Page 34 of A Spy’s Guide to Seduction

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In the carriage outside the prison Lynley felt he could breathe again. He had a strong desire to shake his companion, and an equally strong desire to crush her to him and not let go. She had done what a man would have done. She had rushed to the dead man and examined the scene, apparently indifferent to the danger of being unmasked as an imposter.

Every gate that had to be opened for them to pass had been a trial. Every place where he’d had to stoop and squeeze in the narrow passage had tested him. He had been mistaken in thinking that his aunt made Lyndale Abbey a prison. Confinement to the abbey, with its gloomy rooms full of painted saints frowning down from the walls, was freedom compared with a genuine English prison. He had to report to Goldsworthy as quickly as he could, but first he needed to get Emily Radstock away from danger.

She knew something. Excitement still coursed through her at the adventure she’d had. Her body shook with it.

“Lynley, he was murdered,” she said.

“I gathered. Did you see a wound?”

She shook her head. “When he fell, he must have had a cup of beer in his hand. I could smell it on the stones. The cup rolled under the bench.”

“Poisoned then?”

“How could it be done unless someone on the inside was in on it?”

Lynley considered the likely candidates. “Malikov had a visitor earlier today. Easy enough to bribe a guard to offer the prisoner a ration of beer with an extra something in it.”

“Who? Who wanted him dead?” She lifted the veil on her hat, her eyes large and bright with adventure and indignation.

“The name in the book is Mr. Isaiah Peach.” Lynley had recognized the message in the name at once.

“The visitor, whoever he was, must have known Malikov’s true identity. Even so, the turnkey and chaperone were there, and no visitor would be admitted to the cell, nor could he offer anything to Malikov through the grates with a guard standing between them.”

Lynley understood how the thing could be done. Peach’s role, whoever he was, had been to distract the prisoner. “Malikov would have been removed from his cell long enough for another guard to put something in his beer.”

“Lynley, there’s something else,” she said.

“What?”

“Malikov tried to write something in the spilled beer. A name, I imagine. There were only three letters—Z-O-V. Do you think Zov was Mr. Peach’s real name?”

“No.” Lynley doubted the visitor had been Russian. More likely Isaiah Peach was a local hired to do the job.

Lynley didn’t like it. Malikov had been murdered for knowing things. Even his refusal to betray his fellow spies to the English had not saved him. Now Lynley had involved Emily in the case. Now Emily knew things she ought not to know.

“You’re frowning. What?” she asked.

He reached for her and pulled her onto his lap. He simply had to hold her for a few minutes. “I want you out of these clothes,” he said.

“Lynley!” She twisted to look at him, her elbow catching him in his bruised ribs. “I appreciate that we’ve had a trying afternoon, but there’s no reason to lose your head. We’re on Fleet Street in a moving carriage with a good part of the population of London passing by.”

He took hold of her dangerous elbows. As soon as he’d said it, he realized that he’d meant just what she thought, but it would not do to admit it.

“I meant,” he said, “that your skirts have been in contact with who knows what offensive, possibly poisonous substances. I think you should burn this dress.”

“Oh, of course. Good thought.” She softened and leaned against him. “I must thank you for coming into the cell at just that moment. I feared the guards would detain me. We make a good team.”

He said nothing. He tucked her head under his chin and closed his arms around her. A glaring flaw in agreeing to their partnership now became apparent. As his partner, she, too, would encounter danger. He could lose her, not in the way he expected, at the end of their partnership, but in a way he didn’t care to think of at all. He resolved to keep their partnership to ballrooms and drawing rooms. He would see to it that from now on he faced villains alone.

Chapter Thirteen

With very little effort the husband hunter can, in fact, acquire a husband in her first Season, as long as she is not too nice in her requirements. The world will be quite satisfied to see her matched with a respectable gentleman of means and unexceptional appearance. A few smiles, a little gratitude for his notice, and a willing acceptance of his addresses will do the trick. The banns may be called, the bride cake ordered, and the guests notified.

The husband hunter who refuses to accept such fleeting success, the triumph of which is over on the wedding day itself, must be patient indeed. In the midst of the Season’s gaiety, surrounded by gentlemen with all the charm of looks and manners to recommend them, she must wait for that rare gentleman who awakens her deepest instincts, the very instincts which guide the way she lives her life. With him she will risk the unthinkable. To him only may she give an unequivocal yes! that makes both tremble with joy.

—The Husband Hunter’s Guide to London