The Trouble With Moonlight Read online

  Lusinda was about to protest, but Eugenia stilled her with a sad expression. “You two share something innate that most normal people rarely find, and with Nevidimi, well, such relationships are rarer still. Your mother and father, they were such a couple. I think she died rather than face the world as Nevidimi without your father.”

  Lusinda had been Portia’s age when her father was shot in a hunting accident. Afterward it had seemed that her mother’s vitality slipped away with each phasing until Rhea’s birth. Her aunt had said she just didn’t have the will to fight. “I remember thinking then that I never wanted to need one person so much that it would make me not want to go on,” Lusinda said.

  “Loneliness can have the same effect.”

  Lusinda quickly glanced at her aunt, wondering if she were speaking of herself. She hadn’t thought the older woman had regrets about forgoing marriage, until just now.

  Her aunt patted her hand. “Your parents would have wished you to know the same happiness they had shared in their lifetime.” She stood to leave. “If you love this man, then you must help him understand what he truly needs.”

  “But what is that?” Lusinda asked. “What does he truly need?”

  “He needs you, my dear. Not just your hands. He needs your heart and your promise of a future. He needs you, and I’m afraid,” she sighed, “you need him as well.”

  “But what about the risk?” Lusinda said, feeling more exposed now than when she came out of phase in the carriage. “You said it was too risky to be seen in the moonlight again.”

  “Help him, Lusinda. That’s all you can do.”

  THAT NIGHT, LUSINDA WAS READY. SHE TRIED ON THE boy’s trousers that Locke had left behind. They felt a little awkward, more restrictive than pantalets, but less clumsy than a swinging skirt. She wore them under a skirt so they could remain hidden until needed. Following Locke’s example from the previous evening, she wore a mourning bodice and gloves. In the past, she wore a widow’s veil so as to look as though she had a face. Tonight, she pinned one over her face to hide it. When Locke’s carriage pulled to the front of the house, she carried a hat box down to the street to meet it. The door opened and Locke’s arm, draped in black, extended to help her inside.

  “I was afraid that I’d have to climb to your room once again,” he said once she was safe inside. She saw his relieved smile, and knew instantly she had made the right decision.

  She lifted the veil away from her face. “Did you bring the tools?”

  He kicked a bag on the floor by his feet. It clinked. He, in turn, pointed to the hat box. “Are you planning on being a fashionable burglar?”

  “That isn’t for the mission,” she said, knowing that her reply didn’t satisfy his curiosity. Instead, she began to remove her skirt and the box was quickly forgotten.

  “I haven’t cracked a safe for a couple of days. I wish I had a few days more to practice.”

  “You would have been able to practice had you come home with me this afternoon.” She heard the hurt of rejection in his voice.

  “I couldn’t just then. But I may be able tonight,” she said. She hadn’t committed to the idea completely, but she was prepared to return with him nonetheless.

  “You may?”

  She nodded, though with the dark of the carriage and her black garb she wasn’t sure he could see.

  He leaned forward and kissed her unerringly on the lips. She supposed that settled the issue of what he could see. He kissed her once quickly, then within the space of a breath, returned for a much deeper kiss. Within minutes he had traded his seat across from her to the one next to her. If the carriage hadn’t stopped, she was quite sure she would have once again found herself straddling his hips. The thought was not without merit. He had mentioned that the next time would be pleasurable.

  “Must we attempt Pembroke’s safe tonight?” she asked, hoping for a reprieve. She really would feel more confident if she could practice a bit more.

  “Yes,” Locke replied. “But we’ll do it quickly. After all, we’ve both been here before.”

  They walked a short distance from where the carriage waited. A few windows emitted the soft glow of a gas lamp. A hansom cab waited nearby. Someone was there.

  “I’ll go around to the back to check that the study is empty. You wait behind those bushes,” Locke whispered. “Careful.” He gestured toward the hansom driver slumped in the high seat, most likely asleep. Lusinda was happy to comply. Never having broken into a stranger’s house while visible, she felt particularly vulnerable tonight.

  Locke hadn’t been gone but a few moments when the front door began to open. Lusinda quickly ducked low behind the bushes so as to remain hidden from the men whose voices could be heard as the door swung wide.

  “It certainly is black tonight. No moon. Warm but black as hell.”

  “There’s no Nevidimi out tonight, of that we can be certain. ”

  She recognized that voice. It was the same as she’d heard at the Farthingtons’ and the same as she had heard . . . at her house. Ramsden! Yes. It had to be.

  “Nevidimi. What the hell is that?”

  “I’ll explain at the ambassador’s ball,” Ramsden said. “You’d swear I was deep in my cups if I were to tell you tonight. ”

  The first man laughed. “Marcus, if you were deep in your cups, I wouldn’t entrust you to deliver that envelope to the ambassador. Be sure you place it directly in his hands. We’ve waited too long to let that list of agents slip through our fingers now.”

  “Have you looked at it?” Ramsden asked, a bit sheepishly.

  Lusinda prayed that Pembroke would answer. If he merely nodded or shook his head she wouldn’t be able to see. Locke’s life might depend on the answer.

  “It’s a sealed envelope, Marcus. Make sure it stays that way until it reaches its final destination.”

  Lusinda allowed herself the slow exhale of the breath she was holding. Although tempted to move closer to hear over the snap of reins and the rhythmic click of hooves from the awakening hansom, she crouched lower so as not be discovered.

  “What happened to Locke?” Pembroke asked. “The cards ran a bit cold tonight. I would have enjoyed his commentary, if not the competition.”

  “I’m afraid our dear Locke has lost himself in pursuits of an amorous nature, but I’ll let him know that he, or at least his money, was missed.”

  “Locke? Amorous? The man only leaves his study to venture to the club for cards. A woman would have to break into his house to make his acquaintance.”

  Both men laughed. “Be that as it may, I believe him to be quite infatuated, though little good it will do,” Ramsden continued. “He probably believes he can calculate his way under her skirts with his books and maps. I expect the pretty miss will run from his presence in screaming boredom before long.”

  They exchanged companionable good evenings, while Lusinda seethed behind the bushes. Locke’s so-called friend was a traitor and no friend at all. Ramsden climbed into the waiting cab and pulled away. Lord Pembroke turned and went back inside the house.

  She waited a few more minutes until Locke startled her with his return. He blended so well with the night that she had to move her face within inches of his in order to see him.

  “I’ve discovered a way into the house around the back,” he said. “The study is dark. We shouldn’t have any trouble.”

  “We’re too late. The safe is empty.” On one hand she was relieved that she wouldn’t be expected to crack a safe tonight. But on the other hand, she felt guilty. Had she accompanied Locke last night as he had wished, they might have recovered the document and been done with all this.

  “What do you mean? How could you know such a thing?”

  “While you were in the back, Lord Pembroke placed a sealed envelope in the hands of an emissary with explicit instructions that it be delivered to the ambassador.”

  "That doesn’t mean—”

  “Pembroke referred to it as a list of agents.”


  Locke sat back on his heels, glanced at the house, and murmured a string of profanities. “We’re too late.”

  She nodded, knowing full well the blame should be placed on her shoulders.

  “I suppose there’s nothing more we can do here,” he said, although from the tilt of his head and the cadence of his voice, she thought he harbored a wish to investigate the safe anyway.

  Together they left the Pembroke residence and walked back toward the waiting carriage.

  “There’s one other thing I need to tell you,” Lusinda said once they were clear of the house. She dreaded telling Locke the truth, but it was necessary. She took a deep breath. “The emissary that is delivering the envelope to the ambassador is known to you.”

  His brows rose. “He is?”

  Lusinda nodded. “I recognized his voice. It’s Mr. Ramsden. ”

  “You’re mistaken.” His brows came crashing down. “From your position, you wouldn’t have been able to see his face. Any number of men might sound similar. I’m sure it was someone else.”

  He hastened his stride. Lusinda practically had to run to keep up with him.

  “No. Lord Pembroke referred to him by name. He was the man at the Farthingtons’ as well. The one who warned Farthington that an attempt would be made on his safe.” She touched his arm to gain his attention. “Don’t you see, it all fits. If he’s a Russian conspirator, then it would explain how he knows of the Nevidimi. It might also explain why he escaped injury when the two of you were captured and placed in that prison.”

  Locke stopped and turned toward her. “Ramsden saved my life. If it hadn’t been for him, I would never have made it back to camp. Why would he do that if he was a Russian spy? He would have let me die.”

  “You were his friend.” She tried to catch her breath, grateful for the lull from the jaunt. “I suppose even Russian spies have emotions.”

  He shook his head. “He wasn’t a Russian spy, at least not when we went into central Asia.” He strode the short distance to the waiting carriage with Lusinda hurrying to catch up. Once they were both inside and on their way back to Kensington, he continued. “I don’t believe that a man who has been my closest friend, who has been like a brother to me, could also be a traitor. You must have heard incorrectly.”

  “Then how would he know of the Nevidimi?” she asked, uncomfortable with Locke’s allegations. She knew what she heard. She must make him understand the danger his friend posed. Help him, Aunt Eugenia had said. What better help than to advise him of the man who was about to betray him? “We are of rare origin. There is no mention of the likes of my people by name in English literature. There have been incorrect references to our nature, but never our name. How would Ramsden know of the connection to moonlight, or our proper name, if he wasn’t associated with the Russians?”

  Locke studied her face. She shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny. “How would you?” he asked.

  “Because I am not a myth. You know that.”

  “But you never mentioned that you were Russian. It seems if there was to be a Russian spy, it would be someone of Russian descent, would it not?”

  “You think I’m a spy?” Her voice rose in disbelief.

  “I think you’re the perfect spy,” he answered. “I knew that the very first night I didn’t see you.”

  James swore softly beneath his breath. What a fool he had been. Training Lusinda to steal secrets that she probably already knew. He felt his eyes narrow and his heart harden. “Did you know that I worked for the Crown? Was that your mission? To insinuate yourself into my life so you could report back to your superiors?” Her face paled beneath his accusations, but he didn’t care. “The letter is probably lying in Pembroke’s safe right at this moment. You’ve succeeded in directing me away.”

  “Locke! Listen to yourself! I never sought you out. I never wanted to become a spy. You were the one that insisted I move into your household. You were the one who tricked me into revealing my abilities. I’m not a Russian spy.”

  She placed her hand on his leg and he pushed it away. He refused to look at her. How could he have allowed her to do this to him? He had carefully protected his heart all these years and she ripped it out of his chest in an act of betrayal. He should have known better. Didn’t his mother do that very thing?

  “Locke, please listen to me.” He heard a bit of a sob in her voice, but turned his heart away from it. “It’s true that my mother is of Russian descent. She was born near the Caspian Sea where a tiny group of Nevidimi has secretly existed for centuries. But she left that country by choice to be with my British-born father. I was born in England. My sisters were born in England. I’m as much a loyal citizen as you.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me of your heritage before now?”

  “Because you hate the Russians so. I didn’t want you to hate me because of my mother’s lineage.” As the carriage passed a gaslight, he noticed the reflection of tears on her cheeks. His chest tightened. The last time she had ridden in this carriage, she had shed tears as well. Of course, then she was curled on his chest, crying because he had robbed her of her innocence. Was she doing the same to him?

  “I never wanted you to hate me,” she said in a sad voice that barely carried above the rattle of the carriage.

  “I don’t hate you,” he admitted. The sad fact was, he couldn’t hate her. Besides, he couldn’t deny the logic of her argument. He had been the one to pursue her. From the first night, when he had witnessed the dancing necklace, he had been intrigued. He hunted her down and trapped her with a net. Knowing Lusinda, he couldn’t imagine that she’d walked into that trap with the full intent of attracting his notice. Although how could any man not be attracted by the feel of such a sweet naked body beneath his own? Even now the memory stirred his groin.

  He had blackmailed her to move into his home. No one knew of the hand tremors or his discomfort with closed spaces that had resulted from his imprisonment. He couldn’t blame her for his incapacitation last night. Had she truly been a Russian spy, she wouldn’t have run from him after he had taken her innocence. She would have used the situation to insinuate herself into his life. No. He wasn’t convinced that Lusinda was a spy, not yet at least.

  “I can not accept that Ramsden is a traitor,” he said after a long spell of quiet. “Perhaps he learned of the Nevidimi from a different source. Didn’t he say that he attended a lecture by that Kavarzin fellow?”

  Lusinda started to interrupt, but he held his hand up to silence her. “However, I will be watching him. If he is a traitor, he will make a mistake, then I’ll know the truth. Meanwhile, we’ll need to progress to the Russian ambassador’s safe.”

  “How fortunate that you’ve been working on a plan for that very thing. I heard Rams . . . one of the men . . . refer to the ambassador’s ball. It appears he will be there.”

  He recognized her inference that Ramsden would be present. “Yes, it’s been mentioned around the club. The ball is to be held next weekend.”

  “Have you received an invitation?”

  “Yes, but it’s known that I rarely go to those things, all that noise and music.” He waved a hand in a manner of forced gaiety. “Actually, I have found the unattended safes of so many of the partygoers to be a larger attraction than a dance. The night of a ball has always been something of a working night for me.”

  Even in the dark of the carriage, she could see the gleam of his smile. Her lips tightened. All those years when she had longed to go dancing at a ball, this infuriating man ignored the invitations he received, preferring instead to rifle through the private papers of the participants. She wondered if they knew. All the time they were dancing and flirting and sipping refreshments . . .

  “That safe is under constant surveillance. We’ll have to be extremely careful in our planning if we are to succeed.” His glance settled on her face. “It would have been much easier if we could have intercepted the letter at Lord Pembroke’s residence.”

  The front wheel of the
carriage rocked into the ill-fated hole in front of the Kensington residence and came to a stop. They both glanced at each other with full memory of what had happened the last time they encountered that rut.

  “I should speak to Pickering about filling that spot. Can’t be good for the suspension.”

  She averted her gaze. She could attest to that. It was definitely difficult to suspend oneself when one’s carriage dips violently into a rut. Her cheeks began to warm.

  “Have you decided, then?” he asked. He lifted her hand and put it in his. “Do I send Fenwick on to your aunt’s house or will you stay here with me?”

  She hesitated, wondering once again if she were moving in the proper direction. Once she voiced a decision, there would be no turning back.

  “You’ll be able to practice before we attempt the ambassador’s safe,” he said, as if that would be an added inducement. “I’ll have Pickering assemble a lunarium. You can even bring back that black cat of yours, if you like.”

  “I don’t think Rhea would like that,” she said with a smile.

  “Please, Lusinda. Stay.”

  The yearning in his voice and the need reflected in his eyes melted her resolve. Her aunt’s words played back in her mind. We can’t undo what has been done. If you love this man, then you must help him. It would be easier to help him if she were close by. And if she were close by, perhaps his need of her hands might grow into a need for her heart.

  “If I exit the carriage here, someone might see me going into your house at this late hour.”

  Locke smiled and quickly tapped a code on the wall behind his head. The carriage lurched forward to head around back to the carriage house.

  Fourteen

  GIVEN THE LATE HOUR, THERE WAS NOT MUCH TO do once they went inside but retire to their rooms. Lusinda hurried up the stairs so as to avoid awkward moments with Locke. She had left some of her clothes in the house with the intent to send for them later, but as she had returned, she could avail herself of her remaining wardrobe. Perhaps she knew in her heart that she would return, she thought as she stepped out of the boy’s trousers. Perhaps she never really wanted to leave.