Page 17 of A Bride By Morning
Wentworth considered that. “It’s possible that Medvedev wished to hunt you down. It’s also possible that he’ll use the opportunity to connect with London members of the Syndicate. I’ve already instructed that Her Majesty’s best agents take her to an undisclosed location and supply additional security around Parliament. The Syndicate’s numbers in London remain limited, but it may not stay that way with Medvedev here.” The other man studied Gabriel. “One of my men came for a debrief before your arrival. I heard your evening with Miss Cecil went poorly.”
Gabriel suppressed a wince by downing his glass of whiskey. A vision of Lydia flashed in his mind: her pink rosebud dress flared around her on the ground, splattered with blood. The look on her face . . . it was as if her entire world had shattered.
You always knew you were destined to break her,he thought to himself.At least now she knows who and what you are.
“Do you require the particulars,” he asked, keeping his voice admirably calm, “or have your agents made a practice of gossiping about my life now?”
Wentworth made an amused noise. “Don’t consider yourself unique—the Home Office is worse than a room filled with society matrons,” he said. “Especially when they have bodies to dispose of and a gentlewoman to guard.” He put up a hand when Gabriel opened his mouth to speak. “Don’t tell me—let me guess. Miss Cecil witnessed you kill two men tonight.”
More images flashed. Lydia’s breath had been so uneven that it shook her entire body. Blood had incised her face in an angry slash of red against her pale cheek.
Lydia had desired refuge in the seclusion of the Brome’s beautiful garden and walked away tainted by Gabriel’s brutal actions. She witnessed the lethality that he had strived for so long to shield her from. But he ought to have understood that Miss Lydia Cecil would discover his true past one way or another. She had a talent for clawing at the soil of secrets he’d buried.
Lydia challenged him like no one else. Even her kiss had been a duel—she’d matched him touch for touch.
Gabriel’s desiccated heart had flared to life, wakened by the taste of her, the sensation of her lips on his. As if he’d been in purgatory, a ghost of flesh and blood. He wandered through the world but was dead in every way that mattered.
And now, fate had intervened. Mikhail’s knife had roused another emotion he’d long thought cleansed from his mind: fear.
His only options had been to expose himself as a spy or lose her. Better she comprehended the man he truly was than live her days believing him the boy she knew.
“They attacked while I was with Miss Cecil in the garden,” Gabriel explained. “Two unnamed criminals can be hidden, a gentlewoman with her throat slit in the middle of a ball might attract some attention. So I chose her life over my cover.”I’d choose it again.
Wentworth’s hand curled into a fist on his desk. “Understood,” he said with a sharp nod. His expression shuttered, but not before Gabriel noticed the memories flicker across the spymaster’s face.
Wentworth had hidden his true profession from his own wife. Then, five years before, he’d arrived home to discover her murdered by a still-unidentified assailant. He imagined that if Mattias could return to the day of the attack, he’d choose his wife over his clandestine occupation.
Gabriel pretended he didn’t notice Wentworth’s reaction. “Dimitri will be with Medvedev by now,” he said, referring to the third assailant in the garden. He’d tried searching for the other man after seeing to Lydia’s safety, but the crush of carriages, servants, and guests outside the Brome’s home made it easy for the man to escape. “He’ll undoubtedly have Miss Cecil identified and tracked within a day. Trust that he’ll seek any opportunity to use her to punish me.”
Wentworth leaned back with a sigh. “Yes, I recall the Syndicate’s laws from your intel.”
Even Gabriel’s brothers in the Syndicate understood they couldn’t completely trust each other. They established a criminal code that guarded against vulnerabilities: families, lovers, children, wives—all of them were considered weaknesses. Joining the Syndicate meant leaving behind everyone but the brotherhood. Anyone caught violating that directive was considered an exploitable target, let alone one already exposed as a traitor against their leader.
“I’ll pay your men for their time if they remain stationed outside Miss Cecil’s home until we catch Medvedev,” Gabriel said.
“Mm.” Wentworth tapped his fingers against his desk. “It’s not their day that concerns me. They can’t enter Lady Derby’s residence, and they’ll have precious little opportunity to familiarise themselves with the property and staff. Pay a servant enough, and they’ll supply information to anyone who asks, including Medvedev.”
Gabriel stared out the window again, his mind working. It did not escape his notice that the talents he’d often utilized in the business of death now had to be employed to keep someone alive. But Lydia had always been the exception to his every rule. She was the voice of his conscience—or whatever fragments remained of it.
Even her kiss had been a rebuke. A shrewd reminder that for all his efforts to push her away, she’d always be in his head. In his every thought.
He’d never forget that she kissed like a conqueror.
“Her aunt has a house in Surrey,” Gabriel said, returning his attention to Wentworth. “The property is near Meadowcroft, and I know it well from my youth. If Miss Cecil is out of London, Medvedev will be forced to devise a new strategy. That will give us more time to find him.”
Wentworth looked doubtful. “And how do you plan to have Miss Cecil convince Lady Derby to depart London in the middle of the season? Even for a beloved niece, that’s asking a great deal.”
“Perhaps an illness—”
Wentworth shook his head. “Feigning an ailment that necessitates packing up and promptly withdrawing to Surrey would strain even my best operatives. Miss Cecil isn’t an agent, and you can’t have her lie to Lady Derby for the length of time it takes to find Medvedev.”
“She’ll do it if she means to survive.” Gabriel’s voice was almost sharp now. His composure was crumbling like an edifice of sand. Anger superseded the ice within his bloodstream—and fear.
He was afraid for Lydia.
Astonishment passed over Wentworth’s face, which was all the proof Gabriel required to tamp down his emotions. Better to be sheathed in ice than become an animal; Wentworth had witnessed before what happened when Gabriel’s restraint shattered.
Wentworth let out a breath. “Even if Miss Cecil were willing, your proposal would put Lady Derby unknowingly at risk. Unless you mean to reveal yourself to Miss Cecil’s aunt while you’re at it.” At Gabriel’s look, he said, “I thought not. Then you know there’s only one other way to ensure Miss Cecil withdraws to Surrey without her aunt.”
