She bristled and clutched her reticule to her chest. “What about my notebook?” It was hers. It held her most sacred thoughts, as well as all the research she had gathered of late.
Brackley scowled. “What are you hiding in it?”
“I’m hiding nothing. I keep notes in it for the novel that I’m writing, that’s all.”
He looked dubious. “Show me.”
“No. Why should I?”
He closed the distance between them. As she tried to back away, she stumbled over a fallen rake. The shed was such a tight, enclosed space that when she lost her balance and reached out behind her, she touched the wall and was able to right herself.
Brackley wrestled her reticule from her wrist.
“Give that back,” she snapped. “That’s my personal property.”
He held it high over her head as he fumbled with the ties to open it. If he thought she hadn’t been shown that tactic countless times by her much taller brothers, he was wrong. She stormed up to him, all but pressing herself against him as she jumped to try to snag her bag once more. No luck. She stomped on his foot, hoping it would make him lower it.
He swore and took a step back as he pulled the leather-bound notebook from the bag. He tossed the bag at her, taking advantage of her momentary distraction as she caught it to flip through her prized notes.
She stuffed the reticule onto her wrist again. “Give that here,” she demanded.
He made a face. “It’s in code. What’s the cipher?”
“Not code. It’s shorthand. It takes up less space if I don’t have to write out all the letters to every word.”
Frowning, he continued to flip through the notebook. He paused at a diagram she’d sketched. “Is this a gun?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
Lucy craned her neck. “Yes.”
The second eyebrow lifted to join the first. “You design weaponry?”
“I don’t. My heroine does. She’s a princess-turned-swashbuckling inventor.” Most people, upon hearing about Lucy’s story, made a polite comment that masked their disbelief that she could or would write such a thing at all.
Brackley shut the book and handed it back. His face didn’t hold a shred of disbelief. It appeared that he believed her about the notebook’s contents now.
“How long have you been involved in Britain’s spy efforts?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I haven’t.” It was the truth.
“How long have you known about them, then?”
“Months.”
“When you saw Monsieur V’s face?”
Why did he want to know? Lucy gritted her teeth, holding her ground as he loomed closer. When he stopped a foot away, she hated to admit that she wouldn’t mind him stepping even closer. The heat of his body was seductive. She battled the urge to close her eyes and savor the awareness of his body.
Was this what her novel needed? A love affair?
She stifled a laugh. No, not love. Lust, maybe, but her princess-turned-pirate heroine was too hard-hearted to fall in love. Especially with someone bound to treat her as if she was the pampered woman everyone thought she should be.
Keeping her voice even, Lucy answered honestly. “I knew about the spy network, but I didn’t know who he was until later.”
Until recently.
Brackley didn’t seem pleased with her answer. Just what did he hope to discover from her? She didn’t know whether he hoped she knew more about Monsieur V or that she didn’t. She pressed her lips together and stared him down, waiting for his response.
“If you were to guess where Monsieur V is right now, where would you say?”
She released an exasperated breath. “I honestly have no idea. You just foiled my only clue!” She gritted her teeth and crossed her arms.
“Very well. Then you’re free to return to the ball now.”
Did he sound disappointed about that?
As she moved toward the door, he didn’t budge, still firmly in her path. He caught her gaze and held it. “You’d do better not to let anyone know that we spent so much time alone together.”
No one…including her brothers? She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“Considering my reputation, it might prove damaging to yours.”
He was right, but there was more to it than a black stain on her reputation. He didn’t want her to spread the word for some other reason, a reason she would uncover.
That, or he was unwilling to pay the price if the truth did emerge. Either way, perhaps she would do best to keep their meeting to herself, after all.
She smiled, falsely sweet. “It will be our secret.”
7
Brackley accompanied her back to the house, giving Lucy no opportunity to sneak off to the terrace on the off chance that Monsieur V had lingered. The stubborn man even waited in the corridor, where everyone could see him, as the sounds of the concluding ball wound down. At any moment, guests would spill out into this very corridor on their way to their rooms, and he and Lucy would be discovered. Given his adamancy over keeping their association a secret, Lucy would have thought that he would want to avoid just a scenario.
Apparently, he preferred to irk her instead. For a long moment, she caught his gaze, calling his bluff. The echo of footsteps and voices emanated, growing closer. Bollocks! He wasn’t going to back down. Turning on her heel, she scampered up the stairs. A moment before she turned her back, she thought she caught the beginning of a smirk on his face. She balled her fists and stormed into her room.
The moment she reached that sanctuary—a small yet elegantly-decorated haven including a bed, a chair, a dressing screen, a wardrobe, and a vanity—she sighed with relief. She toed off her shoes, having stopped along the way to collect the lost one, and set her reticule on the vanity. Once she retrieved her notebook and pencil from inside the bag, she curled up on the bed and scribbled every detail of the interrogation, including the way it had felt, into one of the precious last few pages in the book. By the end, the small page was crammed with notes, more pencil markings than blank page.
A knock came from the door. She glanced up. “Come in.”
The door opened a crack and Charlie’s blonde curls peeked through. “So you are in here, after all.” She opened the door wider and stepped inside.
Her mother followed, a frown turning down the corners of her mouth.
“Where did you disappear to?” Mrs. Vale asked. “I thought you might have snuck off to the library, but when I checked I couldn’t find you. I was worried.”
Charlie perched on the edge of the bed. “Were you here the whole time? I thought you wanted to attend this house party.”
Lucy bit the inside of her cheek and forced a smile. “I got an idea for something to include in my book and had to write it down. See?” She flashed the page of her notes to the pair, thanking her forethought in scribbling it all down the moment she returned to the room.
Mrs. Vale looked dubious. Didn’t she believe Lucy?
Fortunately, Charlie seemed to accept the explanation readily enough. She tucked her heels to the side as she rearranged her skirts into a more comfortable position. “What idea did you have?”
Lucy’s smile turned genuine as she confessed. “I think my heroine needs to take a lover.”
“A lover?” Charlie giggled. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
Lucy gave her a sly smile. “Maybe a certain gentleman who seemed bent on following a certain lady.”
Charlie blushed. “Mr. Hale is well enough, but don’t think anything will come of it. I’m not looking to get married right now, you know that.”
Good, she thought that Lucy meant her. In actuality, she thought of Brackley. Why had he followed her? His questions had given little insight into his motives, and only some insight into his skills. Obviously he had a working knowledge of codes and the spy network. But where did his allegiance lie? And what did he want with her?
As Lucy and Charlie moved on to an enthusiastic discussion about what kind of man w
ould attract a princess-turned-pirate, Mrs. Vale excused herself and left the room. As she shut the door behind her, Lucy couldn’t help but relax a bit. Mrs. Vale had accepted Lucy’s lie, after all.
Hadn’t she?
Alex lingered in the shadow of a doorway as the guests milled past and ascended the same staircase Lucy had taken. The look in her eye still haunted him. Challenging, confident. Luckily, he could be just as stubborn, because he suspected that if he left her alone for a moment, she would go looking for Monsieur V.
That was his job. No, more than a job. The day he’d learned of his brother’s death, he’d made a vow to himself to rip Monsieur V from his pedestal. And that was precisely what he would do. He didn’t care if Morgan assigned him to the mission or not. This was personal.
How personal was it for Lucy? She seemed bent on throwing herself in harm’s way. All in pursuit of a man she’d met but once. Was she in over her head? Perhaps he shouldn’t, but Alex believed that what she’d told him was the truth. She didn’t have prior association with or knowledge of Monsieur V. Which could only mean that he was manipulating her to some end that neither of them had yet guessed.
Nevertheless, once was more often than Alex had found himself face to face with the man. Whatever Lucy’s connection to him, Alex needed her. He’d taken a chance last night in choosing to interrogate her over waiting to confront the man himself. He’d hoped that she would know how to make contact with Monsieur V, that Alex could set his own trap…
As much as he wanted her answers to be lies, he did believe her. He had been in this spy game long enough to know when he was being lied to, and Lucy was far too free with her emotions. The women he encountered in his line of work were jaded. They didn’t see the value in telling the truth, not unless it benefitted them in some way. In comparison, Lucy Graylocke was like a breath of fresh air. Guileless and innocent. If she remained in Monsieur V’s vicinity for much longer, she would undoubtedly lose that. As Alex mounted the now-vacant stairs, he wrestled with the irrational urge to preserve Lucy’s guilelessness, to keep her from being tainted by the sorrows of the world.
He couldn’t protect her because he needed her if he was to exact his revenge.
As he reached the landing, he expected the corridor to be vacant. The top of the steps branched into a long corridor; women roomed on the right, men on the left. However, as he parted from the shadows, he discovered that he was not alone.
Mrs. Vale stepped into the light. The flickering flame glinted off her hard gaze, masking the expression in her eyes. Her face was as cutting as a blade, her mouth no more than a thin line.
She stepped closer, the click of her heels sharp in the silence. “I didn’t expect to find you here, Brackley.”
He offered her a bland smile. “I was fortunate enough to receive an invitation.” Albeit indirectly. For all Lady Leighton’s groveling upon his arrival, he doubted that he would have been invited on his own merit. Alex’s wild reputation from before his brother’s demise had carried over into his succession of the Brackley title. Lady Leighton wasn’t the type to invite scandal to her house party; though, now that he was a marquess, she couldn’t turn him away and earn his censure, either.
Mrs. Vale, on the other hand, wasn’t as concerned with drawing his displeasure. She crossed her arms. “Are you here on business?”
“Aren’t most house parties for pleasure?”
She raised her eyebrows as if demanding a better explanation. He offered her none.
Her frown deepened into a scowl. “Stay away from her.”
So Morgan had warned Lucy’s chaperone to keep him clear. Alex was touched that the man held him in such high esteem. Before he’d crossed paths with her in London, Alex had never entertained the notion of approaching Lucy. Her brother was far too overprotective of her, if his hackles rose because Alex had happened to glance in her direction one time while meeting with Morgan.
Now that he knew her connection to Monsieur V—or, if nothing else, the spymaster’s affinity for toying with her—Alex couldn’t promise to stay away. He needed Lucy if he was to draw out the traitor. Monsieur V slipped through his fingers tonight, while he’d been wasting time interrogating Lucy. Even if she was innocent, he couldn’t afford to steer clear on the chance that she’d stay that way.
He might need her for bait.
“Goodnight, Mrs. Vale,” he said, his tone clipped. Without another word, he strode in the opposite direction, away from the woman and the women’s chambers. One of which housed Lucy.
He couldn’t rid himself of the confident look in her eye. He smothered a wayward desire to protect her, keep her safe of Monsieur V’s machinations. He couldn’t do that.
Nor could he allow himself to be drawn to her, even if he hadn’t felt this lure to a woman since his father and brother had died. Letting himself succumb would be the height of folly. It would be dangerous not only to his self-imposed mission, but also to himself.
8
The warbling songbirds didn’t seem to understand that this sunny morning was not the time for celebration. It was a morning filled with frustration and aggravation. Dew clung to the leaves of the bushes framing the terrace. Droplets fell onto the gravel walk, crunching beneath Lucy’s shoe as she circled the area for the sixth or seventh time, searching for a clue.
She’d found the area where she had hidden easily enough. Her shoes had bent the grass and left a depression near the bush. That had given her heart, made her think that maybe she would be able to find some clue from Monsieur V even if she hadn’t been able to meet with him after all.
She’d been wrong. No matter where she looked—on the terrace, through the garden paths, or the trail ringing the steps and railing—she couldn’t find a single piece of evidence to support that Monsieur V had shown up to their arranged meeting at all. The only disruption to the ground that she could notice was her scuffle with Brackley and where she’d crouched near the bush to watch the meeting spot. Even those, she might only have discovered because she knew where to look. In her book, she’d assumed that finding evidence of someone’s presence where they ought not to be would be easy in nature. Perhaps she needed to revise those scenes, because she couldn’t find the faintest echo of Monsieur V.
Damn Brackley! If not for him, she would have been here to meet with the notorious spymaster. If not for Brackley, she might have been on her way to Tenwick Abbey with the traitor in her custody even now. Instead, she was rooting around in the dirt searching for clues that didn’t exist.
She blinked hard as she straightened and turned her face up to the brilliant blue sky. The weather seemed to defy her mood, more cheerful than it had been in days whereas she felt like a rag wrung out too many times. What now? Did she…give up? Return to London or to Tenwick Abbey and turn over her findings to her brothers?
No. If she were writing a book about this, it couldn’t end that way. It wouldn’t be satisfying. Squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath and mustered her resolve. She knew Monsieur V’s face. If he had been invited to this house party, she would know it. She would find him.
“Enjoying the fresh air?”
Lucy jumped. She whirled on the speaker, Brackley. How had he approached without her noticing the crunch of his footsteps? He was as silent as a cat. He stood on the terrace, bent forward with his forearms resting on the stone railing as he watched her. When she turned, he offered her a lazy, smug smile.
The scoundrel. She gritted her teeth, composing herself before she climbed the steps to stand next to him. She wouldn’t act the demure damsel around him. Better he know that he nettled a woman every bit as clever as he was.
When she reached his side, he straightened, though his air remained casual. His gaze swept over her bare collarbone and the scoop of her gown. Gooseflesh rose in its wake.
“It’s a bit cold out this morning to be walking around dressed like that, wouldn’t you say? Didn’t you bring a shawl?”
And have it snag on one of the bushes? She wa
s in danger enough of doing that with her skirts. She hadn’t wanted any added deterrents.
“It’s invigorating. It keeps me alert.”
He raised his eyebrows. “And did that alertness grant you a fresh perspective?”
“As a matter of fact, it did,” she lied. She crossed her arms and didn’t break eye contact.
He chuckled. “Don’t let me keep you, then, if you’re still looking.”
She pressed her lips together, but couldn’t think of a good retort. Turning away, she batted her braid over her shoulder once more.
“What brings you out so early? I thought none of you titled peers rose before noon.”
“Does your brother give you that impression?”
Not at all. Morgan was always the first in the family to rise, except perhaps Giddy. Though, sometimes, Giddy got so wrapped up in his plants that he forgot to sleep, so he didn’t count.
“That depends to which brother you’re referring.” Tristan tended to lay abed past noon and stay up all night. Anthony… Actually, Lucy didn’t know what her second-youngest brother’s sleeping habits were these days because he was leagues away in the middle of the ocean, in service to the Royal Navy.
For all that they had remained in England, her brothers had chosen a profession that was no less dangerous, if few knew of the danger they put themselves in. It was no less important, either, which was why Lucy couldn’t simply give up because she’d missed the meeting yesterday. She had to find Monsieur V. She might be the only person who could.
Brackley smirked. “I thought you noblewomen tended to lay abed past noon, as well.”
Considering that she had been up past two in the morning, Lucy usually would have slept in a bit longer. This morning, however, she hadn’t wanted to run the risk of someone having trampled all over her evidence. Unfortunately, even if someone had, she would be no closer to finding a clue. If Monsieur V had been there last night, he had left no clue behind. No footprints, and certainly no note.
Pursuing The Traitor (Scandals and Spies Book 5) Page 6
