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But he only stared, waiting for her molasses-slow brain to catch up.Oh dear God.The employer of the man whose grip was currently crushing her arm washim.
Everything seemed to unravel in slow motion—the fact that her mentor in the Home Office was sneering at her, that the gun was pointed at her instead of her abductor, and the utterly numbing realization that the man she had trusted most in the world was not on her side.
Stay calm. Control your emotions.Valentine’s words from the Bois de Boulogne arose as she faced down the deadly weapon.
“When did you decide to throw me to the wolves?” she asked, keeping her voice measured.
“You were always disposable, Lady Bronwyn.” He strolled closer, waving the gun carelessly in the air. She clenched her teeth. If the brute released her, she might have a chance of getting to one or both of her weapons or even disarming him as she’d practiced. Wentworth was a trained operative, however, not a careless, hired cad. “You know, when you first approached Sesily and then me so boldly, wanting to do your part for God and country, I almost laughed, but you wanted to prove yourself so badly.” He shook his head and tapped his chin with the gun. “Imagine my surprise when you turned out to be better than Sesily.”
“Where is she?” Bronwyn asked, keeping her stare on him and her shock at bay. “What have you done with her?”
The bastard laughed. “Nothing. I married the bellicose chit.”
“What?”
He shrugged. “Though lamentably, I had to send her back to San Francisco. She threatened to expose me and I couldn’t have that. At least, not until I dealt with a few loose ends that could see me lose my position.” Wentworth laughed. “She’s the one who tried to extort you, you know. After I cut her off, she was hoping for money to hide from me and remain in England.”
Poor Sesily. Valentine had been right—that note had been sent out of despair. To be that trapped and desperate, Bronwyn couldn’t imagine. But that was the thing with a patriarchal society—a wife became her husband’s property.
At least she was safe with her mother if Wentworth was telling the truth, but that would explain why she would not have received or responded to Bronwyn’s correspondence from France. Which meantWentworthhad sent the note about meeting him at the masquerade.
“If you despised her so much, why marry her?” Bronwyn froze as the answer came much too readily. She exhaled. “You wanted her fortune.”
“My very own American dollar princess. You see? This is why I love her,” Wentworth said to the silent man still holding her in an iron grip, a proud look in his eyes that made Bronwyn want to spit on him. The lily-livered liar! He’d played both her and Sesily like a fiddle and they had fallen for it. “She’s fast on her feet and intelligent to boot.”
“She walked like her legs were made of lead,” the man muttered. “Stumbling every two seconds. Crashed into a vase in her own home, lost her headpiece.”
Bronwyn stiffened right as Wentworth stilled, his sharp eyes settling on her messy hair. Unlike the one with his paws on her, her former handler wasn’t a fool. She saw the moment he realized that her hair would not have gotten into such a state without help or by her own design.
“Damn it!” he thundered. “Did you see anyone following you?”
“No.”
Wentworth let out a coarse oath, his face going red with rage. “Go keep a lookout. Shoot if you see anyone.”
When the man did as he was bid, Bronwyn forced herself not to move too quickly as blood rushed into her numb arm, prickles burning hot beneath the skin. Any big movements would be noticed, and she needed to be slow…excruciatingly slow to avoid notice. With an eye on Wentworth, she eased her hands to her sides where the false pockets had been sewn.Slowly, she urged herself, despite the need to rush.There.She was in. As if he could sense the uplift in her state, Wentworth frowned, eyes darting to her once more.
“Wait, Larry, did you check her for weapons?”
Halfway to the entrance to the mews, the man glanced over his shoulder. “Why would I? She was at a ball and she’s wearing a ball gown.”
“You’re a bloody—”
But he didn’t even finish his sentence as Bronwyn slid her pistols from their holsters in a well-practiced movement, cocking both barrels with the thumbs of each hand, and pointed one at each of them. “Never underestimate a lady in a dress.”
Wentworth’s mouth went tight, a vein pulsing in his forehead. “Give me what I want and no one will get hurt.”
Bronwyn lifted a brow, despite her racing pulse, and fought to keep her arms steady. No need to offer him a shaky countenance as more ammunition against her. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, but she refused to show this man any weakness whatsoever. “I have two guns, one trained on each of you, and believe me I’m more than capable of shooting straight with both. Hands where I can see them, Larry.”
“Just get me the bloody list,” Wentworth ground out. “And I’ll never bother you again.”
She frowned, torn between shooting each of them so she could get away and finding out what had driven Wentworth to this point. “Why do you want it so badly?Yougave it to me.”
“Becausehe”—Wentworth glowered at his surly counterpart with his hands in the air—“was supposed to retrieve it in Philadelphia and sell it to the Union general. Two birds, one stone.”
That made sense. Information cost money. Wentworth would have gotten himself a pretty payout by selling it. “I thought you were married and rich now.”
He scowled. “The dowry is gone.”
