Pursuing The Traitor (Scandals and Spies Book 5)

by Leighann Dobbs

  Monsieur V had instructed as much. For all that she intended to thwart his plans and arrest him instead, first he had to show up to their arranged meeting. Lucy didn’t want to jeopardize that by stepping even a toe out of the lines he had set. She wore the gray-and-periwinkle dress, had her hair pinned up off her neck so it didn’t fall into her eyes, and had spoken to no one about the meeting. Not a note, not a whisper. She hadn’t even pretended to have a lover so that Charlie might keep watch and ensure that no one followed. Lucy was on her own.

  But first, that meant she had to trick her dearest friend into looking in the other direction while she slipped away. Strolling arm-in-arm with Charlie around the perimeter of the room did not make that an easy task. At least Mrs. Vale remained seated near some of the other chaperones. Once Lucy devised a way to free herself of Charlie’s company, she should be able to slip away with relative ease.

  “So,” Charlie murmured, “why did you want to attend this party so desperately? You don’t like Lady Leighton.”

  Apparently the answer that Lucy had given her the first six times she’d asked over the past week—that she was bored of the same old thing in London or that she’d heard that such-an-acquaintance was coming—wasn’t believable enough. Nevertheless, Lucy tried again.

  The moment she opened her mouth, Charlie added, “You never run out of things to do in London. You have more to research there than here. And you had to leave Antonia behind.”

  Lucy usually preferred to keep her parrot with her whenever she traveled, but in this case it had been unavoidable. Lady Leighton would never have permitted a pet onto the premises, let alone one who often insulted people at random.

  A gift from her brothers. Lucy would never have taught the bird to be so rude.

  She tried again to answer Charlie’s question, but her friend cut her off.

  “None of your friends are here, after all. Perhaps you heard wrong.”

  “Perhaps I did. But now that we’re here, we might as well make the most of it. We might make new friends.”

  Charlie looked dubious.

  Pointing across the room at a young gentleman in a walnut-brown tailcoat, Lucy added, “What about this fellow? He’s been staring at you all evening.”

  Charlie glanced over, then frowned. “I have noticed him looking, but I think he’s been staring at you, not at me. I’m nobody.”

  “A beautiful nobody,” Lucy teased. “Perhaps he’d like to make you into a beautiful somebody.”

  Charlie laughed. “Well, I’m not looking to become a somebody to any man. We’re young yet!”

  Lucy smiled. “Yes, we are.”

  “I still think he’s been staring at you.”

  As the young man in question started striding across the room to intercept them, Lucy pinned her smile in place. “I suppose we’ll find out.” She hoped that Charlie was wrong.

  The young man stopped to gain the company of the hostess on the way. By the time the pair reached them, Charlie had donned a sunny smile that Lucy couldn’t hope to match. They were like night and day, Charlie a blonde beauty in a rosy dress and Lucy no doubt fading beside her with her more muted shade of garb and her dark hair.

  Once again, Lady Leighton’s smile didn’t reach her eyes as she introduced Robert Hale, the heir to Baron Langford. “And this is Lady Lucy Graylocke, sister of the Duke of Tenwick.”

  Lucy didn’t much care for the way the woman emphasized her connection to her brother. She curtsied nonetheless. The young man gave a half-bow in response and immediately turned his attention to Charlie.

  “Lovely to meet your acquaintance, Lady Lucy. And who might this gem be?”

  Lucy bit the inside of her cheek to hide a smirk. She had been right. If they hadn’t been standing in front of the hostess, she would have shot her friend a triumphant look.

  Reluctantly, Lady Leighton introduced Charlie before excusing herself. As Mr. Hale struck up a conversation with Charlie, Lucy slowly inched away.

  Her friend noticed. With a frown, she turned as if to call Lucy back or include her in the conversation, but Mr. Hale chose that particular moment to ask Charlie if she was free for the next set and Charlie couldn’t possibly refuse without being impolite.

  Lucy slipped away.

  Unlike the ballroom at Tenwick Abbey, this one did not adjoin the gardens. It was located in the center of Lady Leighton’s manor, with the other wings of the house surrounding it. As Lucy slipped into the hallway, she fished her notebook from her reticule and flipped to the page where she’d sketched a crude map earlier. After a moment’s hesitation, she continued down the corridor and made a left.

  No one, guest or servant, stopped her as she exited the premises, if anyone even noticed her. She shut the door quietly, pausing to let her eyes adjust. Unlike the hallway, lit at intervals, the only light outside was that of the moon.

  Distantly, she heard the chime of the grandfather clock. Midnight. She swallowed the lump in her throat, lifted her skirts, and hurried around the perimeter of the mansion until she found the terrace. Gooseflesh rose on her arms beneath the cool spring air. The air was calm, and the sky mostly devoid of clouds, but the air tasted moist.

  As she walked, she reviewed her plan silently. Wait for Monsieur V. Talk to him, perhaps get him to follow her to a more confined location. Then she’d have to find something to subdue him with unless she could devise a way to trick him into allowing her to tie him up. He wouldn’t be likely to come peacefully, would he? Oh, dear. She should have thought harder on the mechanics of enacting her plan. In her head it had seemed simple: arrest Monsieur V, take the carriage and deliver him to her brother. But how, practically, was she to do that? She should have nabbed one of Phil’s inventions. Her sister-in-law was always concocting fanciful devices. In fact, her inventions had been the inspiration for the heroine’s in Lucy’s story.

  Unfortunately, Lucy had nothing except her wits and a couple of silk ties. Considering that she hadn’t thought through this portion of her plan, Lucy considered her wits to be rather dull at the moment. She faltered in mid-step. Should she return to the ballroom and find a last minute accomplice? Perhaps a servant or Charlie’s new dance partner.

  But she couldn’t. The hour of their meeting was already upon her. She had no time. She had to meet Monsieur V—now.

  Think of this as a research opportunity. Anything and everything could be used in her book. What would her heroine do in her situation, if she were caught needing to capture someone but with little means to do so?

  The heroine would wait and try to sneak up on the person. Though, she would also probably be armed with one of her self-made guns, whereas Lucy had no weapon at all.

  She would figure something out. She was a storyteller, after all. She didn’t lack for imagination.

  She slowed as she neared the edge of the terrace. Leafy bushes grew next to the stairs, tall enough to conceal her when she crouched. The terrace was a semi-circle jutting from the side of the manor, composed of flagstones, with a gravel walkway near the bottom and steps at intervals leading to the ledge. Sneaking up, Lucy used a bush for cover as she peeked between the stone rails, carved like Grecian pillars. No one yet.

  She pressed her lips together. Should she stand and reveal herself? It might be that Monsieur V wouldn’t emerge until he saw that she had come alone. She could scour the gardens for him, but the light was dim and she might easily overlook a clue. No, she had no choice but to face him on even ground and keep her escape route open. With so many exits from the terrace, if something went amiss, she could easily run and lose herself among the twists and turns of the many walkway gardens.

  Her decision made, she stood, tended to her appearance, and mounted the steps.

  Strong arms gripped her from behind. One, wrapped around her waist and trapping her arms in place, pulled her back against a man’s muscular physique. The other clamped over her lips, muffling her shriek. She thrashed as the figure hauled her away from the terrace. Blind panic gripped her
as the man half-dragged and half-carried her across the lawn. She dug in her heels, but only managed to lose her shoe. When she thrashed, the man swore under his breath, a voice she swore she recognized. Her head was fuzzy with fear and she couldn’t place it. Her heart pounded angrily in the base of her throat. She tried to bite him, but his hand was pressed too firmly for her to open her jaws wide enough.

  He hauled her into a building. A shack, really. Four wooden walls and a roof. Shadows loomed, horrifying torture devices with hooks and blades that glinted in the meager moonlight. When the man released her, she stumbled. He shut the door, cutting off the light.

  “Release me,” she demanded. “Or I’ll have your freedom.” If not his life, for daring to kidnap a Graylocke. Her brothers would see to that.

  Movement rustled and she balled her fists, prepared to do violence if he came any closer. Instead, the scratch of flint and steel was followed by a flood of light as the man lit a lantern. The light threw the shadows back, illuminating the gardening tools along the walls. As he turned, Lucy caught sight of his profile and recognized him instantly. Not Monsieur V, as she’d half-feared.

  The Marquess of Brackley crossed his arms, using his bulk to his advantage as he barred the door. Trapping her inside the shed with him.

  Hell and damnation! Why hadn’t Lucy stayed home? Alex had stolen her note and the invitation to gain her access to the event. She should have remained in London—cursed him, perhaps, but remained. Instead, she’d somehow used her wiles to gain access to the event. Since neither the butler nor the hostess had looked askance at Alex when he’d presented himself at the house, Lucy had likely gained entrance for the same reason; her family connections.

  But the fact that she was here—that she was, in fact, pursuing Monsieur V on her own—was troublesome. Not the least because, in order to get her out of harm’s way, he’d sacrificed his one chance to meet Monsieur V on even ground.

  The thought that he might not corner Monsieur V after all fanned the anger building in his chest. But what was he supposed to have done, leave Morgan Graylocke’s sister in harm’s way? Morgan knew that she was in danger from the spymaster. Where were her protectors? Her brother couldn’t possibly leave her unattended. And trained spies ought to be able to follow her when she strayed out of sight. Unfortunately, since he hadn’t spotted anyone lurking in the gardens to ensure her safety, that lot had fallen to him. Lucy might have cost him…everything.

  No, not everything. She was stubborn. Even now, the glint of the lantern reflected off the steel in her eyes. She balled her fists, ready to do battle with him if the need arose. Might there be more to her than what met the eye? Although Alex would never underestimate Monsieur V’s capacity to manipulate young women into doing his bidding, he had to consider that Lucy might not be as innocent as she seemed.

  Was she in her brother’s employ? Or was she in league with Monsieur V? Lawks! He didn’t even want to consider it, but the slippery spymaster had sent that missive directly to her. She’d known to go to that costume shop directly to get it, too. Could she be a traitor?

  No. It was…unfathomable. Her entire family was in service to the Crown!

  He had to be certain. Muttering an oath under his breath, he squared his shoulders and donned his most impassive expression. The only way to know for certain whether or not Lucy was a French spy would be to interrogate her.

  If Morgan Graylocke ever learned of this, Alex would be a dead man.

  6

  When Brackley took a step forward, his broad shoulders seemed to fill the meager space in the shed. His expression might as well have been carved from stone, for all the emotion it expressed. Only his eyes proved that he was, indeed, a flesh-and-blood man. They glinted with something other than hardness. Hesitation, perhaps. It was hard to tell in the light.

  Lucy held her ground, her heart pumping as he closed the space between them even further. She licked her lips and refused to move back. Her body prickled with the awareness of his.

  “Here’s what we’ll do,” Brackley said, his voice soft and composed. “Before the night is over I’d like to see you back safely in your room.”

  Lucy offered him a sweet smile that belied her racing pulse. “Then why don’t you do that now?”

  He shook his head. She supposed it had been too much for her to hope. Why would a man kidnap her only to set her free again a moment later? If she’d written such a scene into one of her books, the villain would need to have a reason in order to do so. The heroine would offer him something he couldn’t refuse, or apply leverage to force him to let her go. Unfortunately, Lucy couldn’t fathom how she could do either of those things.

  She couldn’t offer him money; he had plenty of his own. He was a titled peer, nearly as exalted as a duke, all but untouchable when it came to threats. She knew none of his secrets, save perhaps about the mistress he kept at the theater. Though, now that she found herself in this situation with him, she had to wonder if she’d been correct about that. This was the third time he’d shown up on her trail while she was pursuing Monsieur V. It couldn’t be coincidence.

  What did he want with her?

  Brackley re-crossed his arms, a solid barrier between her and escape. “Before we do that, you’re going to answer some questions for me.”

  An interrogation? She’d never thought to find herself in quite that situation. If her brothers had been nearby, they never would have allowed it. But, despite the shiver of fear that trembled through her, Lucy embraced the thrill. This was the perfect opportunity to research for her book!

  Brackley narrowed his eyes. “What were you doing outside on your own tonight?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You stole my letter. Since you were there, I assume you can decode it. You know precisely what I was doing.”

  What he had interrupted her from doing. Had he been trying to thwart Britain’s efforts to counter Monsieur V?

  Brackley grunted. How verbose of him. He was worse than Morgan when he got in a snit.

  “Are you in your brother’s employ? Did he send you here tonight?”

  Are you? If Brackley had been working with Morgan, wouldn’t he have known that Lucy was not? She hesitated, turning the answers over on her tongue before she offered one.

  “I’m working under my own direction.”

  She was the only person who could identify Monsieur V by his face. Logically, she should have been inducted into the ranks of spy months ago. If her brothers weren’t so stubbornly overprotective, she would have been. She was certain that, if it had been Giddy or Tristan who had crossed paths with the spymaster instead of her, they would have been told the truth of the matter immediately. Morgan only sought to shelter her because she was a woman.

  He should know by now that she was just as capable as any of her brothers. She would have thought that her escapades in the name of research would have convinced him of that, seeing as she’d endured various circumstances that her brothers thought too crude for her delicate sensibilities and she hadn’t swooned once. Nor had she been reduced to hysterics or been irrevocably scandalized or any other nonsensical thing that a man wanted to pretend a lady would do in such situations. The world consisted of more than balls and afternoon tea, and Lucy could handle all its aspects.

  Try convincing her brothers of that, though. She had, to no avail. Perhaps when she delivered Monsieur V into their grasp, they might change their opinion of her.

  If, in fact, she could still capture the man. She hadn’t shown up to the meeting where he’d expected her. She had no other clues to follow. If he disappeared, she would have to start again, with even less of an idea of where to look.

  She glared at Brackley for thwarting her plan, though he didn’t appear to be paying attention. Instead, he muttered under his breath. Something that sounded near to, “That explains it.”

  His expression hardened again. “Explain your contact with Monsieur V.”

  She battled the urge to roll her eyes. “You know the answer t
o that question. You read the letter.”

  “That was your only contact?”

  She hiked up her chin. “Yes.”

  “How did you know to find it at the shop off Bond Street?”

  “A lucky guess.”

  It had been lucky, come to think of it. How had Monsieur V known to leave it for her? If she’d arrived at that line of inquiry a week later, she would have been too late to attend this house party. It seemed like a risk he couldn’t possibly have known would pay off.

  Unless the man she’d spoken to in the theater had been in Monsieur V’s employ. But, if so, how had the spymaster even known that she would approach him? She might have gone to any number of theaters. The one on Drury Lane had just happened to be performing a play that Mrs. Vale had particularly wanted to see. It had been sheer coincidence.

  “Do you know where to find him now?”

  Something in Brackley’s countenance bespoke of desperation. The set of his jaw had an edge to it. His eyes glinted like steel. Lucy refused to be cowed, even by his sharp tone.

  She countered, “If you hadn’t dragged me away, you would have been able to find him on the terrace. Perhaps it might not be too late to catch him.” She waggled her fingers, sending him off.

  Not that he budged by even a hair. It seemed he suspected just as much as she did that Monsieur V was long gone. When she hadn’t arrived as expected—or worse, when he’d witnessed Brackley bodily remove her from the premises—he would have made himself scarce. If he had been the type to be easily caught, her brothers would have done so ages ago. She had faith in their abilities. They were none of them simpletons. Brackley ought to have known that, too.

  Unless… Perhaps the reason he was so assured that Monsieur V was gone was because he was working for the man, keeping an eye on Lucy on the spymaster’s behest. Perhaps this interrogation was made on behalf of Monsieur V, to assure himself that she knew nothing.

  Unfortunately, she didn’t. She had nothing to hide.

  “What about your notebook?”