Kissing The Enemy (Scandals and Spies Book 1) (4 page)

To answer her question, Freddie said, “I suppose I like reading and learning, mostly.”

“Then you’ll love the last stop we make—the family library.” With her free arm, Lucy gestured to the windows. “These windows used to be open archways when this was an abbey. The room ahead was constructed later to match, then glassed in to be used as an orangery.”

She pulled open a foggy glass door at the end of the hall. The moment she entered, Freddie was bombarded with a wave of warm, moist air. Inside the room on long tables and planted in the mounds of dirt heaped between a narrow stone walkway was an array of tropical plants the likes of which she had never seen before. The humidity was so thick, Freddie felt her hair battle its pins. She held out her hand, palm up half, expecting to feel raindrops.

The afternoon sun filtered in through the glass walls and ceiling. Somewhere in the distance came the soft murmur of trickling water. A black-haired man stood on the other side of a potting table in the middle of the room. He was bent over a plant, his hair sticking up in disarray. His greatcoat had been tossed carelessly on the table and his white shirtsleeves were pushed up to the elbows.

“Giddy, I brought some guests,” Lucy called.

The man’s head jerked up.

“What?” His eyes narrowed with confusion for a moment, before clearing. “Oh, right. Mother is having another one of her infernal parties. I forgot.”

“This is Miss Charlotte and Miss Vale.” Lucy linked her arm through Freddie’s and drew her forward. “My brother, the Honorable Lord Gideon Graylocke.”

He was younger than Tristan, if the honorary title and the youthful softness to his cheeks was any indication. Unlike the two eldest Graylocke brothers, Lord Gideon wore at least a day’s worth of dark stubble on his jaw. A hank of his hair dropped limp onto his forehead as he nodded.

Freddie and Charlotte curtsied. For once, Freddie managed it gracefully.

Wresting her arm from Lucy’s hold, Charlie approached the potting table. “What have you got there?” She leaned over the table to get a better look.

Lord Gideon stared at her warily, as though she might bite. “It’s an orchid. An exotic species. My friend Catt and I are trying to cultivate different variations of it.”

“Don’t orchids have green leaves?”

He ran his hand through his hair, causing it to stand up even more. “It will, as it matures. It’s a very young plant.”

Beaming, Lucy stepped closer to draw Charlie away. “Gideon is quite the botanist, you know.” Her voice radiated pride in her brother. “We’ll leave you to your work, Giddy. Shall I see you at dinner?”

“Huh? Oh, yes. I suppose I don’t have much of a choice. Join in the festivities or suffer Mother’s wrath.”

The women drifted away. Lord Gideon returned his focus to the flower before they so much as turned their backs. On the way to the door, they stopped to admire an assortment of tropical plants and flowers.

“So, you have three brothers?” Charlotte asked as they stepped into the same windowed hallway they had passed through earlier.

“Four,” Lucy said. “Anthony is away in the Royal Navy. He’s a captain, now.”

“Oh, how patriotic.” Charlotte smiled.

Bizarre, in Freddie’s opinion. One brother in the navy, but two others spies for France?

Charlie continued. “I always wanted a brother, but I wouldn’t trade Freddie for anything.”

Freddie’s chest warmed. She exchanged a smile with Charlie.
I wouldn’t trade you, either.

“I always wanted a sister,” Lucy exclaimed. Her exuberance dimmed as a cloud crossed her face. “My cousin Cecily was close, but since she married, we never see her.”

They reached the round-topped door to the main house. Lucy opened it and led the way through. The instant she stepped foot in the adjoining hall, she turned with a pained look on her face.

A second later, a sharp, nasally voice pierced the air. “Lady Lucy, whatever are you doing out here?” Mrs. Theodosia Biddleford stepped abreast of Lucy and blinked several times. Behind her round spectacles, her eyes appeared owlish. “Is that Miss Charlotte and Miss Vale?”

Forcing a smile, Freddie said, “Nice to see you, Mrs. Biddleford.”

The notorious gossip straightened to her full height, an inch taller than Freddie. She leered down her thin nose, turned up at the tip. “Should you ladies be out unescorted?”

“We haven’t left the house,” Lucy pointed out. “I should think I’m perfectly safe to walk around my own house without a chaperone.”

Mrs. Biddleford adjusted the fichu around her neck. “You’re far from the main section of the house.”

So are you.
Freddie bit her tongue to keep from speaking the words aloud.

As her companion, a short spinster of the same advanced years as Mrs. Biddleford, stepped forward, the tall busybody added, “Aren’t they, Hester?”

“Yes.” Hester Maize squinted at them. In her round face, it made her eyes look as though they’d been swallowed by the wrinkles framing her plump cheeks. “What are you girls up to?”

“Nothing at all,” Freddie answered, her voice as poised and graceful as she aspired to be in person. “Lady Lucy kindly offered us a tour of the house.”

The two older women frowned their disapproval. Likely, they had to scare up some gossip to pass on.

Luckily, Lucy remained undaunted. Coolly, she asked, “Are you lost?”

“Uh, well…” Mrs. Biddleford glanced at the stone walls of the hallway. They offered no excuses ripe to be plucked. “Yes, I suppose we are. We were searching for the back terrace.”

Lucy smiled sweetly. “I’m afraid that’s back down the way you came, then through the blue salon. You’ll see the French doors.”

“Thank you.” Miss Maize’s voice was thin. With nods to Lucy, the two women shuffled down the hall.

The moment they stepped out of earshot, Lucy turned to Freddie and her sister. Lucy wrinkled her nose. “Forgive me. I usually try to avoid those two.”

“So do we,” Freddie said. She didn’t need to stir up gossip and risk Charlie’s chances at a respectable marriage.

“They’re probably out looking to unearth the latest
on-dit
,” Charlotte added.

“No doubt.” Lucy turned in the opposite direction. “Thankfully, our destination is the other way.”

She led them down the hall, then through a large oak door with intricately carved moldings and into another imposing room, this one with floor to ceiling bookshelves lining all four walls.

“And here is my favorite room.” Lucy spread her arms. “The family library.”

Freddie and Charlotte stared at the room in awe. The ceiling was a good two stories in the air. An upper loft area covered half of the room like an open-air second story with a balcony and spiral staircase. Oriental carpets cover the floor, and overstuffed leather settees ringed a fireplace big enough to stand in.

And the books! They were stacked neatly, their leather spines stamped with gold lettering facing out. Some of them looked to be from two hundred years prior. Others, more recent.

“Look at all these books,” Charlotte said. Although she didn’t read much, even she sounded in awe.

“Yes.” Lucy ran her fingertips lovingly over a set of tan leather books. “You can see why this room is my favorite. I get a lot of the inspiration for my novels in here. Tristan and Morgan love this room, too. In fact, they spend more time in here than I do.”

“Do they, now?” With the door shut, the room would be perfect for spies to plot and scheme in. It was private. Only one entrance and the books would make a good insulation to keep the room soundproofed.

“Goodness, look at the time.” Lucy nodded at a pendulum clock that stood in the corner, ticking away the seconds. “We’d better hurry to get ready for dinner.”

The girls’ chatter as Lucy herded them out of the room washed over Freddie. She left reluctantly, scanning those books once again. Hundreds upon hundreds of books.
If I were to hide a code book, I would do it in plain sight.
In a library, where the book would blend with everything else. Her stomach dropped. How would she find it?

She gritted her teeth.
I will. I have to.

Freddie took one last glance into the library as Lucy shut the door. Suddenly, she couldn’t wait for dinner to come and go. She had a sneaking suspicion she was going to need a good book to read right before bed.

“
I
don’t know
why Lucy insists on showing the ancestors’ hall to everyone.” Morgan stretched his legs out in front of him, a half-empty glass of amontillado dangling loosely in his right hand.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Miss Vale somehow finagled the tour,” Tristan said as he leaned against the mahogany sideboard in Morgan’s office and drained the remains of his own glass.

Turning, he grabbed the crystal decanter and poured another half-glass of the amber liquid. Pausing with the tumbler halfway to his mouth, he glanced at the painting of a centuries-old fox hunt on the wall above the sideboard. The hunt reminded him of the spy game in which he was currently entrenched. Was he the fox or the hunter? He didn’t know.

When he turned back, Morgan looked at him quizzically. “Why would Miss Vale do that?”

“I found her staring at the door to the private family quarters. If she is Harker’s spy—”

Morgan set his tumbler on the desk with an audible
click.
“We don’t know that she
is
.” He stood. Although Tristan was broader in the shoulders, his brother stood an inch taller. He used that height to his advantage as he stepped closer to Tristan. “You’re jumping to conclusions. I haven’t heard anything about her from our contacts and besides, she seems awfully young…and looks very innocent.”

Tristan stiffened. “We’ve seen younger and more innocent-looking spies. You’ve trained women to act that way to mislead people.” He set his glass on the sideboard and crossed his arms, refusing to move away from his brother and show that Morgan had the upper hand. Morgan might be a duke, but Tristan was the man out in the field. “Miss Vale may be slyer than she lets on. You, yourself said we should watch her.”

Morgan’s left eyebrow twitched, a sign of irritation. “I didn’t mean for you to harass Mother’s guests.”

“I wasn’t harassing her. I happened upon her and Lucy in the ancestors’ hall.”

“Precisely,” Morgan snapped. “It may be coincidence. You know how Lucy loves to dramatize, and she’s fixated on that old passage. Let’s not antagonize anyone until we’re certain of their allegiance.”

“You mean like Harker?”

Morgan made a face. “The decision not to touch him comes from a higher authority than me, you know that.”

“I don’t like sleeping under the same roof as him.”

Morgan sighed. He raised his hand to toy with the white streak of hair at his temple. “Neither do I, but I can’t very well lock him in the stables. My assistant is keeping an eye on him.”

Tristan’s boots thudded on the wooden floor as he paced the length of the room. “We have to rid ourselves of the book before Harker finds it. The sooner, the better.”

As he turned back, he found Morgan seated in his desk chair once again. His brother liberated the sherry from its nest of papers. Tristan couldn’t begin to guess which pile related to the various Tenwick estates and tenants, and their seat in Parliament, which Morgan sifted through as part of his contribution to the spy network, and which was correspondence. If Morgan died before he produced an heir, all that paperwork would fall into Tristan’s lap.

He suppressed a shudder. One more reason why he was glad he was the one doing the fieldwork, whereas Morgan decoded and compiled reports.

After sipping from his glass, Morgan raised his eyebrows. “I won’t argue with you.”

Tristan clenched his fists. With a sigh, he retrieved his sherry from the sideboard. “If Miss Vale is his spy…”

The eyebrow started twitching again. “We don’t know that she is a spy at all. Still, I do wonder about that business in the entry hall with Harker. They seemed…close.” Morgan narrowed his eyes and looked up at Tristan. “Perhaps she is his mistress.”

Tristan choked on his drink. The liquid stung as it shot up his nose. He sputtered as he cleared his airway. When his eyes stopped watering, he gasped, “Mistress to that old goat?” He made a face. “I can’t imagine why she would. Unless she was somehow coerced.”

Morgan’s left brow raised a hair. “I’ve never heard you defend a woman before. I hope she isn’t turning your head.”

Tristan managed a thin smile. “You know me better than that.”

Tristan’s head wasn’t turned easily by women. Not that he refused offers to warm his bed, but he always treated his bed partners kindly and never made any promises. His relationships were always short-lived. A long-term relationship meant he would be beholden to someone and
that
was something Tristan was definitely not interested in.

Finishing the last of his drink, Morgan stood. He grabbed his sapphire tailcoat from the back of his chair and slid it over his broad shoulders.

“I don’t want to jump to conclusions about Miss Vale and I certainly don’t want to antagonize her. If you want to keep an eye on her, by all means do, but don’t make her feel unwelcome. Not until we know for sure what kind of woman she is.”

Tristan gritted his teeth, but didn’t want to get into another argument—even if he knew in his gut that his brother was wrong. He checked his pocket watch. “We’d best be getting down to dinner.”

Morgan nodded. “I’ll ask around discretely about Miss Vale. In the meantime, we’ll be careful around her. At least, until we discover the
real
reason she seems to be so friendly with Elias Harker.”

A strange pain squeezed Tristan’s chest at the thought of Miss Vale with the lecherous old Harker. His hand closed into a fist. Harker had no charm to offer a woman like her. Any liaison between them would
have
to be forced on his part.

Ignoring that strange protective feeling, Tristan muttered, “We
will
discover the reason for their friendliness.” And if the bounder was forcing himself on her, whether Tristan had orders not to lay a hand on the man or not, he was determined to stop it.

Oblivious to the dark turn of Tristan’s thoughts, his brother grinned. He clapped Tristan on the shoulder. “Of course we will. You can’t keep a secret from spies, can you?”

* * *

F
reddie moved
the boiled apple pudding around on her plate, willing her eyes to remain fixed on the dessert in front of her. She’d suffered through three torturous courses of dinner, each with over ten dishes served, but had hardly eaten a bite. She couldn’t wait for the evening to end.

“You will sit with us after dinner won’t you, Freddie?”

Charlie leaned forward, speaking around the uncomfortable young man seated between them. Throughout the course of the meal, he hadn’t said a word. Every time Charlie had so much as glanced his way, he’d turned red in the face. Freddie pitied the poor man. He was clearly out of his depth. She knew exactly how that felt.

When she glanced toward her sister, her eyes slid like magnets farther up the long, narrow table to the far end, where the brothers Graylocke sat. Tristan turned his head so fast, the forelock of his fashionable Brutus haircut bounced onto his forehead.

Was he looking at me just now?
It had to be her imagination. Freddie was easily overlooked. Forgettable.

“Freddie?”

She forced a smile and met her sister’s insistent gaze. “Of course I will.” Inwardly, she kicked herself. She would have to find a way to sneak off later.

The tinkling of silver on porcelain signaled the end of the meal. The diners finished their dessert and pushed themselves away from the table. Seated on a diagonal from her, Harker took the opportunity to cast a pointed look. Pressing her lips together, she nodded.
I didn’t forget, you dimwit.
She hadn’t gotten a chance to search for the book yet. She’d been engaged from the moment they arrived.

As the guests milled, the men retiring to drink port and smoke cigars with the duke, Lucy navigated the chaos to reach Freddie and Charlie. As she did, she linked arms with Charlotte. She tilted her head toward the door, choked with female bodies as they retired to one of the salons as directed by Lucy’s mother.

Freddie followed Lucy as they crept along at a snail’s pace.

“Charlie’s shown me some of her embroidery. Beautiful detail work, better than I could ever do. Do you have a talent for embroidery too, Freddie?”

“I’m afraid not,” Freddie said as she followed the two younger women.

“Freddie is the smart one,” Charlotte said proudly. “She likes to read, and she’s always outdoors in fine weather.”

Lucy smiled. “Then you’ll delight in tomorrow’s events,” she exclaimed. “Mother has planned a variety of outdoor activities and games all week.”

They turned into a large room furnished in pale blue and gold. Above a dado, a panoramic Neoclassical scene was papered on the walls. It depicted a blue sky, greenery, the ocean, a mountain, and Greek men and women entwined in a dance. The detail work was exquisite. Tufted sofas and upholstered chairs ringed the room. Some of the ladies were already seated and starting to work on their embroidery, tatting or crochet. Freddie recognized Charlie’s embroidery hoop set in a plain basket. Lisane must have brought it down. In one corner of the room rested a vacant pianoforte. For the moment, the ladies ignored it.

Freddie felt as out of place as a circus bear. Her needlework was beyond abysmal. She shifted from foot to foot. “Maybe I ought to go to the library to fetch a book.”

“You can’t,” Lucy said, her eyes widening. “The men are in there with my brothers.”

Drat!

“It’s fine. We’ll sit over here in the corner. No one will notice you haven’t got any sewing.”

From the hawkish gazes of some of the women, including Mrs. Biddleford and Miss Maize, they had already noticed. Freddie stiffened her spine and followed as Lucy claimed a trio of chairs in the corner. With difficulty, she hauled one so the occupant’s back would be partially toward the group. Freddie gave in to the weakness flirting with her knees and dropped into that chair. A moment later, Charlie joined them with her basket of embroidery. Lucy plucked the notebook and a stubby graphite pencil from her reticule. At least Freddie wouldn’t be the only one without needlework.

Charlie hummed a cheery tune under her breath as she picked up exactly where she left off. Within moments, soft chatter filled the room.

Lucy tapped a page riddled with indecipherable scrawl with the butt of her pencil. Was Freddie certain that
she
wasn’t the one carrying the code book? It might as well be code, for all that Freddie could decipher it. After a moment, Lucy flipped the brown leather book shut. She held it on her lap.

Turning to Freddie, she asked, “Have you met all the guests?”

Freddie twisted in the armchair to scan the interior of the room. Most of the faces she recognized, though some were obscured by the angle. “I think so. I’m sure we’ve crossed paths once or twice in London.”

“What of the men?”

Freddie shrugged, helpless. “I can’t recall who is here.”

“My brothers, of course.”

When Lucy shot her an expectant look, Freddie nodded. “I’ve met the three in attendance, of course.” Her stomach shrank at the thought of seeing Tristan again. Somehow, she had to separate him from a book he would most likely be set upon keeping. Even when not in the room, he sent a shiver up her spine. She didn’t relish the thought of completing her task.

But she must, for Charlie’s sake. For Mama’s.

Lucy’s face fell. “Giddy’s friend Catt—Mr. Catterson—is also here. Have you met him?”

Freddie shook her head.

Encouraged, Lucy continued, “He doesn’t have any notable fortune, but he’s as smart as a steel trap.”

Freddie smiled. “I wouldn’t know.”

“You will the moment you meet him,” she said, gushing. “He’s as intelligent as Giddy. A botanist, too, you know.”

What could Freddie say to that?

“That’s very impressive.”

Seated across from her, Charlie had her head cocked to the side. A smile played around her mouth as she exchanged a glance with Lucy. “Intelligence is a
very
good quality in a match. Wouldn’t you say, Freddie?”

Had she finally come to her senses? A weight melted off Freddie’s shoulders. “Indeed it is,” she said with an answering smile.

Lucy beamed. “If Catt doesn’t come to snuff, I daresay one of the other gentlemen will. We have more than one scholar in attendance.”

With that, Lucy launched into a dizzying list of titles, breeding, and intellectual pursuits. With each, Charlie praised the man’s good qualities with more enthusiasm than Freddie had ever heard from her, barring her embroidery. Had she only needed to present Charlie with a scholarly candidate for marriage? Freddie hadn’t expected Charlie to shine so much at the prospect of marrying a man whose interests deviated so far from her own. Freddie warmly encouraged the conversation, watching her sister’s face light up.

When Lucy had finished with her list, Charlie leaned forward. She even set aside her embroidery.

“So, Freddie, which do you like best?”

Freddie frowned. “It doesn’t matter what I think. Your happiness matters most to me.”

Charlie batted her hands. “Nonsense. I’ll be happy with whomever you choose. Though he should be good to Mama. I wouldn’t like you to marry a man who would turn her out.”