickly, Sophia shelved the book and stood. She took the relic from him and fingered the decorations. “Do you truly think it was from the cache that was stolen?”

  “There is always that possibility, but why would it be hiding here, where anyone could come upon it?” A thief wouldn’t do such a thing, unless he’d planned to return. “It’s too obvious.”

  “Perhaps it was done in haste, or mayhap he was interrupted.”

  While it made sense, it was highly unlikely. “Tuck that into your bag. Hide it well. We need to pull out the books around where this was found to make certain there are no other treasures.” He knelt on the floor and spent the next half hour doing just that while Sophia did the same once she’d secured the bag and her reticule. “The task of finding Lord Basselton or his contact has grown paramount. They will be questioned.” Why the devil hadn’t anyone come to check on them while they’d been here? Most maddening.

  “That seems like the next logical course of action.” With patience, she re-shelved all the books he pulled and dropped. “But where to find them?”

  This is ridiculous. Yet somehow it wasn’t, and it would be the perfect cover. From his position on the floor, he grabbed her hand with a grin. “Would you like to attend a ball with me, Miss Wickham?”

  This time her smile twinkled in her indigo eyes. “Yes.” Then the gaiety and excitement died in the face of pure terror. “I don’t have a proper gown.”

  “Ha! If that is your only objection, I can help.” He struggled into a standing position and dropped her hand. “I have a decent amount of knowledge on how to outfit a woman for a social event. I doubt the process is that different here in Madrid.” Not that he was proud of all the women he’d visited modistes with or bought clothing and jewels for. But it was part of his past and he couldn’t change it now. She would have to square with it if she objected.

  Chapter Eight

  Sophia’s nerves were strung as taut as the string in her bow. Flutters filled her belly. She glanced up at the viscount’s face in profile as they strolled along a busy, shop-lined street in Madrid, and though he wore his customary scowl, anticipation and smug satisfaction lit his eyes when he turned his head and met her gaze.

  Yesterday, when they’d discovered the jeweled cross in the library, she’d been uncommonly pleased. Never had she been on such an adventure. Yes, the company left something to be desired, but in the rare moments when Jonathan wasn’t grousing, he was pleasant and gave her shades of the man he could be if he wasn’t haunted by so many demons.

  Now he es
corted her to a much sought after modiste of some acclaim throughout Madrid, which had mixed feelings regarding him swirling through her mind. What sort of man felt completely at ease taking a woman to have a new gown made? Her stomach muscles cramped. A man used to buying baubles and clothes for a latest mistress.

  A thread of anger warmed her insides. I am not a doxy for him to use as he pleases, regardless of the agreement that binds us.

  “There is no need for you to go to such expense and trouble on my behalf,” she said as they slowed in front of the modiste’s storefront. A discreet copper plate affixed above the door read “Madame Isabella. Est 1802.” The flutters in her belly intensified. This was truly happening. “What I have in my possession will suffice.” For it wasn’t as if they would actually attend the ball as guests.

  He regarded her with amusement sparking in his hazel gaze, like a cavorting goat might amuse a dissolute lord for a time before he moved on. “You can hardly accompany me in dresses that are hopelessly wrinkled or stained, so yes, this is necessary.”

  She huffed in frustration. “But we will not socialize or even dance. I do not see why any of this is necessary.” A sneeze followed her complaint.

  “The art of investigation is to blend in, my dear. And you desperately need to blend.”

  With that, he pulled open the door that featured a window of leaded glass. A discreet bell tinkled somewhere deep in the cozy shop as he gestured for her to precede him inside.

  Sophia looked about with wide yes. Bolts of fabric lined one wall. A few exquisite gowns on mannequin forms decorated a plate glass window. On still other tables, fine kid gloves, reticules, wraps and countless other accessories waited. She and Jonathan were the only occupants of the shop, but he moved through the contents as if he knew exactly what he was doing. “Are you familiar with this place?”

  “No, but I do know things above and beyond how to incapacitate an enemy.” Then, he winked. “Also, Maria suggested I start here. She made arrangements when I expressed what we were after, and how quickly.” The opportunity to question him further vanished as an elegant, older woman entered from a back room.

  Clad in a smart, gray gown with a charcoal over skirt with her steel-gray hair twisted in an elegant coif and secured with diamond-encrusted silver combs, she glided forward with a hand outstretched to Jonathan. “Lord Trewellain. How honored I am that you’ve chosen to utilize my humble establishment.”

  “Madame Isabella.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips, his eyes shining with a charm he’d never displayed toward Sophia before. “I’m afraid I need to beg a rather large favor.”

  Sophia frowned. How was it that he could play the gentleman with such ease around anyone who wasn’t her? Annoyed when she wasn’t introduced, and it was her wardrobe in question, she thrust out a hand. “Miss Sophia Wickham.”

  A stately gray eyebrow rose on the woman’s face. She exchanged a glance with the viscount. “Forthright and bold. A challenge to be sure.” But she briefly grasped Sophia’s fingers in a cold grip. “I assume she is why you are here?”

  “She is.” Jonathan’s indulgent chuckle washed over her and left behind tremors of need deep in her person. He didn’t laugh with her. Why? What was wrong with her? “You have no idea, Madame.”

  “I see.” The older lady’s smile bordered on sly. “What do you wish from me today, Lord Trewellain?”

  “Sophia is in need of a gown suitable for entry at the ball thrown by the Conde and Condesa of Mayorga tomorrow.”

  Madame Isabella sucked in a surprised breath. Her green eyes widened. “Impossible on such short notice.” She shook her head. “I am sorry.”

  “I understand the imposition, but your skill is renowned, and I am very much in need of a miracle.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “This is for a mission, Madame, and one that concerns your country. Do you not think you can assist me?” He gestured to Sophia. “Us?”

  The modiste raked her gaze up and down Sophia’s person. “Petite, voluptuous figure. It will be tricky indeed.”

  Embarrassment burned in Sophia’s cheeks. “This is ridiculous.” They looked at her as if she were a rat in a laboratory or a bug they couldn’t quite identify. “I can speak for myself.”

  Neither of them paid attention to her. Jonathan leaned close to the other woman. “I will pay handsomely and then some for any miracle you can perform.” He lifted an eyebrow. “She will also need accessories, for when we traveled to Spain, we had no idea we would need to attend such a lavish affair, and what Sophia has brought with her is sadly pedestrian.”

  What an oaf! Sophia popped her hands onto her hips. “I beg your pardon?”

  The viscount merely sent her a wicked grin. The modiste hesitated as she glanced again at Sophia’s form. Then Jonathan added, “Imagine your greatest creation combined with Sophia’s beauty. Everyone there will see her in your gown, and your shop will benefit from such a thing. Mamas will bring their daughters to see you in droves, this I can assure you.”

  He thinks I’m beautiful? Warmth infused her being and chased some of the ire from her. She’d seen herself in a mirror, of course, and well knew what she looked like, but to hear it from a man, and one who wasn’t related to her? She peered at him, but his expression gave nothing away.

  Finally, Madame Isabella nodded. “It will be a process, and I will need all of my seamstresses, but I can have the gown finished by late this afternoon.”

  “Excellent.” Again, the viscount grasped the older woman’s hand and kissed the back of it. He whispered something to the modiste that Sophia couldn’t catch, then in a louder voice, he said, “I have an errand, but I trust you will look after Sophia in my absence.”

  “You have my word, my lord. My girls and I shall take the best care of her.”

  The wonder Sophia had felt vanished in the face of being left at the modiste’s tender mercies. She tugged on Jonathan’s arm and propelled him a few feet from the woman. “Where the devil do you think you’re going? You cannot leave me here. Alone.”

  He chuckled. “You’ll hardly be alone.” He nodded at Madame Isabella, who’d moved to the back doorway and currently held a conversation in rapid Catalan, no doubt putting her girls on notice. “I need to make a quick trip to the Royal Palace and meet with a representative there. To find out if the cross we discovered is indeed part of their stolen collection.” He touched a pocket of his greatcoat, presumably where the relic rested. She’d given it to him the night before once they’d returned home from the library.

  “And if it is?” She hated he’d go there without her. How amazing it would be to see that site and all the treasures therein?

  “Then we will know that we’re at least on the right path, and that Lord Basselton is truly a criminal.” He patted the top of her head as if she were a faithful dog. “Behave, Sophia. I shall return at tea time to escort you back to our lodgings.”

  Panic climbed her throat and spine. She sneezed twice in succession, much to the viscount’s consternation.

  “Are you coming down with an illness? You sneeze quite often.” Jonathan asked. At least there was concern reflected in his eyes. “Perhaps I should handle this mission alone.”

  “No.” She refused to relinquish her hold on his sleeve. “When I’m stressed or afraid, I tend to sneeze. I cannot control it, and I’ve been plagued by the unfortunate tendency since childhood.” A person couldn’t sound much more rustic than that.

  “Ah, it explains much.” Gently, he pried her fingers from his person. “You shall be all right. Be the strong woman you’ve shown that you can be thus far.”

  His words loosed a fleeting brush of butterfly wings in her belly. “I want to go with you. We’re partners, remember.” By willpower alone, she resisted the urge to stamp her foot like a petulant adolescent.

  “No, you’re my assistant, and being fitted for a gown is as essential to the mission as my going to the Royal Palace.”

  She narrowed her eyes. What he needed was a well-aim
ed arrow that narrowly missed his manhood. “I hardly see how that can be true. It is merely a gown.” Never had she placed such importance on clothing.

  “Oh, you have much to learn. A successful agent learns how to use her outfit to her advantage.” He tweaked her nose and a tiny smile curved his sensuous mouth. “For the good of the Crown, my dear.” And then he was gone. The door closed with a decided click behind him.

  “Come with me, Miss Wickham.” Madame Isabella laid a soft hand on her shoulder. The scent of roses wafted around her. “There are many fittings to accomplish, fabric to choose, and things of that nature. It shall be a busy day ahead.”

  Sophia resigned herself to hours of boredom, and she silently cursed Jonathan’s freedom. No doubt the man had brought the requisite evening clothes with him. Damn his eyes.

  Three hours later, Sophia still stood in a shift on a wooden platform ensconced in one of the back rooms. Madame Isabella refused to let her redress due to the constant need for refitting, and while the shift was the finest lawn and silky against her skin, a certain sense of awkwardness descended upon her. The modiste and her seamstresses buzzed in and out of the room, and when they weren’t flitting to and fro, they were bent over sections of fabric with needles and thread, all the while happily chattering in their native tongue, far too fast for Sophia to keep up with.

  And through the whole ordeal, she couldn’t help thinking about Jonathan and how he spent his time at the Royal Palace. For the first time since she’d boarded the ship, she wasn’t with him, and she missed his presence. Not in a romantic, pining-for-a-man sort of way, but in a missing-a-friend sort of capacity. He might be short of words, but he was the closest thing she had to a companion while on this trip.

  “Miss Wickham, come with me.”

  Sophia glanced at a young seamstress who stood before her. Clad in a simple navy wool dress with a lace collar, her long curly black hair was caught back with a navy ribbon, but her big brown eyes were kind and compassionate. “You speak English?”