Circle of Spies (33 page)

They had already introduced her to Slade on Friday when he had shown up for a lesson, claiming Barbara had invited him. Barbara admitted she had, but Marietta suspected it had been pure disbelief that had led him here, not a desire to learn. He had looked utterly bemused when they created a sign for his name for Elsie's use, and he hadn't lingered after the lesson to talk.

He hadn't lingered around her house much at all. That hour was the only time she'd done more than catch a glimpse of him since the theater on Wednesday. Wise. But painful.

Now she cleared her throat and watched Dev storm into her house. Was it cowardly to be glad she was out here, where he would never think to look for her? He would find his mother instead, and seeing her so well would perhaps mollify him.

She drummed up a smile for Elsie. “That's Mr. Dev.” She spelled it out, though more to establish habit than anything because the child was too young to understand spelling.

Walker crouched down on the other side of his daughter, formed his hands into a
D
and made the sign for
bad
. “Mr. Dev.” He made the sign again.

“Walker.” Marietta pressed a cold hand to her forehead. “She knows what that means.”

Amusement and challenge winked from his blue-gray eyes. “Can you think of a better way to describe him?”

She sealed her lips as Elsie practiced the sign. Perhaps associating him with the word wasn't such a terrible idea. It would impress on the girl the need to stay away from him. And even if he saw it, he wouldn't know what it meant.

No doubt Walker recognized her sigh as capitulation.

Cora joined them with a muted smile and touched her little girl on the arm to get her attention, and then she pressed her palms together at the side of her face. “Nap time, baby.”

Elsie hooked her doll under her arm, popped her thumb into her mouth, and stretched toward her mother. Cora gathered her close and met Marietta's gaze as she stood. “Thank you, Miss Mari.”

“Rest well.” She kept the smile in place until Cora turned, but then her gaze strayed back out the window, to Slade striding toward the carriage house. Her breath tangled in her chest, and she barely eked out an “Excuse me” before she darted for the door.

Hurrying down the rickety stairs, she touched a hand to the pocket hidden in the folds of her gray satin skirt. The silver chain was where it had been the past five days, still secure inside the muslin pocket she put on each morning under her dress. As if she would really give it to him today any more than she had any other day.

It wasn't done. A woman didn't just make expensive gifts to a man, even if it had cost her nothing. Even if her sister-in-law had taken the matching watch and insisted that, yes, the fob should be put to use by one who needed it.

Marietta couldn't convince herself to put the chain away once she'd realized how closely Stephen's old one matched the one she had
seen Slade pull out time and again. But neither could she bring herself to give it to him. She knew well he would refuse it even if she worked up the courage to offer it.

Still. She couldn't shake the feeling that Stephen would have wanted him to have it. Which made absolutely no sense. So it would likely remain in her pocket indefinitely.

She pivoted at the base of the stairs and found Slade a few steps away, frowning.

“Where's your wrap?”

“Hmm? Oh.” She clasped her hands to her elbows where the shawl had been earlier, finding only the black cording at the edge of her gray sleeve, the lighter fabric of her undersleeves beneath it. “I must have left it on my chair.” She folded her arms around herself, having no idea what else she meant to say to him.

And society had once called her a silver-tongued flirt.

Slade's face slid into one of its usual looks, challenge mixed with cynicism. “In that much of a hurry to see Hughes?”

“No, not him.” The words felt at home on her lips, yet the tone came out wrong, uncertain. What was the matter with her? She cleared her throat. “He looked upset.”

“Yeah, I…your granddad came to see me yesterday.”

Her eyes went wide. He hadn't stopped by to see her. “Why?”

His lips curved into a smile. “To recommend I blame the theater gossip on him, and that I admit it to Hughes first thing.”

“Did you?” That would explain the anger.

He nodded. “Lane's a smart man. I'm still alive.”

Laughter tickled. Slight and low, but it brought much-needed relief to her chest. “He has instincts like none other. And I am glad they were right.”

“Me too.” He took a step back. “I wanted to make sure our stories agree. He convinced us both to go and then introduced me as your friend.”

Apparently he hadn't assumed she would opt for the truthful explanation. Or perhaps that she hadn't the sense to end it there and let Dev think the gossips had overdone the reports of them being there together.

Would that they had.

Her throat felt tight and dry as she forced a swallow. Relaxing her arms, she squared her shoulders and stepped away from the wooden stairs. “I might as well get this over with. If you'll excuse me, Slade.”

Rather than step aside as she moved past him, he fell in beside her. “I'll see you in.”

“Not necessary.”

“It is.” He stayed a step away from her, kept his eyes straight ahead. “We both know he's a violent man.”

And so, like the day she brought Barbara home, Slade would hover outside the room, ready to rush to her aid? She shook her head. “I can handle Dev.”

Still he didn't so much as glance at her. “Humor me.”

He wasn't leaving her much choice, but it grated. If she meant nothing to him, if his feelings were only “wanting,” why did he have to concern himself? “I really don't think he would hurt me. He loves me.”

Slade snorted and finally glanced her way. For all of a quarter second. “Yeah. That's what my sister says about her husband. While sporting a black eye.”

She couldn't help but wince. “I didn't realize you had a sister.”

“I do. So humor me.”

Marietta tucked her hands under the wide bells of her sleeves. Her fingerless gloves were more for style than warmth. “What's her name?”

“Jane.”

Jane. Watching her step to be sure she avoided all the mud from Saturday's rain, she searched her mind. “You've never mentioned her.”

This time his snort was a laugh. “Ross was her favorite.”

She would have liked to probe deeper, but she couldn't be sure he would answer even were they alone, much less when they were three steps from the entrance she had aimed them at. So she bit her tongue and kept her face neutral as she brushed by him to get through the door he held open.

Mother Hughes's voice came from the drawing room, Dev's baritone joining it, though the words were indistinct. She took a silent step to the side. The allure of getting this reunion over with evaporated.
Maybe she could slip by without being noticed to steal a few minutes in her room.

A fine thought until Slade let the door slam shut, thereby announcing her presence to the entire house. She spun, her eyes wide, expecting to find him looking sheepish and blaming it on the draft.

But no. He was grinning. He even winked at her before his face moved back into its usual lines, eyes going cold and hard.
Winked
.

And gracious, why did she feel like a schoolgirl around him lately, always at sixes and sevens? Desperate to get hold of herself before Dev emerged, she drew in a deep breath and let her own countenance empty of all but the old Marietta and her mask. The one that could dangle keys before Slade's nose with a flirtatious tilt to her lips.

The one who had the man striding from the drawing room with fury in his eyes wrapped around her little finger.

Perhaps she didn't feel it, but her mouth knew the right smile to put on, and her fingers just how to curl as she held out a hand to him and rushed forward. At least, having an audience as they did, he wouldn't expect too warm a welcome.

Slade's plan? She was indebted to him for it.

“Darling! Oh, how I missed you.” She stopped a few inches too close as he took her hand and raised it to his lips, a glance over her shoulder at Slade to prove why she didn't do more than rest a hand on his arm. “I didn't expect you until later this afternoon.”

“I was eager to be home.” He let go her hand and clapped his fingers around her arm like a cuff. The second time he had made such a move in a fortnight, and it infuriated her as much now as it had the first time. He looked over her head to Slade. “Where did you find her?”

“Excuse me?” She pulled her arm free. “Did you sic your bloodhound on me, Devereaux?”

Slade, she hoped, would be amused and not insulted, though she couldn't tell by the quiet huff that could have been either laughter or indignation.

Dev gripped her arm again and tugged her down the hall. “I didn't have to. He knew I wanted to talk to you. And now if you'll excuse us, Mr. Osborne.”

Determined not to be forced anywhere, she wrenched her arm free again and stormed into the dining room—the nearest empty chamber. No acting was required to keep her face pulled tight in fury as she turned on him. “I will
not
be spied on in my own home by that—that—”

“At a loss for words, are you, darling?” Though he smiled, it snapped and sparked. He advanced so quickly she retreated by sheer instinct, until the table's edge bit into her hip. Dev rested his arm on the back of the chair beside her, boxing her in. “Get used to it. I intend to keep him around.”

Perhaps that too was part of Slade's purpose in announcing her. He had made himself more indispensable. Marietta rested a hand on Dev's chest to keep some space between them. “And what if I don't want him around?”

Dev snorted, gruff and unamused, as he dropped a hand to her waist and yanked her closer. “A strange question, given the rumors flying about the two of you. Really, Mari. Going to the theater with him?”

What could she do but lift her chin and force haughty amusement into her gaze as she would have done before her world shifted? “Marietta Arnaud Hughes on the arm of a—” Casting around for the right words, Slade's own found her tongue. “—two-bit detective? Laughable.”

“I'm not laughing.” His hand slid up her back, light but unyielding. Each point of contact seeming to brand her, to claim that she was his. And she had no room to argue. She had given him that, given him the right to touch and demand. She had forfeited herself to him. She shuddered, but he either assumed it from pleasure or just didn't care. His nose traced her cheek. “I didn't wait four years to call you my own just to hear your name linked with someone else's.”

He knew how she hated it when he did that, referring to her years of marriage to Lucien as nothing but a nuisance to his courtship. “Dev—”

“Why did you do something so foolish? You know how people talk. Were you angry with me, is that it? Because we had to withdraw from the Ellicotts'?”

A shifting shadow in the hallway caught her eye. She could see only the edge of Slade's sleeve, but it was enough to make the anger twist its way into self-loathing. Why did he have to witness her shame? Again?

To Dev's question she shook her head. “Why would I be angry over something to which I am so accustomed? Lucien did the same thing all the—”

“Do
not
compare me to him!”

She saw Slade slide forward even as she drew her head back. No doubt he was ready to spring into action if Dev's hands turned to fists, and for a moment she feared they would. But then she looked in his eyes.

Beneath the anger pulsed pain, strong enough that for a moment she remembered only how she had loved him so recently, and how he loved her still. He had been wrong, so very wrong, to try to lure her away from Lucien, but that did not make his feelings any less real, did it?

“Dev.” She rested her palm against his cheek and wished life could be as simple as marrying him and being happy. “I meant only that you have the same responsibilities and I understand them.”

He drew in a long breath, and some of the fire went out of his eyes. Then he bent down, trailed his lips down her neck, and held her close.

She dared another glance at the doorway. Her gaze collided with Slade's, but she read no relief in it, certainly no approval. He didn't nod, didn't smile, didn't even smirk. He just blinked once, his nostrils flared. And then he disappeared from view. Gone without a sound.

A tremor started in her stomach and swept its way upward, lodging in her throat.

“Darling.” Dev anchored a hand at the base of her neck, under the lace net holding her hair. “Forgive me if I am cross. It is only my impatience making me so.” He tilted her head, kissed her jaw. Not so long ago, delight would have raced through her veins instead of ice. “I hate anyone thinking for even a moment that you belong to someone else. You're mine.”