Undercover Cavaliere Read online

  "Letters to write." You big fake. "To your wife, perhaps?"

  "Alas, no, I am not so fortunate. To my fellow officers. We will be leaving England soon, and I must arrange to meet them." He accepted a glass of wine from a passing footman. "Miss Witherspoon tells me you are to return to London in a few days. I also will be there. Might you be free on Thursday evening? I am told that the newest opera by Messers Gilbert and Sullivan is excellent. I would be delighted to escort you and the young ladies."

  Since they already had Thursday tickets for The Mikado, Regina had her mouth open to refuse when Minerva appeared at her elbow.

  "Oh. Please, Miss Lachlan. May we go with him? It will be ever so much better than just us?"

  With a quick glare at him, she said, "I suppose so. If he can get a ticket. I understand they are in short supply." She didn't tell him that they had a box, big enough for half a dozen people. If he was such a successful spy, surely he'd be able to discover it on his own.

  "It will be no problem. I have... How do you say it? Associations?"

  Jonathon chuckled as he stepped up beside her. "I think you mean connections, Emilio. And don't let him tease you, ladies. His soi disant connection is my agent in London, who arranged for your tickets as well."

  Everyone laughed, even Regina. But she was not particularly amused. He was having far too much fun with his childish masquerade.

  The evening began much as the night before, with the girls performing. Before the inevitable card game could be suggested, Gabe said, "Miss Lachlan, do you play chess?"

  He knew she did. They'd been chess opponents since she was five years old. "I haven't played for years," she admitted. Not since you went away to college.

  "I, too, have not played for some time. Would you care for a game?"

  She almost refused, until she saw the silent challenge in his eyes. "Very well, but only one game."

  As she followed Gabe to the other end of the room, where a chess board was already set up, he heard Jonathon inviting the girls to play Euchre, and felt mildly guilty at leaving her host to entertain her charges.

  He picked up two pawns and put his hands behind him. "Choose."

  "Right." He opened his hand. She was tempted to give up without a fight. When Gabe moved first, he almost always won.

  They played silently, as had always been their habit, for an hour, then two. At the opposite end of the long room, the girls and Jonathon was having a fine time. Their laughter came often, with his as a frequent counterpoint. Just as well she was at the chess board. For some reason, she didn't feel young and carefree tonight.

  Why had they sniped at each other all through dinner? More than once she'd caught Pamela and Minerva looking at her curiously. Clearly neither girl could understand the animosity between her and the oh, so charming Maggiore Masuccio. She was sure that if they were in his company for much longer, both of them would be madly in love with him. A good thing we're leaving tomorrow.

  But was it? Would she once again feel as if she was losing a necessary part of herself? Wouldn't seeing him in London just make the sense of loss more intense. I almost wish he hadn't come here. But then we wouldn't have had last night.

  Or tonight.

  "Your move."

  "Oh! Yes, of course. I was...woolgathering." She applied herself to the game and resolutely held all thoughts of the night ahead at bay.

  He played recklessly, quite unlike his style as a lad. After he'd needlessly sacrificed half his pawns, a bishop, and a knight, she said, "Gabe, if this game doesn't mean anything to you, why are we playing it?"

  "Because we have to do something until bedtime," he growled, just loud enough for her to hear.

  "Oh, for heaven's sake. That does it." She slid her bishop into the position she'd been working toward for the past hour, setting up a situation he should have seen and foiled. "Check."

  He countered. A poor move. A thoughtless move.

  She picked up her knight, considered the board, and set it down, two squares over and one down from his king. "Checkmate."

  "Well, hell." He toppled his king.

  The Euchre game broke up shortly thereafter, just as the tea tray was brought in. Conversation was general after that, with the girls wishing they could stay longer at Heatherwood, Jonathon inviting them back any time, and Regina silently wishing she'd never come one moment, and wanting to stay here forever the next. Gabe was his usual charming self, but he never once looked at her or addressed a comment to her.

  When the last biscuit had been consumed and the last drop drunk, they said goodnight. Regina walked upstairs with the girls and followed them to their bedrooms. "You'll be awakened early," she warned them. "We will need to leave no later than nine in order to meet the tour in Lincoln by noon. Minerva, gather your things tonight. I have no intention of doing your packing for you. Pamela, remember to keep a jacket out when you pack. It could rain tomorrow."

  They said their good nights, and she walked slowly back toward her room. He would come to her tonight, she knew, but when? Did she want him to?

  Don't be daft! Of course you do.

  He was waiting in her room when she entered. He'd extinguished all the candles, so the only light came from the flickering fire. He stood at the mantle, one elbow resting on it, staring down into the fire. "I almost didn't come," he said, when she'd closed the door behind her.

  "Why?"

  "Because every time we say good bye, it's like tearing my heart out. Damn it, Gina. Why won't you marry me?" He raised his face, and in the firelight his anguished expression was grotesque. "And don't give me that nonsense about homesickness or your career. Damn your career anyway. You'd give it up if you had children."

  "I'm not sure I want children," she said. Oh, Regina, that was a whopper.

  His eyes were dark pools in his shadowed face as he stared at her. "Maybe I shouldn't have been so careful last night. If you got pregnant..."

  "You wouldn't!"

  With a long, defeated sigh, he let his shoulders slump. "No. No, I wouldn't be irresponsible. It's just..." He swiped a hand across his face. "I want to give you an ultimatum. Tell you that it's now or never. Take me or leave me."

  "Gabe, I--"

  "Don't worry. I won't. But I'm making no promises about seeing you again, after London. I'm due in Paris in on Saturday, and after that..." He shrugged. "After that it's anyone's guess where I'll be sent."

  "Wherever they need a spy, I suppose." More than anything she wanted to feel his arms around her. She crossed the room to him, stood so close the tips of her breasts were brushing his chest.

  "I'm an agent, not a spy," he said, but his words lacked force as he pulled her into a desperate embrace.

  That night they spoke little, for there were no words necessary between them. Everything they had to say had been said, and had changed nothing. Their futures were separate, not together, and this might be the only time they would ever have.

  He loved her tenderly, his hands and his mouth touching, thrilling every inch of her. She tasted and nipped and clung, her fingernails marking him as she came apart in his arms. He swallowed her screams of completion, and she his triumphant shouts.

  When dawn finally turned the windows gray, they spooned together in the disheveled bed and pretended to sleep. Soon they heard the household coming to life. Gabe lifted himself on an elbow and looked down at her. "I must go, unless you want me to compromise your reputation."

  Her hand cupped his cheek. "No, but I wish--"

  "So do I Gina. So do I."

  Without kissing her, he rose and went to the chaise where his clothing lay. He kept his back to her as he dressed. Even at the door, he didn't turn. "I'll see you in London."

  "Yes." If she had said more, he would have heard her tears.

  Chapter Five

  The Savoy Theatre was finer than any Regina had attended in Boston or New York City. People seemed to dress more elaborately here, too, which added to the sense of elegance. Minerva and Pamela were practically
speechless with awe, and she admitted she was a bit intimidated herself.

  Not so Gabe. Wearing the colorful uniform of his Maggiore Masuccio persona, he guided them through the crowd with the savoir faire of a true cosmopolitan.

  Well, of course. He's been living in Europe for thirteen years. This is more home to him than anywhere in America.

  The thought had never occurred to her before. He wasn't here on holiday. This was his natural habitat.

  Just as Idaho Territory was hers.

  No, don't think about that tonight. You're here to enjoy yourself.

  "It looks so different from the theaters at home," Minerva said as they made their way to their box. "So big. I can't imagine how anyone in the back rows can see the stage."

  Pamela had been looking about her, mouth open in awe. She closed it for an instant, before saying, "I read that it's the first building in the world to have electric lights. Aren't they terribly dangerous?"

  "Not at all," Gabe said. "When you are as old as I, Miss Witherspoon, you will live in a house thus illuminated."

  Both girls giggled, as if he'd said something very silly.

  Regina was certain they were wrong. She'd bet that as soon as they got back to Boise, Mr. Tomlinson would find some way to electrify his grand mansion. It was just the sort of ostentatious display he would love.

  The acoustics were superb, the music memorable, and the play amusing. If she hadn't been so aware of Gabe sitting beside her, she would have enjoyed herself thoroughly. As it was, she could only think of how she could invite him back to the hotel later tonight.

  And if it would be wise. She could lock the connecting door between her room and the one occupied by the girls, but should she?

  By the end of the first act, she was caught up in the story and enjoying herself more than she had since Gabe had appeared at her door in his fancy soldier suit. Darn him! Why didn't he stay away, instead of warning me of imaginary dangers and impossible dreams?

  "Oh, Miss Lachlan, isn't it just perfect?" Pamela sang, in a high, sweet voice, "'Three little maids from school!/Three little maids who, all unwary,/Come from a ladies' seminary,/Freed from its genius tutelary--'"

  "Why, that could be us," Minerva said. "We've all been freed from school. Forever!" She sobered when Regina raised an eyebrow. 'Well, at least Pamela and I have. I suppose you have to go back in the fall..."

  "I do indeed." She had to exert some self-discipline to keep herself from grinning. Minerva would never understand how she loved her work. Most of the time. "Shall we see if refreshments are available?"

  "I will fetch them." Gabe stood and bowed. "You might enjoy a stroll in the lobby while I do so."

  "I'd rather stay here and watch everyone," Minerva said. She leaned so far over the box railing that Regina grabbed the bow at the back of her waist, just in case.

  While the girls chattered away about what they saw as they watched the members of the audience ebb and flow on the main floor, she leafed through the libretto Gabe had thoughtfully provided them. She wasn't a particularly musical person, but there was something about the tunes she'd heard tonight that made them stick in her ear. Perhaps tomorrow she'd see if she could find a copy of the music to send home to Rhys. He had the best voice of all her siblings. She could just hear him singing "A wandering minstrel I..."

  Gabe returned shortly bearing four glasses of champagne. When he'd handed them around, he said, "Signorinas, I wish you a pleasant journey to France. 'May all good fortune prosper you,/May you have health and riches too,/May you succeed in all you do!/Long life to you--till then!'" He spoke directly to Regina.

  Minerva clapped her hands. "Ohh, that's from the play, isn't it? How clever."

  A gong sounded then, to signal the second act, so she was able to avoid a reply in the fuss to get everyone seated without spilling champagne.

  Later, in the cab taking them to the hotel, she and Gabe sat on the front-facing seats, shoulders touching, but hands in their respective laps. She was so aware of him that she would have sworn she could hear his heart beating. The cab rattled to a stop too soon. He stepped to the ground, turning to hand her out. After he'd seen her safely to the sidewalk, he repeated the courtesy for the girls.

  "I will bid you good night, signorinas, and hope we will meet again someday."

  Pamela and Minerva simpered and giggled when he kissed their hands with elaborate gallantry. "We're coming back to England in August. Will you still be here, Maggiore?" Minerva said, all but drooling on the poor man.

  "Alas, no. Unless you will be visiting Greece. I am ordered there immediately. Some diplomatic matter, I believe."

  Regina heard honest regret in his voice. Suddenly cold, she stared at him.

  He nodded. "I depart tonight. Thank you for making my stay in England so pleasant, Signorina Lachlan. I will never forget it." He bowed and kissed her hand, more warmly than he had the girls'.

  Even through the fabric of her glove, his lips burned her.

  It's not fair. He's leaving and I can't even kiss him goodbye. A deep, almost unbearable pain built in her chest. She felt herself sway toward him.

  He glanced to left and right, looked over her shoulder. "I love you, Gina," he whispered, so faintly she almost missed it. Aloud he said, "Take care. And be careful in Paris."

  He turned, strode away, whistling. She watched until he was lost in the late evening crowd on the sidewalk.

  "Miss Lachlan, can we go to Fortnum & Mason tomorrow? Lady Wykeham said it's the most wonderful place."

  Pamela's question brought her back to herself. "Of course. Let's get to bed quickly, so we'll have lots of time tomorrow to explore London."

  She had done more difficult things than keep a smile on her face, but she couldn't remember what or when. By the time she told the girls goodnight, more than her heart ached.

  Much later, as she tossed and turned in her lonely bed, she recognized the tune Gabe had whistled as he walked away. She had to get up and look at the libretto to see if she'd remembered the words correctly.

  She had. It was a good thing he wasn't here or she'd make him eat them: "My object all sublime/I shall achieve in time."

  * * * *

  The next morning the girls embarked on another flurry of shopping. She went along patiently, reminding herself that soon she'd be free of the responsibility for the two flibbertigibbets. In the meantime, keeping up with them was a good anodyne for heartbreak. They gave her little peace and practically no time to think.

  Thursday morning, however, was another story.

  For perhaps the nineteenth time, Regina contemplated the possibility of abandoning her charges. Not that she would, but the thought of doing so made her feel more able to face another day of travel.

  "What was I thinking?" she muttered as she packed the last items. "It's a wonder we've survived." One last look around the room and she picked up the valise and walked to the connecting door. Taking a deep breath, she knocked. "Time to go, ladies. Our train leaves in a bit over two hours."

  There was a wail from the other side. Knowing what would come next, Regina stepped back just as the door swung open. The dainty, fair-haired girl who stood there was still in her nightgown. "I just woke up," she said, her tone matching the pout on her face. Beyond her Minerva was pushing something white and ruffled into a trunk without regard for future wrinkles.

  Regina sighed. "Get dressed," she said to Pamela, keeping her voice soft with an effort. "Minerva, you'll not be able to get everything into your trunk unless you fold carefully." As she had so many other mornings, she went around the room, picking up the strewn garments, peeking under the bed to find mismated shoes and wadded stockings. "Where is your dressing case, Pamela?"

  "I don't know. Maybe I left it in the bathroom. It's not here, and I can't dress until I've washed my face." Again her voice rose in a wail.

  Telling herself that patience was a virtue, Regina scooped a pile of clothing from the bureau. "Here it is. Now scoot. Wash your face while I lay out
something for you to wear." Almost every morning, she had performed similar chores, made similar soothing sounds, and kept a tight rein on her temper. Not for the first time, she wondered what her parents would have done if she or any of her siblings had behaved as these girls did. After they applied the strop, that was.

  She reminded herself that the Tomlinsons were, after all, paying her travel expenses and a generous stipend as well. "And I'm earning every penny of it," she said, under her breath.

  "I beg your pardon, Miss Lachlan. Were you speaking to me?"

  Minerva was again attempting to close her trunk, but having little luck. It was easy to see why. Blobs of clothing stuck out on every side.

  Sighing again, Regina waved her aside. If I had a penny for every time I'd repacked this trunk...

  They managed to get to the station in time, much to Regina's amazement. They even managed to get aboard the ferry at Dover without mishap. Fortunately a carriage was awaiting them at the slip in Calais, ready to take them to the train station. Once they were aboard, Minerva did her best to confuse an attendant when she tried out her schoolgirl French on him. Regina, who'd had an older brother and an uncle, both fluent, to converse with, did a little better, but she could tell that no one was impressed with the three American tourists.

  "Paris! I can't believe we're on our way to Paris!" Pamela was bouncing in her seat, while Minerva had her nose plastered against the grimy window.

  Neither could Regina. She had less than one week before she'd be free to live a long-time dream. In Paris. Once Minerva's parents had taken the girls off her hands, she would explore Paris as she'd dreamed of doing, do what she wished, go where she wished.

  And try to make up her mind what she did wish for.

  * * * *

  Gabe finally reached his hotel about six, having taken a roundabout route from the Louvre. He hadn't spied anyone following him, but the itch was still there, at the back of his neck. He climbed from the third cab he'd taken and stood a moment before the spectacular façade of the HÔtel de Crillon, looking about. Usually he stayed at moderately priced hotels, but Guglielmo Basilio lived high on the hog.