Jenna Petersen - [Lady Spies] (11 page)

He told Devlin he was pursuing her, and his mother’s matchmaking attempts certainly forced him to act the part. But he had hoped to keep reality separate from his attempts to shelter Meredith.

Instead, he found himself thinking of her at the most inopportune moments of the day. And at night? Well, his dreams had become most pleasurable. He was starting to despair waking from them.

“My lord?”

He started as he came back to the present. The young lady he had escorted into the house was tugging at his arm. He released her and she all but stumbled back. Her brow wrinkled in irritation.

“Thank you, my lord. It was a most pleasurable day.”

He nodded absently as Meredith’s face appeared before his eyes. Smiling. Laughing. Daring him to forget his troubles, if only for a brief time.

The war within him had been lost. He had to see her.

Turning on his heel, he started for the stairs when Philip’s voice stopped him.

“Tristan?”

Startled, he turned to see his friend staring at him. “Yes?”

“Did you not hear me say your name?”

Tristan drew a breath. This was exactly the problem. When he thought of Meredith, his mind blocked all else. He was so close to ending the madness his life had become. To let anything divert him so thoroughly was a dangerous mistake.

“No.” He gave his friend an apologetic shrug as he crossed to him. “I’m sorry. Obviously I was…distracted.”

“Obviously.” His friend’s tone was worried as he searched Tristan’s gaze. “May we have a moment?”

Tristan cast a glance up the staircase. Like a siren to a helpless sailor, the lure of seeing Meredith called him. “Could it wait? I was hoping to look in on Meredith—” He held back a curse. “To look in on Lady Northam. She’s been unwell two days now.”

Philip’s mouth thinned. “I believe Lady Northam has fully recovered from whatever ‘ailment’ troubled her. I saw her this afternoon.”

“You did? Very good.”

“She was leaving your office, Tristan.”

That statement yanked him from his haze. All his attention swerved to Philip as he ran over a long list of items in his private office that he would never want Meredith or anyone else he cared for to see. He motioned to the parlor behind his friend.

After he’d shut the door behind them and checked to ensure that no guest or servant was in the room, Tristan said, “Tell me.”

Philip sighed, as if he regretted what he had to share. Tristan’s heart sank.

“I believe her ladyship may have been searching your office.”

Tristan stumbled into a nearby settee. Shock coursed through him as he digested this claim. “What do you mean? Why would she do that?”

Philip shrugged one shoulder. “I wish I knew.”

“Why do you accuse her of such a thing, then?” His voice level notched up, but he could do nothing to prevent it.

His friend’s eyes widened at the sudden anger in Tristan’s tone, but he did not respond in kind. “There was something in her manner and expression when I questioned her that told me she was not truthful.”

A little sprout of hope germinated in Tristan’s heart. “And what was her response to your questioning?”

Philip shook his head. “She told me she was looking for a novel to read after her headache passed, but that she had gotten lost on her way to the library.”

The hope bloomed. “And
that
is why you have decided she was searching my office? Dear God, Philip, you made me believe this was serious. Her explanation is totally understandable. Obviously the strain of our deceptions has made you unreasonable.”

Philip’s eyes widened. “I am not unreasonable. Meredith Sinclair is hiding something.”

Anger rose in Tristan, the kind he had never felt toward his friend before. But he’d never before had to defend a woman he cared for against his friend’s callous accusations. “What could she be hiding?”

“I don’t know.” The words were ground past Philip’s teeth. “But I confronted her about the slipper I found in the garden after the ball, and she seemed uncomfortable with that line of conversation as well.”

For a moment, Tristan didn’t even know what Philip was talking about and then he recalled a passing comment after the ball. Something about a woman’s slipper found in the bushes near the house.

“Well, it’s a ridiculous topic.”

Philip was silent, then said, “May I say something as your friend, not your man of affairs?”

Tristan shrugged, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear whatever his ‘friend’ was going to say.

“I’ve known you a long time. I have been a part of your boyish pranks, seen you change after your father’s death, and been a party to—” Philip broke off. “Well, I’ve helped you in every way I could because we’re friends. But you are blinded by Meredith Sinclair’s charm and beauty. And she knows that.”

“Enough.” Tristan took a menacing step toward Philip, and his friend took a corresponding step away, his eyes lighting with sudden…fear. The expression was enough to check Tristan’s anger. “What reason would she have to deceive me?”

“Augustine Devlin has been testing you for nearly a year.” Philip glanced at him briefly before his gaze flitted away. “He has been trying to determine if you’re trustworthy enough to enter the inner circles of his group. If you are to be granted access to the leader of his organization.”

Tristan scowled. He wanted that more than anything. “Yes.”

“What if—” Philip’s hesitation grated. “What if Meredith is a part of the tests?”

Tristan’s fists clenched on reflex. “What do you mean?”

Philip dipped his chin. “What if Meredith is
working with Devlin? It’s clear she has an effect on you like no other woman I’ve ever seen. What if
she
is another test? Has she asked you to take her into your confidence?”

Tristan stormed to the poorboy and splashed scotch into a tumbler. He downed it in one swig as he thought about the many times Meredith had asked about his most secret desires and pains. He had believed it was because of their prior connection, and the new attraction between them. But now…

“That is ridiculous!” he said, with less certainty than he wished he had.

“Think about it before you dismiss it,” Philip insisted. “You haven’t had any contact with this woman for years. Yet she approached you and obtained an invitation to your country soiree on the same night…the
last
night you would be in London.”

Tristan wanted to block the words, but they seeped in. Along with memories of conversations with Devlin. His interest in Meredith. His questions about Tristan’s loyalty. If she was a test, certainly Devlin had played his hand perfectly, forcing Tristan to stake a claim and spend time with her in order to “protect” her. If Philip was right, her inquiries might have more to do with Devlin’s desire to determine his loyalty when someone he cared for examined him than her own interest or concern.

But then his mind slipped to both times she surrendered to his kiss. Her reaction to even the graze of his touch. Her honesty about family pains when they rode together. Those things were real. He knew that as surely as he knew his own name.

“You doubt me,” Philip said softly.

Tristan looked up. “No. What you say could well be true. But I feel…” He trailed off.

Philip nodded. “I know. Just be wary. And know I’m watching her, as closely as I watch Devlin.”

Frowning, Tristan stared out the window behind his friend with unseeing eyes. “Yes. Very good.”

With a sigh, Philip left him to his thoughts. As the door closed, Tristan scrubbed a hand over his face. He was watching Meredith too. In fact, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

He only hoped he wasn’t being blinded by the feelings she inspired.

“T
here is no word regarding Augustine Devlin’s letter.” Meredith read the last, most hated line from Emily’s latest encoded message out loud. She tossed the missive on the table with disgust and paced the room. “Damnation.”

She had worked so hard to intercept the letter Devlin penned the night she was nearly caught in his bedroom. If Tristan hadn’t interrupted her, she would have had it to Anastasia for decoding right now. She wouldn’t have to fear for Tristan’s life each time Devlin wasn’t accounted for, and she might even have more evidence to end this case.

But because Tristan decided to act like her unwanted protector, the message was missing.
Vanished like a petal on the wind. Even The Society’s best contacts within the post hadn’t been able to uncover its destination.

She strummed her fingertips along the mantel. Not knowing where that potentially deadly letter had gone was an element out of her control. She did not like that, especially in this volatile situation.

Her very emotions were wild, and the inner turmoil was not something to which she was accustomed. For years she had worked hard to measure her reactions.

When she arrived at her aunt and uncle’s home after the death of her parents, it was made abundantly clear that she would receive no special attention from the family, and so she closed her feelings off in order to protect herself.

The next time she’d allowed her emotions to come into play was with Tristan. Her girlish crush had led nowhere, though. When he pushed her away, it broke her heart, so she had allowed her aunt and uncle to arrange a marriage for her with a man she didn’t care for.

Daniel did not seem to want her love, and she never made an effort to connect with him beyond polite tolerance and conversation. Their marriage was proper, passionless. She had been fine with that. But lonely.

Tristan had reminded her of just how lonely when he revealed that he had come looking for her, only to discover she was already married.

Now, she dashed that thought from her mind as she stomped to her chamber door and into the hallway. She had no idea where she was going. No idea where she could hide from the new feelings Tristan inspired in her. But she wanted to hide.
Needed
to hide.

“Oh, there you are, Lady Northam.”

Tensing, Meredith shut her eyes. It was Lady Carmichael’s voice drifting down the hallway behind her.

Plastering a false smile on her lips, she turned. “Good afternoon, my lady.”

“Won’t you join me?”

Constance stepped back and motioned toward her private rooms. Meredith searched for a way to escape this invitation, but found none.

“Of course.” She came down the hall and stepped inside.

The sitting room in the Lady Carmichael’s bedroom suite was as lovely as any she’d seen. Soft floral colors decorated the walls and furniture. The floor was polished to a high shine, and a wonderful Persian rug covered the area where a small tea service had been set.

“What a marvelous room,” Meredith breathed even as a sense of discomfort filled her. As always, being alone with the kind woman filled her with guilt. Here Constance was trying to arrange a marriage for her son, and Meredith was just as busy trying to prove he was a traitor and preparing his
neck for a noose. Tristan’s actions forced this course of action, but she didn’t like lying to Lady Carmichael just the same.

“I hope you’ll have tea.”

Again she sought an escape, but before she could come up with one, Constance stepped forward and placed a hand on her forearm. A spark of that dreaded emotion she tried to rein in shot through her.

How long had it been since she felt a motherly touch? So many years. Memories of her mother flooded back, soft with the passage of time.

“Please, stay and talk with me,” Constance coaxed as she motioned to the settee by the fire.

Meredith had battled traitors and criminals of all kinds, yet now found herself utterly helpless. She was led, mute and without protest, to the settee and found herself being handed a cup of hot tea, prepared just as she liked it, though she didn’t recall telling Constance what her preferences were. Apparently, her ladyship had done some investigating of her own.

“May we speak plainly, my dear?” Constance asked, her sharp green eyes observing all over the edge of her teacup.

Meredith considered that question. No, she could not speak plainly. Ever. But she shrugged one shoulder. “Of course.”

Constance placed her teacup back in its saucer. “I know you had a—well, it was a painful past.”

Meredith flinched. “Not so, my lady, I assure you.”

Her face softened. “My dear, I was a frequent visitor at your aunt and uncle’s home. There was no cruelty, but little love. I often spoke to your aunt about it. ‘Hilde,’ I said, ‘that is no way to treat a child.’”

Blood rushed to Meredith’s cheeks. She hadn’t been aware Constance had intervened on her behalf. The idea gave her a warmth she had not felt in ages. Replaced immediately by more of that stabbing remorse.

“I’m sorry.” Constance sighed. “I didn’t mean to remind you of painful things. I only meant to say that you have experienced some powerful hurts in your young life…and so has my son.”

Meredith swallowed as she dared to peek at Lady Carmichael. Her eyes had grown distant and clouded with unshed tears.

“Tristan’s father may have been severe with him, but when Tristan lost him, it took away any carefree enjoyment he may have found in life. Then Edmund died not long after. He knows what it is like to lose. As do you.” Her eyes refocused on Meredith with an undeniable intent. “Perhaps together you can find a balm for those pains. I have watched you when you are in each other’s company. It’s done my heart good.”

“My lady—” Meredith began as she struggled for breath.

Constance raised a hand. “I realize it is truly none of my affair. And normally, I attempt to be far more subtle in my matchmaking attempts.”

Despite her shock at Lady Carmichael’s forward statements, Meredith couldn’t help a small smile.

“I see you laughing to yourself,” Constance teased.

Meredith’s grin grew wider. “You love your son very much.”

Constance’s smile fell. “I do. And I see you two making some kind of tenuous connection, yet you each maintain a distance.”

Meredith scrambled to her feet and paced away. Her hands trembled, her heart throbbed. Constance Archer could have trained in interrogation techniques, given the way she made Meredith feel. Helpless. Unable to resist.

“Certainly, I do—I do care for your son, as I always have. But if you see anything more than friendship between us, it is your imagination playing tricks on you.”

Lady Carmichael rose. “No, it is not. I know Tristan. Since his brother died, he’s been haunted. Nothing could tempt him from the darkness he has inhabited.”

Meredith wanted to close her ears, force herself not to hear Constance’s freely given admissions as evidence. For the first time ever, she wished she could listen without the filter of her training, without the suspicion natural to her vocation.

Constance continued, oblivious to the war raging inside Meredith’s heart. “Since he saw you in London, there has been a light in Tristan’s eyes. One I’ve missed seeing for so very long. That light I see is not imagined, it’s real. And I think if you allow yourself, you might discover a lifetime of happiness with him.”

Meredith slowly turned to face Lady Carmichael. Everything in the kindly woman’s demeanor said true hope, absolute honesty. Constance wanted to believe there would be a fairy-tale ending for her son.

Yet, with each passing day, Meredith collected more evidence to prevent that. With her. With any woman. She felt a powerful desire to warn Constance of the pain that could come shortly.

Truth be told, she sometimes wanted to do the same for Tristan. Warn him. Betray her organization to keep him safe.

“I so appreciate your thinking of me and my happiness,” she stammered. “Your kindness touches me more than you’ll ever understand, but—”

Lady Carmichael held up a hand. “It is none of my affair, I know. I only wanted to say my thoughts, but I won’t interfere again. You and my son must work out whatever is between you alone.” Her face softened as she reached out to stroke the back of her hand across Meredith’s cheek. “You were such a sweet child. And you’ve become a lovely young woman.”

“Thank you, my lady,” she choked out with difficulty.

Constance pulled away, and the spell she seemed to weave faded. Now that Meredith was able to draw breath, she looked at her companion. As much as she wanted to bolt from the room and the emotions Constance inspired, she couldn’t.

“I wonder how much you know about Mr. Devlin?” she ventured, treading lightly as she struggled to bring her tremulous feelings under control.

Lady Carmichael cocked her head. “Not much, I’m afraid. Tristan has many friends in London whom I do not know.” A shadow moved over her face. “More now than ever before, actually. Mr. Devlin is one of those people. He seems amiable enough.”

Meredith searched her companion’s face. Though she said proper and polite things, Constance’s eyes had changed and her mouth tightened when she spoke of Devlin. Still, there was no deception in her demeanor. She didn’t doubt that Constance knew nothing about the true nature of Devlin’s dealings. If there was dislike from Lady Carmichael for the man, it was born from intuition, nothing deeper.

“I ask because it has been mentioned they are involved in business together, and I’m always looking for new avenues in that area.”

Constance beamed. “My son has a good head
for business,” she said. “Look at how well the Carmichael holdings have fared since he took over as Marquis. If you have interest in his investments, he can definitely be of assistance.”

“Is there no one else whom he entrusts his dealings to?” she asked.

“Not that I’m aware of. Philip Barclay is his man of affairs, but Tristan has taken great pride in being personally involved in all aspects of his estates and other dealings. If it has to do with Carmichael or the Archer name, Tristan has a hand in it.”

Nausea churned Meredith’s stomach, though Constance was only confirming facts she already knew. There was no hidden person pulling strings in the background or taking advantage of Tristan’s trust.

Masking her disappointment, Meredith got to her feet. “I should excuse myself. I have a few things to take care of before I ready myself for supper and the masquerade ball tonight.”

Lady Carmichael nodded. “Of course. Thank you for joining me and indulging an old woman in her musings.”

With a smile, Meredith slipped from the room. The second she shut the door, however, she collapsed against the wall, her breath coming in pants. Pain exploded in her chest as she relived the conversation, but she knew that was nothing compared to the heartache she would cause with the evidence she was collecting.

It would destroy this family. Constance would be broken. The Archer name would never recover. Tristan would be transported to Australia at best…and at worst…She shivered and refused to finish the thought.

But as she stumbled down the hallway, she knew there was one more person who would be affected and harmed by her investigation.

Herself.

Her emotions had become involved with everyone in this family. There was no escaping the disappointment and pain at the thought of destroying Tristan.

“Tonight at the masquerade,” she whispered as she headed for the stairway that would take her outside to the fresh air.

While the other partygoers enjoyed their drinks and wondered what dashing gentleman was spinning around the floor with which lovely lady, she would conduct the search she had been avoiding.

A search of the place she most feared to tread.

The ball spun around Tristan like an ever-turning child’s toy. It was a mass of blurred color and mysterious masks. The annual masquerade was a longtime tradition of his family, stretching back to his great-grandfather’s era. His mother had kept it up, even during the years his father and brother died.

“It is our duty and our expectation,” she had said through her tears.

“Duty and expectation,” he murmured. His father had pounded both concepts into his mind, but he never dreamed he would become so intimately acquainted with them. Or with lies and betrayals. Yet here he was.

Suddenly, his mind was pulled away from those dark musings. From the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a pale pink gown with a dark rose overskirt. Its wearer also bore a dusty pink mask with petals attached. A flower amongst thistles.

Meredith.

Tristan tracked her movements around the dance floor. At least she wasn’t in the arms of any of the young bucks who had come to Carmichael for the ball. It was an older man who guided her through the somewhat complicated steps of the country dance. He was glad of that. Seeing her with some handsome rake would have bothered him. Another fact he hated to admit, but couldn’t deny any more than he could deny himself breath. He didn’t want Meredith in anyone’s arms but his own.

She gave a little hop as they made the next turn, and her skirt flared, giving Tristan a glimpse of a trim ankle and the beginnings of a slender calf, both clothed in pale pink stockings stitched with little rosebuds. Hot blood burst through his system at just that hint of flesh, and his mind ex
ploded with fantasies of stripping those stockings off, along with that pretty gown.

“She is lovely.”

Tristan started. Without his being aware, Augustine Devlin had slipped up beside him. Devlin’s mask, a dandified contraption of feathers, hid most of his features. Only his hard mouth and cold, gray stare were visible.

The mouth was turned up in a wretched, cocky smirk. The eyes regarded Meredith with predatory interest. Tristan fisted his hands and counted to ten in his head before he answered.

“All the ladies here tonight are lovely,” he said with forced disinterest. “The masks make them all the more alluring.”

“Hmm. So you claim you do not know exactly which woman is yours?” Devlin’s eyes crinkled with disbelieving humor. “I saw you watching the one in the rose mask. You know who she is.”