Had he watched her decode the note? She couldn’t tell him about it, and not only because she didn’t know with which side his allegiances resided. The last time, he had interfered with her meeting with the spymaster. He might do so again. She couldn’t take that chance. This might be the last time Monsieur V would contact her.
She couldn’t fathom why he had singled her out the first time. For him to do it again was a stroke of luck. This time, she wouldn’t let Brackley get in her way.
His amused expression faded as he stopped within arm’s length. “What did you find that so enthralled you?”
He knew. She didn’t know for how long he’d been watching her, but even if he hadn’t witnessed her flipping through the book to decipher the code, he suspected that she’d found a clue. Why not confront her about it? Was he giving her a chance to prove her trustworthiness by telling him the truth?
He couldn’t trust her. And she couldn’t trust him. She wished for such a test that she could put him through in order to discover whether or not she was alone in her hunt for Monsieur V. As zealous as she had been, striking out on her own, the fact that she always seemed to be one step behind the notorious spymaster gave her pause. An extra pair of eyes could be of use to her, if she could be certain that he wouldn’t seek to overshadow her or edge her out of the investigation “for her own protection.” Not to mention that Brackley was better able to overpower Monsieur V physically. He could be an asset to her.
If she could trust him. Which, at the moment, she could not. So she held her tongue on what she’d learned.
“It’s only a book. Do you read, Brackley?”
“Alex,” he corrected. “I’d rather you didn’t call me by my title.”
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
“And you didn’t answer mine.”
She shielded the book so he couldn’t read the title. She didn’t know for certain that he would make the same connection she had, pairing Monsieur V with purple lilies, but she couldn’t take the chance. No matter what, she must attend the meeting tomorrow. He would only get in her way.
“It’s research. For my book.”
Alex raised an eyebrow. “Does your heroine want to change professions again and become a botanist?”
Frankly, Lucy was surprised he recalled enough about her story to comment. “No…but perhaps she meets a scoundrel interested in botany.”
Alex smirked. “Perhaps she’s the scoundrel, and she tempts a golden-hearted boy.”
She narrowed her eyes. Was he trying to give her a genuine suggestion for her book—albeit, one she wouldn’t use—or was he trying to insinuate something entirely different? For instance, that she was tempting him.
On impulse, she licked her lips. They tingled as he dropped his gaze to her mouth. Did she tempt him? Did she want to? Their kiss…
Was for research only. She knew what it felt like now.
Unfortunately, that didn’t help to smother the desire to repeat it. They were utterly alone in the library. No one would know.
Except him. As much as he might like to pretend, he was far from golden-hearted.
“Do you have an interest in botany?”
He laughed. “Not in particular. Do you have a lust to sail the seven seas?”
“Perhaps. It would be good research.” Imagine how authentic a book she would be able to write if she could only see the locations where her heroine adventured! Alas, that particular research was impossible. Morgan had purchased her books on the subject instead.
Alex inched closer. The heat of his body burned into hers. “Do you do everything in the name of research?”
Was he asking her if she’d kissed him because she’d wanted to? She had, but she would never have given in if she hadn’t had the excuse of her book to hide behind. How could she expect to write a good book if she wrote about things she knew nothing about?
“Not everything, but near enough.”
He raised his gaze to meet hers once more, though his voice remained intimate as he asked, “And do you always show such enthusiasm for your research topics?”
Her cheeks burned. Was he asking about the book or about their kiss?
“Of course. Why do something if you aren’t going to be passionate about it?”
He made a strangled sound and took a step back. “In that case, enjoy your book, Lucy. Goodnight.”
Lucy gaped as he turned and strode from the library without another word. Was he going to give up on gleaning what she’d learned so easily? She hadn’t thought he was the type to turn his back on something he wanted, no matter the deterrent.
Perhaps she shouldn’t question it. Opening the book once more, she slipped out the code and replaced the book on the shelf. She tossed the slip of paper into the fire, watching it blacken and curl until there was nothing left. Her mind had already turned to what would happen on the morrow.
She had a lot to prepare if she was to ensure that Monsieur V didn’t escape this time.
14
The very last thing that Alex was about to do when he was certain that Lucy was hiding something was to leave her unattended. He lingered in the downstairs parlor until after she went to bed, then shut himself in his room with the door cracked open so he might hear if anyone passed through the corridor. Unfortunately, too many people came and went, even at night, and Alex found his dozing to be restless. It seemed as though every few minutes he roused again to check the corridor. If Lucy went out that night, she managed to sneak past him.
The following day she spent an inordinate amount of time out in the garden, much to the apparent consternation of her companion, Miss Vale, if he read their body language correctly. Alex sequestered himself in the parlor adjoining the terrace and watched from the doors, where he went unnoticed and stayed dry to boot. A cool mist seeped from the dull gray clouds overhead, too fine to properly be called a drizzle. Nevertheless, it likely soaked Lucy through to the skin within half an hour. From the way Miss Vale danced and tried to keep to the shelter of the hedges, she was acutely uncomfortable. Still, despite Lucy’s repeated gestures telling her to go inside, the young woman stubbornly stuck to Lucy’s side.
What was Lucy’s fascination with the garden? Was she hunting for clues to Monsieur V? The rainy weather overnight and drizzle during the day would have washed clean all evidence. Not to mention, he had already combed through the gardens and discovered nothing. If she’d cared to share what it was she was hiding from him, he would have been able to tell her that much and save her the trouble of getting wet.
Although she eventually gave up and returned inside, he imagined that her companion was well and truly irritable by that point. At any rate, he had to endure the glares of both when he joined them in Lady Leighton’s parlor that afternoon. He kept his distance. Lucy made no attempt to speak with him.
In fact, she avoided his gaze all afternoon and during supper as well. She had to be hiding something. He had to determine what.
When the men meandered behind Lord Leighton toward the library, Alex pretended to follow. He lingered near the back of the line, widening the gap between him and the other men. When he thought no one paid him any mind, he stepped into the shadow of a doorway for a moment. Once their footsteps faded, he doubled back.
He loitered in the shadow of a servant’s stair down the corridor from the parlor where the ladies did their needlepoint. The soft chatter of female voices washed over him, none particularly distinctive or decipherable until one in particular moved closer.
“I’ve run out of pages in my notebook. See?”
That was Lucy’s voice. He straightened and strained his ears to hear more.
“I have more paper up in my room. It will have to do for now, since I won’t be able to start a new notebook until we return to London. I’ll only be a moment.”
A figure—Lucy—slipped out of the parlor and immediately turned toward the main staircase leading to the second floor and the guests’ quarters. Since Alex should have bee
n in the library at that moment, he remained still, his heart pounding as he waited to see if anyone would follow. No one did.
He slowly eased into the corridor. At the bottom of the stairs, Lucy paused. When she started to turn to look over her shoulder, Alex quickly hid again. Her footsteps resumed—away from the staircase. He counted five steps before he slipped into the corridor to follow her. Where was she going?
It shouldn’t have surprised him when she exited the manor by a door close to the gardens. Obviously, she’d left something unfinished there. He shadowed her, making certain not to be seen. For all her cleverness and determination, she did not have a spy’s training because it was far too easy to follow her without being noticed. Although she paused before changing direction or exiting the house to check for anyone trailing her, she made no attempt to look behind her while she walked. All he had to do was time those key moments so that he was hidden when she looked. Once she found herself a lantern, it was even easier to follow her path.
She led him to the gardens. Lady Leighton’s garden, like the rest of her manor, was decorated in the height of fashion. This meant a row of shoulder-height hedges forming a labyrinth of sorts. A gravel path wove between the greenery, opening wider in nooks that contained benches and clusters of carefully-groomed, flowering plants. So early in the season, he spotted daffodils, for the most part.
Ahead, the path widened to accommodate a distinctive fountain. A statue of Aphrodite poured water from her cupped hands. The liquid gave a musical lilt as it fell into the wide basin of the fountain. Algae and lily pads floated on the surface of the water. Despite the brooding clouds overhead and the dampness in the air, the effect was peaceful. Neatly-placed stones in a mosaic ringed the fountain and along the edges, between flowerbeds and bushes, benches faced the fountain.
Unfortunately, such a wide area provided him with no place to hide. When Lucy stopped in the center, he froze in place. He glanced behind him, but the nearest nook was twenty feet behind him.
“Brackley.”
Lucy said his title in a dark voice. Given her tone, he suspected she called him by it because he’d confessed that he hated it.
He faced Lucy with a disarming smile. She stood by the fountain, arms crossed. Was she cold? Her pale blue dress left her arms bare. He approached her, thinking to offer his jacket. Her dark eyes simmered with hostility.
“Are you following me?”
He ran one hand through his hair. “You wouldn’t believe that I’ve decided to take a walk in the gardens at the same time.”
She hiked up her chin. “No. I would not.”
“Are you cold? You can have my jacket.”
As he started to shuck out of it, she snapped, “I don’t need your chivalry. I’m perfectly fine on my own.”
“Perfectly fine doing what, precisely? Meeting with Monsieur V?”
She didn’t deny it.
He gritted his teeth. He’d known she was hiding something, that she’d found some clue he’d missed. Why hadn’t she shared it with him? He’d been forthcoming with her about his search of the perimeter.
Not that that had yielded any clues.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
“Why? Because I’m a delicate flower?”
“Because you’re meeting with a criminal who has eluded the Crown for nearly a year!” Now more than ever, Alex was sure Lucy was acting alone. Any spy assigned by Morgan or the Lord Commander of Spies, Lord Strickland, would be assigned a partner. If not someone to openly accompany them, then at the very least someone to lie in wait and observe in case something went awry.
Lucy narrowed her eyes. “I can handle myself.”
Against Monsieur V? Not a chance. Since she was clearly untrained, perhaps she didn’t understand the gravity of the situation. She was clearly too stubborn—and brave—for her own good. Alex stepped closer and lowered his voice.
“Monsieur V is not one of the polite gentlemen with whom you are accustomed to associating. He isn’t even the scoundrel you seem bent on naming me. He is a fiend, a monster, and there is no telling what he would do to you if you found yourself in his presence alone.”
Lucy scoffed. “I’ve already found myself in his presence alone once. He didn’t do anything to me. In fact, he didn’t even threaten me. You’re worrying for nothing.”
He was not. When a spymaster who continually slipped through the fingers of spies far more experienced than Lucy decided to contact her directly—perhaps more than once—Alex had cause to worry. Perhaps Lucy hadn’t yet learned what Monsieur V was capable of, but Alex had. And he wasn’t about to have to explain to Morgan why they had to bury his younger sister.
“You’re wrong. This is dangerous.”
“I know that,” she snapped. “I’ve taken precautions.”
What sort of precautions, exactly? She’d left Lady Leighton’s manor without so much as donning her pelisse to ward away the chill. She had nothing on her save for what she could stuff into her reticule, which given its size likely held little more than her notebook, and her bodice clung to her chest in far too much loving detail for her to have hidden a weapon in there. Even if she’d stuffed a gun beneath her skirt—he would be surprised, given the lack of a discernible bulge—she wouldn’t be able to reach it in time to do any damage. He tried not to picture her pulling up her skirt in order to collect such a hypothetical weapon.
“Your precautions should have included someone to watch your back. Mrs. Vale, if no one else.”
Irritation flashed across her face, quickly hidden. “I don’t think having a chaperone will help the situation at all.”
“No, this is far more serious than a smirch to your reputation. One misstep and you could wind up dead or worse.”
Given the confused look on her face, she didn’t understand what might be worse than death. Alex did. He’d seen the hollow-eyed, deadened looks of spies that had been captured and tortured. That was, if there was enough left of the spy afterward to find. Alex was certain that the Graylockes would move Heaven and Earth to rescue Lucy before she succumbed to such treatment, but it would be better if no one was put in that position at all.
“I told you, he hasn’t threatened me.”
“Yet.” Alex stressed the word. “Why is he contacting you? Have you thought of that?”
A frown pulled down the corners of her mouth. She said nothing.
He continued, “You shouldn’t be out here with a partner.”
“And where is your partner?”
She had him there. Since he hadn’t been officially assigned to find and arrest Monsieur V, he hadn’t been given one. In fact, he likely had a note awaiting him in London from Strickland or Morgan assigning him some other duty. For all that it would earn him a reprimand later, he couldn’t abide the thought that Monsieur V was back, under his nose, and Alex was doing nothing to catch him. This time, he would take his revenge on the spymaster.
That, he vowed.
Lucy snapped, “Don’t tell me it’s different because you’re a man or more experienced or some other drivel like that.”
He opened his mouth to counter, though he didn’t know quite what he’d say. The cocking of a gun stilled him. Every muscle in his body went rigid. He didn’t dare move, not even to turn around. Doing so might shift him out of the path of the bullet and put Lucy in danger instead. His hands twitched to retrieve his gun, which he’d carried with him since Lucy’s evasive behavior had aroused his suspicion, but there was no way he would remove it from his pocket in time. From a shadowed path across the fountain from them, a woman emerged with a gun in hand. The same servant he’d tried to wheedle information from regarding who had planted the note in his room. It seemed that mystery had been solved.
“See?” he muttered under his breath. “They came as a pair.”
He should have anticipated this.
15
Lucy cast a sidelong glance at Alex. A muscle twitched in his clean-shaven jaw as he walked a half-step behind
her, angling his body so it half-covered hers. His efforts made no difference to their predicament; between the plain-faced woman and the man, who happened to be the same who Lucy had caught in Alex’s room, neither Alex nor Lucy could sneeze without being shot.
Her heart pounded, almost like the beat of a thrilling, vigorous dance. She’d never caught herself wondering what it might be like to be held up at gunpoint—after all, there were some things she was sensible enough not to try even in the name of research—but she couldn’t deny the lure of the rush that filled her. Every moment seemed more acute, more tangible. She heard the wet grass whisper beneath her shoes and the brush of Alex’s arm against her sent a shiver through her.
However, as much as she enjoyed the sensation, the fear that invoked a surreal sense of being alive, it was largely unhelpful. Whenever she turned her thoughts to trying to get them out of this situation before they were killed, she couldn’t think properly. Thoughts fluttered in and out of her head, there one minute and gone the next. She couldn’t muster the concentration to examine each idea properly and decide whether or not it was a good one.
What did the traitors intend to do with them? Lucy had no doubt in her mind that they were traitors. Had they been with Britain, they would never have held her at gunpoint, nor would they be forcing her and Alex to march away from the manor. The only thing looming in front of them were the shadows of the trees. If she squinted, she thought she could make out the small shed where Alex had interrogated her the first night they’d arrived.
Lucy glanced over her shoulder and into the man’s cold eyes. He had divested her of the lantern and carried it himself. The light flickered off the metal barrel of the gun aimed at her back. His companion, the woman Lucy didn’t quite recognize but who must almost certainly be a servant as well, wore just as cold and hard an expression.
“Why are you doing this? Don’t you know who I am?”
No, she could see that playing her heritage was not the right move in their case. If anything, the hatred in their eyes deepened. Lucy knew that many, if not most peers treated the servant class with disdain, but Lucy’s family was different. Not that it was worth wasting her breath to tell them. She doubted they would believe her.
Pursuing The Traitor (Scandals and Spies Book 5) Page 11
