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Queen Victoria gazed out of her carriage at the pitch black sky. The London weather had been gloomier than usual of late and she felt its effects more deeply than ever before. The palm of her silken gloved hand slid consciously over the soft swell of her belly. Perhaps the child was pulling at her emotions already in whatever strange bond mother and babe were speculated to have. Victoria made herself stop rubbing the infants abode and instead pressed her hand into her husband's warm grasp. Albert turned to her and smiled in that way that melted her heart and gave her strength. The effect was instantaneous.

She listened as the wheels of the carriage moved from smooth pavement to the rough clatter of cobblestones, flicking up the shallow pools of water in their grooves. They must be close, she surmised and once again leaned against the pristine glass to watch as the warmly lit lanterns of the Covent Garden Theatre came into view. The night had started to clear up beautifully, permeated with a gentle warmth like the promise of sunshine for the day ahead. Only the scent of damp earth laced the air with memories of rain.

"It has turned out to be a fine night, wouldn't you say?" she asked congenially.

"I hardly think so, Your Majesty, particularly if it ended with your head chopped off," her sober companion responded.

"Really, Lord Bexley," she tsked. "Must you be so effusive?"

"I am trying to make you see reason," Cain ground out, casting a beseeching glance to the Queen's Consort. Prince Albert however appeared to be fascinated by the curtains that trimmed the carriage window at that present moment.

"I am fully capable of understanding your meaning, Lord Bexley, having been apprised of the situation by the Director of your Agency at dawn. What I do not understand is why you are so dogmatic in your belief that I should now sequester myself in my chambers."

"I can only protect you when I am able to control all the variables that surround you. Continuing to go about your daily business while 'with child' presents constant changes which I cannot foresee. Your opponents are amassing their power and if you choose to persist in your course of action, you leave yourself open to danger."

"And what is the alternative?" Victoria snapped, the veneer of her Royal composure cracking against the heat of her temper. "To sit in a room like a brood mare while the Cabinet makes decisions on my country and its people without me? Must I suffer to wait while others seek out betrayers, usurpers and threats?" She pursed her lips in discontent. "It is not in my nature to hand over my power to others."

Cain's fist clenched on his knee. "And, it is not in my nature to let you do otherwise."

"Let me?" The words dripped from the Queens lips like venom and Cain saw the stubborn supercilious streak that so many royals were bred to have.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty. I misspoke," he conceded. Cain watched the slope of his monarch's shoulders ease, as did her pride, but he had his own stubborn bent that refused to break. "And, yet I cannot in good conscience see you to endanger yourself further."

Victoria sighed in frustration and released her husband's hand. "Your advice is duly noted, but it is not your decision to make, Lord Bexley."

"Victoria," Cain began softly and watched her eyes flash defiantly at the use of her Christian name. "You are not the only one who lost a father in some way to this threat against the Crown. The dead are not the only victims; the living have their own horrors to bear."

Victoria held her breath for a moment, remembering a night long ago protected in the arms of the man sitting across from her, and watching her father die. She exhaled with slow measure wishing she could push the grief from her chest as easily as she did air. For several moments no one spoke as the carriage wheels gave their last slow turns and came to a halt.

A light tap came at the door, a question of readiness to the occupants within. The Prince seized the handle, but Victoria lay a halting palm across his left hand and he paused. She reached across the expansive coach lined in velvet and satin, and placed her other hand on Cain's knee. "Cain, you saved me once, and your courage in my service since then has been invaluable. But, you cannot continue to hide me in the shadows. I am not the child I once was. I am dressed as the Queen of England, and so I must comport myself as such." She leaned back and gestured to Albert to open the door.

The warm wet air came rushing in bringing the buzzing murmur of courtiers hovering at the edge of the Theatre's light. Queen Victoria glanced behind her before accepting her husband's assistance to alight. "I shall heed your words, Cain, Duke of Bexley but I will not allow them to hinder me."

Cain nodded once and pushed himself into the darkness of the plush upholstery so as not to be seen. The door once again closed and he mulled on his conversation with Victoria. She was insufferable! Ever since her childhood she had been the most headstrong, obstinate girl and then she was given a Crown. He crossed his arms and huffed in exasperation, but as the carriage once again rolled on towards the Theatre's mews his frown lessened and so did his anger. If someone had told him to hide in the face of danger, would he listen? Certainly not. So, could he truly blame the Queen for not cowering to the threats of men? He supposed not.

The glimmer of a smile began to flicker across his face as he sank further into the cushions. Change was not necessarily a bad thing. The trick was to anticipate the need for it, and lay plans for day that they were needed. Cain was an excellent planner, being in a job that required several contingencies. Queen Victoria may choose to do as she willed, as was both her prerogative and her right, but his mission was clear. When the wheels ceased amongst the smell of hay and horses he opened the door discreetly and slipped out towards the Theatre's stage door on St James Street.

The latch clicked open easily and a bubble of mirth engulfed him as he entered. Tonight they were performing Rossini's opera, The Barber of Seville, and its comedic tale instilled the actors with a sense of gaiety for their art. Women in bustling dresses scuttled past him with copious rouge on their powdered faces followed by men painted with much the same. There were no delicate ballerinas twittering in corners, nor the catch of delicate floral scents that he was so enamoured of in other theatrical works. It was not a play he would have chosen to witness himself, but Queen Victoria had a particularly brash sense of humour, despite all outward appearances.

The raucous laughter and rustling folds of voluminous costumes made it easy to single out the lone woman of distinguished elegance. She was poised at the edge of the curtain, bathed in light from the gallery beyond, drinking in the assembled audience in quiet assessment. Sleek ebony curls cascaded down her back entwined with fine silver thread to match the gossamer overlay to her violet gown. Contrary to the fashion of the day, she eschewed the large bell skirt in favour of the slim natural fall of satin over skin.

He drew close enough to whisper into the perfumed strands of her hair. "Zarina."

Zarina responded with only a slight alteration to the pace of her breathing.

Cain looked over her shoulder to the upper box where Queen Victoria was taking her seat in the company of her small retinue. She acknowledged the Master of Ceremonies who stood below with a nod, thus signalling the lights to dim and the curtains to rise.

Zarina and Cain stepped back together into the darkness of the side stage. He touched her elbow and she turned to him with an enigmatic smile. "Your Grace," she curtseyed ever so slightly.

"We need to talk," he insisted attempting to guide her into a solitary alcove.

"Must we, your Grace?" she sighed and the sound could have made angels weep for the beauty of her practiced voice.

"Yes," Cain answered firmly. "We must."

"Very well," she acquiesced and glided silently across the floorboards.

Cain followed the delicate sway of her hips into the theatre's depths. When she turned, her lapis eyes flashed with the memory of their shared past. In their gleam was an invitation that no ordinary man could resist, however the Duke of Bexley was no ordinary man. Sweeping aside the carnal desires of the flesh he gripped her arm and spoke in earnest. "What do you know about the Queen's assassin?"

With a flick of her wrist, Zarina withdrew from his touch. The motion was so smooth that Cain supposed she had cause to use the manoeuvre often in her line of work. "Ah, so now you wish to come back to me, Your Grace?"

"Jealousy doesn't become you, Zarina?"

"You have yet to see such a shade of green on my complexion, my lord. I am instead marvelling at the fortuitous turn of events. Was it not you who spent the night in covert affairs with me a mere month ago, only to shun me in favour of my Guild Mistress? I do not take kindly to being thrown by the wayside."

"I doubt you have ever felt the unvarnished brush of the gutter," Cain responded with an arched brow.

"You know nothing of me, Cain, Duke of Bexley." Her porcelain veneer was dangerous, even in its stillness.

"Perhaps that is true, but I was not the one to shut you out of the Agency's dealings with the Guild. Your Mistress was the puppeteer who pulled those strings. The only reason I come to you now is that the Queen's life is in danger. Veronique, in her paranoia to hide from the rogue agent in the Secret Service, has turned away from some of the best people in the field. You and I have worked together for so long that I trust you where she does not."

"You trust me, or you have simply run out of leads?" Her eyes flickered like sparks in a dying fire.

Cain looked across the darkness at the women whose beauty shamed Helen of Troy. Men were drawn to her like moths to a flame and the end was just as deadly. Zarina was the jewel of the Crimson Guild, a weapon so efficient that she had been plucked for the Secret Service and placed in bedrooms of the most influential members of the ton. As much as Cain liked Liara, Veronique's recent reassignment of courtesans was foolish beyond belief. Zarina was a prize they could not afford to lose, and although he had run out of leads, it did not alter the fact that he had trusted her once and still did.

"I never stopped trusting you," he answered honestly.

"And what about loving me?" Zarina drew closer to his body, placing a softened palm over his chest to ease the tension, with a lover's intimate intuition.

"There have been many broken hearts in your path, Zarina, but mine was never one of them." Cain brushed a lock of midnight black hair over her ear and smiled. "But my trust, that you will always have."

"Love. Trust. They are the same." The tips of Zarina's nails pricked over his torso.

"I do not love you," Cain reaffirmed with a Rake's cocky condescension. "That is far too dangerous a path, even for me."

"And yet, you trust me so completely? Is that not also dangerous?" she beseeched with wide, searching eyes, like two limpid pools of desire crafted to reflect a man's yearning.

Cain looked down upon the artistry of her face, so perfect in all its perplexity. Had the Venus de Milo required it, Zarina could have been the sculptor's muse. In all his travels Cain had not met a woman whose beauty could parallel that of the creature before him, and yet it no longer stirred his soul.

"Tell me what you know, Zarina. Lord knows, you must be concealing some piece of information in retribution for the slight of being spurred, even if it was only in business and not in pleasure."

"There is not much to tell." The actress cast her beautiful almond eyes downwards and Cain could not read her thoughts.

"Zarina..." Cain emphasised the vowels of her name in chastisement. "I hardly think that you have not managed to garner a single valuable piece of information from your clientele. Your arsenal of enticements are legion. Do not sell yourself short now."

"Well..." she drawled suggestively, "I did have a rather interesting interlude with Lady Bianca Rinehart recently. Something must have persuaded her to the mysteries of the fairer sex for she sought me out. Mistress Veronique has yet to be made aware of the assignation but I will have to disclose the information before long. She is too powerful an ally for me to bear the weight of her displeasure."

Cain grimaced inwardly at the recollection of Liara's miserable attempt at playing the courtesan. While it was disturbing to watch, she must have roused something in Bianca for the lady to seek out another member of the Crimson Guild, or perhaps Bianca was just using Zarina to obtain information about Liara.

"So, you met with Lady Rinehart?" he asked, hoping and fearing the answer.

Zarina fluttered her long lashes and gazed up at him from under hooded eyes. "Yes."

The single syllable was more a pleasurable whisper than a word.

"And?" Cain murmured back in the small silence they had created. The sounds of the audiences laughter at the play was but a dim echo in the distance.

"And we spoke of a great many things between the silken sheets." Zarina's full lips curved into the mockery of a smile.

Cain laid a hand over hers that still lingered on his chest, gauging the rhythm of every beat. "She is a known murderer. You were lucky to remain with your life."

A low chuckle escaped the slim column of her throat. "You of all people should know that the most hardened of criminals have lain supine at my feet."

"Tell me what she said," Cain asked once more, his voice becoming hoarse with strain.

"No. I don't think that I will." Zarina retreated from his embrace. "If we are playing to win, I prefer to hold all the cards. And you have offered up nothing in this bargain."

"This is not a game!" Cain hissed between gritted teeth.

"Have you not often spoke with my Mistress? Life is a game. You had better come to the table with a better hand than you have dealt, my lord." She tossed the words as carelessly as one would discard soiled clothes.

However, the challenge in her intonation sparked the embers of Cain's anger and he rushed into her, pushing the rigid length of his body against hers until the cold stone bricks caressed her back. "You forget yourself, Zarina."

"I forget nothing," Zarina raised her chin defiantly and the lapis of her eyes glinted sharply in the lamplight. She shifted her lithe body against his with a subtle invitation that spoke of more than the rubbing of cloth.

"I require the information for the safety of the Queen," he insisted, pulling his focus elsewhere.

"That sounds like the least profitable gambit," she sighed with ennui.

"Must I remind you that we are but servants to the Crown?"

"I am no one's servant. Least of all hers." There was no malice in her voice, merely monotony. "Offer me something else." Her lips parted suggestively on the intake of air.

"I cannot give you that," Cain refuted a proposal other men would have died to obtain.

Zarina's laughter was a rich throaty echo of satiation between heated sheets. He wondered if she even noticed that she did it anymore.

"So confidant and self-assured, my lord. But, you are not the object of my affections. Tell me instead, who Queen Victoria plans to use as her new Lady in Waiting?"

"Lady Flora, still has not been replaced after her passing?" Cain frowned and relaxed his grip.

"Uh," Zarina huffed unimpressed. "Why is it that men always miss the nuances of the cut and thrust of British politics? No, the position has not yet been filled and whoever gains that place has the ear of the Queen."

"True," Cain conceded with a nod and stepped back. "But hardly information that is truly worth having since there are plenty more powerful figures in Queen Victoria's life with a greater bearing."

"You let me worry about that, Your Grace. Have you heard of any ladies vying for the seat?"

"None, but perhaps we can come to an accord?" Cain arched a brow remembering that when dealing with the Guild payment of some kind always had to be rendered.

"I am listening, Your Grace." Zarina inclined her head gently.

"I will barter the name of the new Lady, once I obtain it, against the secrets Bianca lay on your pillow."

Zarina pushed herself off the wall, and stood poised as if she had not spent the last few minutes pressed into its gritty surface. "I believe we have an accord," she smiled secretively and sailed into his arms.

Cain felt the warm mist of her breath against his ear and gripped her waist in the affectation of an embrace. Should anyone glance into the alcove at that moment, an illicit rendezvous is all they would see.

"Bianca does not work alone. She spoke of a man who is as two faced as Janus, a debonair and calculating man who has thus far managed to remain concealed from many."

"Did she say his name?" Cain's fingers bit into the soft swell of her waist and Zarina paused to enjoy the sensation before continuing.

"No, she did not. But, she did mention that he bore a mark on his body, a jagged scar that others rarely see." She entwined an arm around Cain's neck, her lips brushing the skin behind his lobe. "Many men have the remnants of lacerations after Napoleon's war though, it could be anyone."

Cain's jaw clenched. "Does she know this man to be the assassin?"

"No, her countenance led me to believe she was scared of such a man, and also seeking of his approval. Alternatively, she has hired another to kill the Queen, but when she spoke of that man I heard nothing of the same inflection."

"Is he connected with someone named Oxford?"

The question gave Zarina pause and she pulled back, blinking. "Not that I am aware." She placed a flat palm on the firm muscles of his shoulders and as she stepped away, swept them down the starched navy cloth of his coat. For a woman who traded in pleasure, she made every touch count.

"I will tell you this much, Bianca is a woman scorned. Should you capture or even torture her, I doubt she would reveal the name of the assassin. There is a sweetness to revenge that you cannot take from her. I suspect that she would like to be present at the moment Albert watches her die, so your Agents would do well to continue to follow her for now."

"What makes you think we are following her?" Cain tilted his head curiously.

Zarina smiled again, and it was heavy with the mystery and passion that infused every fibre of her being. It was her siren song to make even the most chaste of men think of impurity. "You did not think that you were the only Agent to seek the comfort of my company?"

Cain's jaw clenched. He was not as naïve as to believe that the most accomplished actress in London was solely beholden to him, but the bedding of multiple Agents meant that she had an agenda. However, he should have deduced that Zarina, with all her seductive charm would not be content to remain a servant to her country, Queen or Guild. But, his moment of opportunity had passed, and he had bartered for information already given. Zarina would not divulge any more secrets that night.

"Have no fear, Your Grace. I will keep your confidences just as you keep mine." She moved to walk past him but stopped at his side and caressed the slope of his cheek with the back of her alabaster hand. "I wish you good hunting, my lord. And, do not forget out bargain."

She glided from the alcove as smoothly as she had entered, but left it laced with the intoxicating jasmine scent of her skin. Cain pondered over the implication of her words and wished that his dealings with the Crimson Guild were less complicated. It was difficult to discern whether their actions were designed to serve the Queen or themselves, or if they only acted when those two pathways intersected.

A man with a scar, she had said. Well, there were several such men. Oxford however was another more tangible matter which needed to be dealt with, and soon. He was still turning over his thoughts when he was suddenly aware of a persistent noise behind him that rose above the din of the play.

**END OF PART 1**

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A/N:

Hi Dear Readers!

Ok, firstly I have some news for you... and I know how you love news ;) (spot the Emma reference) hehe. I have been introduced to world of Instagram. I am told it is wonderful so I am eager to catch up with any Readers who agree. You can find me @inararoseauthor

Secondly, I hope you enjoyed this first installment of chapter 38. Still plenty more to come!! I know it has been a long wait but as you all i'm sure know, good writing takes however long it takes (and tbh i'm still not 100% happy with it). Stay with me on this ride and we will get there in the end.

Any guesses who else might be at the theater?

What do you think of Zarina? Is she good? Is she bad? I'd love to know!

Glossary:

Aphrodite of Milos, better known as the Venus de Milo, is an ancient Greek statue and one of the most famous works of ancient Greek sculpture. Created sometime between 130 and 100 BCE, it is believed to depict Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love and beauty (Venus to the Romans). It is a marble sculpture, slightly larger than life size at 203 cm (6 ft 8 in) high. Part of an arm and the original plinth were lost following its discovery. From an inscription that was on its plinth, it is thought to be the work of Alexandros of Antioch; earlier, it was mistakenly attributed to the master sculptor Praxiteles. It is currently on permanent display at the Louvre Museum in Paris. The statue is named after the Greek island of Milos, where it was discovered.

In ancient Roman religion and myth, Janus is the of beginnings, gates, transitions, time, duality, doorways, passages, and endings. He is usually depicted as having two faces, since he looks to the future and to the past.