TheCharmer (12 page)

Until she'd been plucked from the mire of her desperation and sent to the Liar's Club.

Until she'd found a home.

Louis Wadsworth could not hurt her now. She was not the lonely, desperate maid of the past. And she was on a mission, directed by the spymaster himself to—

No. His lordship had said the family was named "Wentworth." He had sent her to fetch the file from his study. "
The Wentworth file. On top of the pile on my desk
."

Wentworth.
Wadsworth
. Oh, God
. Rose covered her face with her hands. She'd bungled it when she'd stubbed her toe on the leg of the desk and sent the files slithering out of their pile.

She'd sent herself to the wrong house.

She turned and hurried back down the long gallery. She had to get away—away from that portrait, away from this house. Away from Louis. Crikey, it was as if she could feel his breath on the back of her neck!

"I am not afraid of Louis Wadsworth," she muttered to herself. "Not anymore."

Oh? Then why are you fleeing?

She wasn't fleeing. She was staging a sensible retreat after realizing that she was in the wrong house.

Then why are your hands shaking?

She looked down. It was true. Her stomach was shaking as well. That was beside the point, however. The point was that she was in the wrong house and ought to skip right back to the club to report her mistake.

Leaving Louis in peace.

That thought stopped her in her tracks. Why was Louis Wadsworth living in peace? Why had he not been swept up in the circumstances that had finally disbanded his father's traitorous Knights of the Lily? Why was he living unworriedly in
Mayfair
, wealthier than ever, and dining with the Prime Minister?

The Liars didn't know. They couldn't know, or they would never suffer it.

She knew. She knew things about Louis Wadsworth that likely no one else on earth knew.

Memories swirled in her mind. The day Louis had left the house was not the last time he'd visited, simply the last time he'd lived there.

No, he'd been back many times over the intervening years.

There had been many secret meetings, those she had been present for when no one else wanted to serve the late-night gatherings. Meetings between her own master, Mr. Wadsworth, and his group of anti-Crown French collaborators, the Knights of the Lily. And in the midst had been the scion of the industrialist's empire, his son, Louis—every bit as guilty as his father.

Mr. Edward Wadsworth had died for his crimes. For reasons of their own—probably to keep their own part secret—the Liars had allowed him to be publicly lauded as the hero of the piece. Harmless enough, she supposed, since the man was far too dead to get up to more treachery. Louis, however, was all too alive and apparently not under suspicion.

Louis was very wily. Rose had no doubt that he'd been clever enough to emerge clean from the debacle of the Knights of the Lily.

"The master of this house is no ordinary bloke. Not him what dines with the Prime Minister himself!"

Louis had indeed become a powerful man if he was associating with the likes of the Prime Minister of England.

Lord Liverpool was not a man Rose wanted to cross. He'd objected to her entry into the Liars on the grounds that she was too common and too female. He would not want to hear anything she would have to say about one of his friends. After all, it would be her word against Louis's.

Louis would win that battle, as always, unless she came armed with more than memories and accusations. She knew what would happen if the Liars heard Louis's version of events. She'd been shunned before and had barely survived it with her soul intact. No, she could only go to the Liars with something so damning, so concrete, that no one would ever take Louis's word again.

Hot excitement began to tingle through old chilly memories, burning them away in the flame of realization.

She was here, in Louis Wadsworth's house. She was a spy, trained to seek out treason, honed to fight for
England
… and the day was wasted anyway. She'd never manage to get back to the club to report and be able to make any progress on her actual assignment.

Which would be embarrassing. Clumsy housemaid makes mistake. Unless she went back with something in hand to remove the sting of failure. Unless she found something on Louis to prove his French allegiance, something that would set the Liars on him full-force. Something other than her opinion versus the friendship of the Prime Minister.

And maybe something that would prove to herself that she was no longer afraid of Louis Wadsworth.

Something niggled at the back of her mind. Oh, no.
Collis
! He was even now stalking Louis Wadsworth to cadge an invitation into the house, where he would be looking for falsely planted evidence of treason.

She hesitated, tapping her chin with one finger. Surely Collis's plan would not bear fruit in one day? She could tell him about her mistake tomorrow before he got any farther.

She hoped.

Louis Wadsworth
was
a traitor, and if she could prove it, she could bring him to some kind of justice at last.

She only hoped Collis Tremayne would stay out of the way in the meantime. Not only might he muck up her single chance—he'd never let her live it down.

Collis followed Louis Wadsworth into Louis's desperately grand house with a smile. He hoped he could see Rose's face when she found out he'd walked right into their target's house only half a day into the mission.

It was probably some kind of Liar record, come to think of it. He'd enjoy telling
Dalton
about it as well.

"I hope you don't mind if I excuse myself a moment, Tremayne," Louis said. "I'll have the staff bring you some tea if you like."

Collis nodded genially. It would be a relief to get rid of his host for a breath or two. There was something repellent about the man. Louis's smile was friendly, but his eyes were always cool. Uneasily Collis wondered if he'd given himself away already. Dalton had said the family would know something of the assignment—had he said or done anything to make the man suspect him?

No, he decided. Other than his own casual overture with the news sheet, he'd ensured that Louis had made all the invitations.

Collis was led to an overdecorated guest parlor, typical and worthless. As soon as the butler was gone, he stepped back into the front hall to gauge the lay of the land. The house was very fine and modern, as was the Wadsworths' wealth.

If they'd had the slightest clue how to get on in Society, they would have tried to mask the newness of their importance with the acquisition of a fine old property, perhaps one that still retained the impression of the highborn blood that had built it. Etheridge House was nearly as new, of course, but the Etheridge line had no need to mask a thing.

The carpets were a bit too bright, the portraits all in the style of the last decade, the fireplaces a tad too obvious in scale.

"Almost, but not quite, Louis." Collis grinned. Moving quickly through the house, he found a little-used room with a back garden window view. He unlatched the window with a quick motion. The likelihood that this latch would be checked before he came back was quite slim. He looked down into the garden. Lovely. There was even a trellis near the window.

He returned to the room he'd been assigned. While waiting for his host, Collis took a halfhearted look about the parlor. It was a very standard sort of chamber, perhaps a bit less tasteful than most. It seemed Mrs. Wadsworth had a taste for the baroque.

A maidservant bustled in, her cap-covered head bent over her burden of loaded tea tray. Collis scarcely registered her at first, until she glanced up at him past the lace edge of her mobcap. Hazel eyes widened in evident surprise.

In a few brisk strides, Rose had one hand wrapped about his arm and the other pushing shut the open door. She towed him to the opposite end of the room and to the hearth. Only then did she speak. "What the bloomin' hell are you doing?"

"Having tea," he said. His first surprise had worn off. He grinned. "And yourself?"

"Damn it, Collis!"

Her eyes flashed green fire. He badly, abruptly wanted to kiss her, but her stubborn chin was raised high. She'd likely smack him right back, and this was neither the time nor the place for him to get into a wrestling match with his tempting nemesis.

Then he froze, realization striking hard. She
was
in the house. First.

Damn.

She didn't smile, but the tiny quirk of the corner of her mouth was all the more riveting for it. "I've been here since before dawn," she said. "You've been here for perhaps… two minutes?"

He couldn't answer her. His jaw seemed cemented with dismay, which only grew worse when her gaze softened.

"Collis, don't take it hard." She leaned forward in sudden eagerness, which eased her grasp on his arm somewhat. "Oy, that means I've won and you must obey!"

Rose's breath caught as Collis stepped closer, using his height to loom over her. He had the additional advantage of being deadly attractive. It truly wasn't fair.

Nothing new there. Besides, this round she had the upper hand. So she merely cocked her head at him and waited for him to back away once more. To her surprise, the irritated flair in his gray eyes suddenly shifted to something equally hot and far more threatening.

Collis was having a bit of trouble remembering why he was riled when all he could think of was the scent of her hair. His body remembered the feel of her beneath him all too well, having been reminded in his dreams last night. Supple, energetic bundle that she was… would she be a lively partner? Would they pass hours away in happy animal coupling? Or would she be chill and slow to warm, only to explode at his hands at last?

He stepped closer, then again. His fingers came up to trace the neckline of her maid's livery, only allowing the tips to touch the silken skin just below. Her eyes flickered away from his, then back. Her hand came up to cover his, but instead of pushing it away, she slid it a few inches down and pressed his palm over the mound of her small, full breast.

The shock of her beneath his hand sent Collis into a full second of immobility. She filled his palm with yielding, satisfying woman. God, he wanted her so much—

"No, sor, playse!" she cried out abruptly, her common accent shrill and panicked. "Oi'm a good girl, Oi am!"

Collis snatched his hand back and stepped away from her in shock. She ducked under his arm and recoiled a few steps, holding the empty tea tray protectively before her face and emitting small terrified sobs.

A light laugh came from behind Collis. He turned to see Louis Wadsworth in the doorway with a tolerant grin on his face. "Well, Tremayne, one can't fault you for speed from the gate! I can see I won't be able to let you alone for a minute."

Collis forced a lazy smile to his face. "Sorry, Wadsworth. Forgot myself."

Louis shrugged. "No matter. Will you be long then?"

Collis managed not to snarl at the man's careless attitude toward his dependent. "If you don't mind, I'll be all done in a moment." Louis grinned again and left, pointedly closing the door behind him.

Collis turned to Rose. "What kind of master knowingly leaves a young woman alone with a man with evil on his mind?"

She dropped her fearful pose and sighed. "You really are naïve, Collis. Why should he object, when he has a long history of accosting his own dependents?"

"What?"

"Hush. He'll hear you. Now, hold this." She plunked the tray into his hands. Then she pulled her cap askew, tugged several strands of hair down over her face, unbuttoned the top three buttons of her dress behind her neck, and pulled the neckline of her uniform to twist slightly over her breasts. Collis pulled his attention away from those breasts with difficulty. He knew why she'd done what she had.

It didn't change the fact that one brief touch had ignited his desire like a torch to paper. He gave his head a slight shake. It had been far, far too long.

After briskly damaging her respectability, Rose took the tea tray back from him and turned toward the door. "That ought to be long enough, don't you think?"

Collis ignored the slur on his masculinity for the moment. "Rose, we need to talk about this."

"I agree. Make your farewell as soon as you can. Meet me behind the mews at dusk. We can talk then." She gave an extra tug to her bodice. Creamy flesh welled. "I'll just rush out crying, shall I? He'll be directly across the hall. I wouldn't want him to miss anything," she said with sour satisfaction.

Distracted by her casual exposure, Collis merely turned to watch her go. Just before she touched the latch, she looked back over her shoulder with a frown. "That was your injured hand that you—that I used, wasn't it? The one that cannot feel?"

Though his entirely healthy and sensitive palm still burned from the softness of her breast, Collis nodded soberly. "Absolutely."

With a quick nod of relief, she was gone, running sobbing from the room and down the hall. Collis took a tip from her and twisted his waistcoat a bit, then ran a hand through his hair to disarrange it. It wasn't until he was across the hall, greeting Louis Wadsworth with a satisfied smile, that he realized he was now following orders. Her orders.