Pursuing The Traitor (Scandals and Spies Book 5)

by Leighann Dobbs

  Not until Lucy, at least. Knowing he couldn’t have her even if he allowed himself to want her didn’t seem to suppress his desires. If anything, it made the urge to possess her even stronger. As he kissed her, stoking their passions until she fisted her hands in his hair, the pinpricks of pain telling him that he made her every bit as wild as she made him. He longed to unleash his passion, to lose himself in the pleasure of her kiss. Every bold stroke of her tongue against his tested his limits.

  When a rhythmic clicking wormed its way into his senses, he thought for a moment that it was the beat of his heart. No. That sounded like…footsteps?

  Hell and damnation, he was kissing Lucy in the middle of the bloody corridor, where anyone could happen upon them! As he broke the kiss, she swayed toward him as if hoping for more. He stepped back and watched her eyelashes flutter as she opened her eyes, confused.

  Then she, too, registered the footsteps. Alarm crossed her face and she jumped back.

  They didn’t say a word. Rather, they locked gazes and, by unspoken agreement, turned and dashed for separate exits. Lucy slipped into the nearest room. Alex strolled down the corridor toward the approaching footsteps, hoping to keep whoever they belonged to busy for long enough for Lucy to escape. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to tame it back into place after Lucy’s eager response. He hoped the evidence of their kiss wasn’t marked on his face.

  The owner of the footsteps turned out to be a plain-faced young maid. She paid him no mind aside from dipping a quick curtsey as she stepped out of his path. Once he passed her and turned the corner, he lingered near the junction as he calmed his fiercely-pounding heart.

  That had been foolish. Beyond foolish, in fact. British spies, all reporting to Morgan, riddled London. It wasn’t such a stretch to imagine that he might have eyes inside Lady Leighton’s country estate as well. If he and Lucy had been witnessed, Alex might be on his way to a noose—whether the parson’s noose or some other, he couldn’t imagine. Morgan had been quite forbidding in cautioning Alex to keep away from his sister.

  He wasn’t the only one. Aside from her chaperone, Mrs. Vale, who had apparently been warned by Morgan though Alex couldn’t fathom why, Alex had received a baffling note last night. Why would Monsieur V care whether or not Alex spent time with Lucy? Then again, Alex hadn’t yet reasoned out how Lucy had known to receive the initial letter from Monsieur V at a secluded costume shop, nor why the spymaster had singled her out. There was something more going on, but he couldn’t figure out what, precisely. If she was telling the truth—and with her guilelessness, Alex couldn’t fathom believing otherwise—then she had no inkling of why the spymaster had targeted her, either.

  Or why he appeared to be as protective of her as her brothers. The coded message he’d found beneath his pillow last night could be from no one else. A British spy would have sent a different code.

  Upon finding it, Alex had burned with anger and frustration. Not at the note’s contents—although it didn’t bode well for the blackguard to be taking such an interest in Lucy—but at the fact that Monsieur V had been in his room. Not being on official assignment from Morgan, Alex had brought no sensitive material with him to the house party, but the fact that his privacy had been violated in such a way made his blood boil. Monsieur V was taunting him, toying with him as much as he was with Lucy. Alex didn’t know if the spymaster was aware of the festering hatred Alex harbored for him, but this warning did little to dispel that feeling.

  Lying in bed last night, Alex had imagined Monsieur V standing there, over the mattress, close enough for Alex to strangle had he been there. Logically, he didn’t believe that the spymaster had left the note himself, but that didn’t stop Alex from entertaining the fantasy. Alex had mulled over the information as he’d lain awake, staring at the ceiling. If Monsieur V hadn’t entered Alex’s room to leave the note, then someone else in the house must have done it. Someone who had access to the guest wing.

  Only one man, the aging Earl of Euston, had been absent among the guests during the time when the note must have been left. Unable to sleep, Alex had risen early to keep watch for when the man, a known early riser, departed his room.

  Alex had followed him to the servants’ wing of the house, only to be blindsided by Lucy’s presence. The moment he’d seen her alone with a man, albeit a servant—and flirting, no less—Alex had forgotten his initial reason for venturing to this part of the house. Even now, he had to fight the urge to find Lucy and ensure that she found her way to the safety of her chaperone. If a notorious traitor was showing undue interest in her, the very last thing she should be doing was venturing out alone.

  By will alone, he managed not to turn down the corridor in search for her. Instead, he prowled the servants’ wing, hoping that Euston might still be around. If Alex had lost him, he might have to wait until tomorrow to learn what the old bloke did every morning. He certainly didn’t care to be among the guests much.

  A woman’s giggle bubbled from a room farther down the corridor. Frowning, Alex quickened his step. The giggle didn’t sound familiar, but his mind jumped to Lucy all the same. As movement caught his eye from the shadow of the servant’s stair, he paused. He closed the distance slowly, trying not to draw attention to himself as he searched out the occupants.

  A broad smile capping his jowls, Euston towed the giggling maid up the steps to the floor above. There it was, then. The man was a randy womanizer, not a spy.

  Then who had left the message in Alex’s room? A servant? If so, Alex had no means of tracking their movements after the fact.

  He’d never been very good at admitting defeat and moving on, not even when he knew he should.

  He arranged to find himself alone in the company of one of the maids. He chose a plain-faced young woman, hoping she would be flattered at the attentions of a marquess and he could charm the information out of her.

  Not that there was much information to be had. He knew that even as he aimed his best smile at the utterly forgettable young woman. “Do you happen to know who was up in my room yesterday? I seemed to have misplaced my favorite cravat and I wondered if someone might have taken it for laundering or some such.”

  A bald lie. Not only did he not care a whit what cravat he wore, but it would be his valet’s duty to see it washed, not one of the maids in the household he visited.

  Nevertheless, he hoped that by probing, he would gain some insight into who might have ventured near his room.

  The maid curtsied, meek as a mouse. “The guest quarters fall under my domain, my lord, but I assure you I haven’t touched your cravat.”

  “Are you certain? I had it laid out near the foot of my bed before I went to supper.” As he delivered the lie, he studied her face for signs of deception. If she’d been in his room while he was away yesterday evening, she would have known that he’d done no such thing.

  She didn’t widen her eyes in surprise or narrow them with suspicion. In fact, she barely batted an eyelash. Inclining her head and giving another little curtsey, the maid informed, “Then I’m quite certain no one can have touched it, my lord. Our duties are finished by that time of the night. Could your valet have misplaced it, my lord?”

  Despite the fact that he could have her reprimanded for accusing his servant of wrongdoing, she delivered the statement with a straight face. He suppressed a sigh at the evidence that he wouldn’t be getting any information out of her.

  “He’s adamant that he hasn’t. If you happen to learn of anyone who was in my room and might know, I would be grateful if you’d let me know.”

  “Of course, my lord.” She looked up through the veil of her eyelashes. “Is there anything else I can do for you, my lord?”

  Was she trying to entice him into a more lecherous bent? She’d have better luck with Euston. Alex’s mouth still throbbed from Lucy’s kiss. He still tasted her on his tongue. If he was going to misbehave with anyone, it would be her.

  After all, she had initiated the kiss. She might
be open to another. Why had she kissed him? He’d been teasing her, but not flirting, exactly. However compelling he found her, magnetic with the sparkle in her eye and always armed with her ready wit, he knew he couldn’t have her.

  Apparently, she hadn’t been told the same thing. Running his hands through his hair, he realized that the maid was staring at him, waiting for him to say something. He’d forgotten what she’d asked. “Thank you,” he said simply, hoping that solved the matter. He turned on his heel and strode away before he made a bigger fool of himself.

  He needed to stop thinking about Lucy. The taste of her kiss, the feel of her body pressed against him, he needed to wash it from his mind. If he didn’t find a way to flush her from his thoughts, he might find that Monsieur V had slipped through his fingers for good.

  And he could never let that happen.

  12

  Although Lucy’s stint in the servants’ wing had largely been unhelpful to her mission, she had learned that no servants were believed to have gone missing. At least, not that any of the staff had mentioned. They had been cold, evasive, and as a whole, unwilling to confide in her. Having no other recourse, and not having glimpsed the man whom she sought, Lucy had no choice but to believe that Monsieur V had not hidden himself among the servants in order to meet with her. Since he wasn’t among the guests, either, that meant that he had to have come to the house from outside—perhaps, as Brackley had suggested, through the grove of trees abutting the terrace.

  The thought of Brackley conjured the memory of his kiss. She’d used up the last few precious pages in her notebook describing that kiss in lingering detail, bringing it to life as she would in her novel when she returned home. The way her pulse had pounded, the pressure of his lips and stroke of his tongue, she’d committed it all to memory.

  The problem was, she wanted more. This was supposed to have been for research only, but if he attempted to kiss her again, she feared that she would let him. The passion between them had been nothing short of incendiary, lighting her in ways she hadn’t thought possible. Now she understood better how a strong woman like Phil had allowed herself to be swept up in Morgan’s orbit and put herself in such pain to deliver him a child.

  Lucy understood. That still didn’t mean that she would succumb to the same weakness. Certainly not with Brackley. She didn’t even know if the man was loyal to Britain!

  What should trouble her far more than Brackley and his questionable allegiance was the whereabouts of Monsieur V. Regardless of the way Brackley’s mouth had felt against hers—and the impossibility of succumbing again—the spymaster was still at large. She forced her focus to return to him.

  If he wasn’t among the staff or guests, then he must keep lodgings somewhere. They were over a day’s ride from London. He had to sleep at some point. The closest place to do so would likely be the inn in the village Lucy had driven through on her way here. At her estimate, it didn’t reside more than an hour’s walk away. Perhaps less, if she walked briskly.

  Gathering Charlie and Mrs. Vale, Lucy proposed just such a walk. Charlie was always willing to find delight in a new shop, even one in a small village, and agreed readily. However, once the three women had collected their pelisses and bonnets, Lucy’s companions balked on the doorstep.

  The day wasn’t the most inviting. Clouds frosted the sky, darkening to a gloomy gray that promised rain to come. Although no rain appeared to have fallen yet today, the air was heavy, humid, and damp.

  “Perhaps we ought to stay in and try again tomorrow,” Charlie suggested, her voice small.

  Blast! If Lucy waited another day, her already cooling trail toward Monsieur V’s whereabouts might have turned entirely cold. She was already two days behind him, having dallied too long searching the house and being detained by the activities arranged by the hostess. If the day were any more pleasant, it was entirely possible that Lady Leighton would already have planned something for the guests and Lucy might never make it to the village.

  “I can’t stay in this stuffy house any longer,” she informed. “I need a walk. Maybe one of the ladies’ maids…”

  “Perhaps I may be of service,” Brackley said as he joined them in the entryway. He didn’t wear his outerwear, but as he raised his hand to the butler, it was quickly produced. He shrugged it on as he added, “It would be my pleasure to accompany you ladies wherever you may care to go.”

  Lucy locked eyes with Brackley. The awareness of their kiss crackled in the air between them. Her mouth tingled with the memory. Could the Vales read it on her face?

  When Brackley smiled, the tingle spread from her lips into her extremities. She curled her toes in her shoes.

  “Now, where will I be escorting you ladies?”

  “To the village,” Lucy said decisively.

  Her answer earned her a sharp look from Charlie, who sighed and tilted her head up to the clouds. “I hope it doesn’t rain.”

  “You can stay here if you’d rather,” Lucy said.

  Charlie made a face and turned to examine Brackley. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Splendid.” To be honest, Lucy did feel a bit relieved. If she and Brackley were alone, with the memory of their kiss this morning hanging between them, she didn’t know what she’d say. He probably wouldn’t understand why she’d done it. He would make some sly comment about her research or her book. The men with whom she’d associated in the past all tended to do that, to make themselves feel clever.

  Never mind that most of the things she did, she did only in the name of research. Brackley… Very well, once that had started, it had become very pleasurable indeed. But she no longer had the excuse of research to hide behind. Their kiss couldn’t be repeated.

  Surely he knew that, even if he had returned the kiss with passion. She’d had the name of research to hide behind. Why hadn’t he stopped her?

  “Shall we set off, then?”

  His deep voice shivered through her. She looked away, afraid of what he or the others might read in her expression should she look at him.

  He didn’t offer his arm as they descended the steps. Did he not want to single her out? Or was he trying to put as much distance between them as possible since their kiss in the corridor? She wasn’t likely to demand he propose over something as innocent as a single kiss. Especially when she’d initiated it.

  Nevertheless, she matched his aloof demeanor as they strolled along the rut-marred dirt road toward the village. The conversation was tense and uninspired. When the houses sprang into view, Lucy released an inner sigh of relief.

  As they came abreast of the cluster of houses, Lucy searched for anything that might resemble an inn. A row of buildings squashed together each held a wooden sign over the door with a pictorial depiction of what the interior held. Lucy counted a milliner, a shoemaker, and a general store. The sign depicting a frothy pint of ale must be the inn.

  Charlie tugged at her arm and pointed to the row of shops. “That looks like a milliner’s! Let’s go see what it has to offer.”

  Lucy cast a longing look at the inn. “Are you certain you wouldn’t like to eat first?”

  Charlie made a face. “We just ate before we left.”

  With the faint trace of a smirk, Brackley inclined his head. “I fear I’ll be of no use in a milliner’s shop. I’ll await you over there at the inn.”

  Lucy glared at him. That scoundrel! He knew that was where Lucy aimed to go. He might have taken her side and tried to convince the group to venture there. Instead, he flashed her a look of mixed triumph and challenge as he departed. Lucy watched him go, balling her fists.

  When she returned her attention to her companions, Charlie was frowning.

  Lucy forced a bright smile. “Let’s go to the milliner’s.”

  Charlie stopped her from moving forward with a restraining hand on her arm. Leaning closer, the blonde whispered, “Have you gone mad?”

  Lucy frowned. She flitted her gaze between her friend and Mrs. Vale, who watched the street as if s
he hadn’t heard. Given the way she canted her head, she was listening to every word.

  Returning her attention to her dear friend, Lucy shot back, “I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

  When she jerked her head toward the inn, Charlie’s blonde curls bobbed. “Him. Why are you courting his attention?”

  Had she not been involved in the same conversation as Lucy during the way here? Lucy and Brackley had barely spoken to one another directly on the way here. Although they’d each contributed to the conversation about the weather of late and their opinions about Lady Leighton’s house party thus far, she hadn’t directly answered anything he’d said.

  “I am not courting his attention.”

  “No?” Charlie raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips. “Then why did you ask him along?”

  “I didn’t ask him along. He invited himself!”

  “And you encouraged him by accepting.”

  Lucy gritted her teeth. He had been a means to an end, that was all. And right now, at that very moment, he might be inside gleaning information that she should be present for—or else warning his treacherous employer that she was on her way. Arguing about it was losing her time!

  “It was the polite thing to do,” she said simply, not quite looking the Vales in the eye. “Next time, I promise to decline.”

  Mrs. Vale harrumphed, but added nothing beyond that disbelieving sound.

  “I won’t accept,” Lucy insisted, looking from one woman to the other.

  “Good,” Charlie quirked a brow. “You know of his reputation.”

  “Of course I do.” Everyone in the ton knew of the notoriety of the new Marquess of Brackley. The gossips collectively held their breath as they awaited a hasty marriage when he got some poor woman enceinte. It hadn’t happened yet, but there were likely bets on when that inevitable day would occur.

  That dangerous reputation of bewitching women was precisely why it had been so thrilling to be held by him, to be kissed. He certainly knew how to bring a woman’s body to life. It had been the perfect fodder for her book.