Jenna Petersen - [Lady Spies]

by Seduction Is Forever

  The music rose up from the orchestra off the dance floor behind them and Grant launched into the steps of the waltz. For a man so large, his movements were surprisingly graceful and agile. He even managed to maneuver them out of the way when a slightly drunken earl stumbled into their path.

  “Has Horne been bothering you long?” Grant asked, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on her waist.

  Emily fought the urge to suck in her breath at the familiar touch. What was the feeling that this man holding her inspired? It was one she hadn’t experienced for a long time, but it had returned, sudden and unexpected, the moment he touched her.

  Desire.

  She caught her breath. Where had that come from? She wasn’t sure, but she felt it settling into her heavy limbs, making her belly tingle, despite the fact that such a thing had no place in an investigation.

  She blinked as she tried to regain focus. Ah yes, ridiculous Andrew Horne, her excuse for why they were dancing.

  “Horne?” she managed to squeak out like an idiot.

  “I couldn’t help but notice that his approach prompted you to demand a dance with me.”

  Little laugh lines crinkled around Grant’s dark brown eyes, and she found herself smiling without meaning to do so. And blushing. Which she never did.

  “You are observant,” she admitted. “Mr. Horne took an interest in me after I attended a tea his sister hosted when I first recovered from my illness. Lord knows why. But you are acquainted with him and his kind. He’s a rake. He’ll find someone else to pursue if I ignore him long enough.”

  Grant arched a dark brow. “Would you like me to hurry that realization along?”

  Emily nearly faltered in her steps. Was Grant Ashbury offering to intervene on her behalf? That was certainly a reversal of their roles. Wasn’t she supposed to be the protector, whether he was aware of that fact or not?

  “Thank you, my lord, but interference by another might only encourage him.” She smiled. “However, if you wish to intrude upon any conversation I am forced into conducting with the man, I give you full permission to do so.”

  He smiled, but the expression was tight and humorless. He was truly taking Horne’s interest in her seriously, though she knew for certain that the dandy was no threat. In fact, as she glanced around the room, she saw he had already transferred his interest to another young lady. One who appeared to be more open to his advances.

  “Whatever the lady desires,” Grant said softly.

  Emily returned her gaze to him and found that he was staring down at her. Watching every movement of her face, even as he executed the final few steps in the dance.

  It was an odd feeling, the intensity of his stare. Over the years, she had made it her business to observe those around her. To watch them for every movement, every little thing that might reveal their darkest secrets. In that study of human behavior, she’d learned things that did not relate to cases. One such tidbit was that very few people ever really looked at each other. Fewer still met the eyes of their companions.

  Grant Ashbury was doing both. Holding her captive with dark and devastating eyes. Eyes that searched deeper, looked for things she did not normally allow anyone to find.

  Feeling hot blood flood her cheeks, Emily broke the stare. The music came to an end at the exact same moment and she extracted herself from Grant’s warm arms to give him a slight curtsey.

  “Thank you, my lord, for the dance and for your assistance,” she said, hating the slight tremor in her voice. Hating that she was suddenly too cowardly to look the man in the face.

  He reached for her hand and she let him lead her from the dance floor, ignoring the sparks of awareness that made her whole arm tingle.

  “It was my pleasure to come to your aid, my lady,” he answered with a cocky grin. “If you ever need rescuing again, do not hesitate to call upon me.”

  Her chin tilted up with his comment and she stared at him. He continued to smile, but there was something serious in his eyes.

  “Thank you,” she managed to squeak out. “I—I will keep that generous offer in mind. If you will excuse me, I believe I see some friends across the room.”

  Grant arched a brow, but tilted his head in acquiescence. “Good evening, my lady.”

  She nodded before she turned and fled away. Her heart raced with every step, her breath caught as she moved blindly through the crowd. What was wrong with her? One handsome man met her eyes and she forgot her training and purpose? Perhaps Charlie was right. Perhaps she was changed. Too changed to continue with her work.

  “Emily!”

  Turning, she found herself face-to-face with Meredith and her husband, the Marquis of Carmichael, Tristan Archer. Meredith grasped both her hands. “You are very pale, are you well?”

  Emily took a few breaths as Meredith’s fingers warmed her suddenly chilly ones. “Yes, yes, of course.”

  “Are you in pain?” Tristan asked, his voice low so no one else would hear.

  She shook her head, realizing they thought her expression was due to her injury. Despite her attempts to hide her occasional discomfort, her friends noticed. “No, there is no pain.”

  Meredith’s face relaxed, some of the worry draining away. “Tristan, will you—”

  He nodded even before she finished her question, like he was able to read her mind. “I’ll fetch some wine, of course.” He placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder and squeezed before he headed into the crowd.

  Emily turned her head to avoid Meredith’s stare and focused her energy on calming her ragged nerves.

  Meredith tilted her head. “Let’s go outside and get some air, yes?”

  Emily nodded, though she hardly heard Meredith’s suggestion. Instead her mind rung with tangled thoughts. Thoughts about being unfit for duty. Thoughts of the night when she had been shot. And thoughts of Grant Ashbury, his seeing stare, her secret duty to protect him and his offer on the dance floor to do the same for her.

  Blindly, she followed Meredith out to the terrace.

  The cold night hit her like a slap, jarring her from her turbulent emotions. Her vision began to clear and her mind quieted as she sucked in great gulps of the frosty air.

  “I saw you dancing with Lord Westfield,” Meredith said softly. “Whatever happened to make you look so…lost, Emily?”

  Lost. That was the best word for it. She felt lost.

  “I don’t know.”

  She shrugged. Normally she wouldn’t admit a weakness, even to one of her best friends. No matter how close she was to Meredith and Ana, trust was still a difficult beast to manage. Out of habit, she kept secrets, hid her emotions and intentions from time to time. But tonight, she felt so shaken. She needed honesty. Meredith would give her that.

  Emily shook her head. “It was so easy at first. He approached me, which I did not anticipate. Drew me into conversation as if he was expecting me here, looking for me. I saw that ridiculous Andrew Horne coming and asked for a dance to avoid the interruption.”

  Meredith nodded. “And then?”

  Emily glanced over her shoulder to watch Tristan slip onto the terrace behind them. She had an urge to stop talking in front of him, but then she looked at Meredith. There was no point. Her friend told her husband everything, anyway. She might as well continue.

  “I felt like the old me. The girl who could garner information from a suspect or a source without even making an effort. But then he looked at me, Merry,” she whispered, wrapping her bare fingers around the cold stone that edged the terrace wall. “Really looked at me. And said if I needed to be rescued that I shouldn’t hesitate to ask him.”

  “That is irony,” Meredith said with a small smile when Tristan touched his wife’s shoulder for a second time, then he offered Emily a glass of red wine.

  “Drink slowly,” he ordered. “And breathe.”

  Emily pursed her lips. Six months ago, no new spy would have dared tell her how to behave. Even one who was married to her best friend.

  Of course, a
s the first drops of wine slipped down her throat, she realized that six months ago she would not have come undone at the pointed stare of a man she was sworn to protect. She wouldn’t feel anxious and frightened at the idea of speaking to him again.

  “It was odd to have him say that to me,” she continued when she had sipped her drink a few times. “And I wanted—”

  She stopped. No, she wouldn’t admit that. Not even to Meredith or later to Anastasia. She couldn’t tell them that for a brief moment she had wanted to say yes. To ask Grant for the protection he offered. And that frightened her more than anything.

  “Are you certain you’re well enough to take this case?” Meredith asked after a long, uncomfortable silence. “Perhaps it is too soon—”

  “No!” Emily set the glass aside and shook her head. “I am well. I can do this. It’s been a while, that’s all. And I probably did some damage tonight, I know, but I can repair it. I can renew Westfield’s interest in me, stay close to him.”

  Tristan let out a snort that made both Emily and Meredith look at him. “Renew it? You haven’t lost it.”

  Emily cocked her head. “What do you mean? I practically ran screaming away from him.”

  “No man offers protection to a woman he does not have interest in, Emily,” he said with a quick side glance toward Meredith that spoke volumes about their own past. “No matter what he says or does, if he intervened on your behalf, it is because something about you intrigues him. When you hurried away, that was only akin to dangling fresh meat in front of a dog. I’m certain it enticed him, not put him off.”

  Meredith smiled. “A very keen observation, my love. Though I’m sure Emily does not like being compared to meat dangled before a salivating animal.”

  Despite herself, Emily smiled at their natural banter. “I have been called worse.”

  Tristan ignored their teasing. “The fact is, you can use this “offer” to your advantage if you decide to do so.”

  Emily nodded, the strength she had felt slipping away coming back bit by bit. The fear and uncertainty fading. She was an agent to the Crown, she had to remember that. Remember who she was before she was shot.

  “Yes, I see,” she said with a nod as she considered what Tristan had said, “If I convince Lord Westfield that I have no interest in the suitors who are suddenly coming around again since my ‘illness,’ if I make him believe that I need his assistance in moving them away from me, he’ll think he is protecting me. But in reality, I’ll be at his side, watching over him, protecting him. Learning about him, so that I might uncover the truth about whoever is threatening his life and why.”

  Meredith nodded. “Very true.”

  “It will work perfectly to my advantage. Thank you, Tristan, for that very good advice.” Emily smiled.

  He shrugged one shoulder. “I have another piece of good advice if anyone cares. Let us go inside before we all catch our deaths and none of this matters.”

  Emily nodded as she followed her friends back into the house. But even as the warmth of the ballroom stroked over her chilled skin, she still shivered. Using Grant Ashbury’s sudden interest to her advantage was a wide open door to her case, to protecting him.

  But considering her strong reaction to him earlier, she had to be certain she didn’t reveal anything else in the process.

  Chapter 3

  Three days after their first encounter at his mother’s ball, Grant was no closer to uncovering any revelations about why someone would threaten Emily Redgrave, let alone who that person could be. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t uncovering more and more intriguing facts about the lady herself.

  He leaned back in the uncomfortable chair in Lady Laneford’s parlor, trying to block out the wobbling chortle of her eldest daughter’s singing voice. His gaze flitted to Emily. She was seated across the way from him, one row from the front, focused on the young woman. Her face didn’t reveal anything about what she thought of the dreadful music. But that, he had come to realize, was usual with her ladyship.

  Emily rarely exposed anything about her feelings in her expression. Not at parties, where she chatted amiably enough, while her eyes were all but devoid of emotion. Not at teas, where Grant had sat outside her home, surreptitiously watching as she conducted a meeting of her charitable society with her two best friends and a select group of ladies.

  In fact, he’d only seen strong emotion flash over her face twice. Once while he talked to her at the ball a few nights before. And once when she stood at her bedroom window one dark, late night, staring out at her gardens, a thin robe wrapped around her slender shoulders that could not possibly keep out the chill of the frozen night air.

  Her emotions at the ball had been varied. Shock. An anger he couldn’t place. A fear he didn’t understand. But the second flash was what had haunted him for two nights.

  Forlorn sadness. Empty loneliness.

  Seeing that had moved him in a way he didn’t like. He didn’t want to be drawn to her or know more about her, yet pursuit was his only option. He had a case, after all. Her emotions might very well lead him to the root of the threats against her.

  “Grant?”

  He started as his brother’s voice vibrated close to his ear behind him. He hadn’t even realized Ben was in attendance. A troubling realization.

  “What?” he whispered back.

  “Applaud, you idiot,” his brother said on a laugh.

  Grant blinked and realized the room around him was filled with polite clapping. Lady Laneford’s daughter had completed her concert and was nervously looking around the room at the audience.

  His brother nudged him. “You know, perhaps I should meet Lady Allington. See what kind of woman it is, exactly, who can drive my always-focused brother to utter distraction.”

  Grant gritted his teeth. Benjamin could be the most irritating person. “You already know Lady Allington.”

  “In passing, certainly. But I don’t think we’ve ever been formally introduced.” His brother glanced across the room in her direction and let his breath out in a low whistle. “By God, I had forgotten how pretty she is. I’m surprised you didn’t mention it.”

  After that comment, Grant couldn’t help but look at Emily. She brushed a stray lock of blond hair away from her face and something in him burned with that inexplicable desire that had been plaguing him since their first encounter. He pushed it away.

  “Emily Redgrave is an assignment, nothing more.” Grant shot Ben a glance that was filled with warning. His brother ignored it.

  “Pity. Because I think you wouldn’t mind there being a bit more.”

  Grant’s eyes widened. “There is nothing between us.”

  Well, that wasn’t exactly true. There had been…something there the night of his mother’s ball.

  Ben got to his feet as the audience rose and slowly formed into groups to talk. He grabbed Grant’s elbow and hauled him up much faster than he would have moved on his own volition. “Come on. I want to meet her.”

  Grant spun on his brother, deftly extracting his arm from Ben’s grip in one smooth motion. “What? No!”

  “Why not?” Ben shrugged. “You must approach her, yes? Won’t it be less suspicious if I’m with you?”

  Grant shut his eyes. There were times he wished his brother didn’t know he was a spy. It hadn’t been a revelation he made purposefully. Ben had stumbled upon him one late night after a bullet grazed his shoulder. As he tended to Grant’s wound, all the pieces had slipped together and Ben had been nothing but trouble since. Interfering, suggesting—offering trouble.

  What was worse was that sometimes his blasted suggestions were spot on.

  “I really don’t wish for you—” Grant began.

  But his brother was subtly shoving him in Emily’s direction and Grant couldn’t stop him without raising a commotion he wanted to avoid. Setting his jaw, he surrendered and moved toward her.

  What he saw was no less irritating than his brother’s presence. Emily was on her feet already, ta
lking to the man who had been sitting beside her during the musicale. Mr. Tobias Clare, third son of Viscount Clare. Reasonably handsome, definitely wealthy…unattached.

  Grant’s eyes narrowed.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Allington,” he said, then spared a glance for her companion. “Clare.”

  Emily lifted her gaze and met his. For a brief moment, a flash of triumph lit her eyes. As if she had been expecting his arrival down to the moment he approached and was congratulating herself on her correctness.

  “Ah, Lord Westfield. How nice it is to see you again,” she said with a smug little smile.

  “A pleasure to see you Westfield, Ashbury.” Clare gave him and his brother a quick nod. “But I am afraid I must step away. Lady Allington—” The young man bent over her hand to press a brief kiss across her glove. “It was a delight to share the musicale with you. I do hope I shall see you again soon now that you are back in Society.”

  Grant’s eyes narrowed as Emily smiled. A smile that could light up a room it was so blasted bright. “I am sure we shall meet again, Mr. Clare. Good afternoon.”

  When the other gentleman was gone, she turned back to Grant. Her smile remained, but its power was significantly reduced. She held back with him. Grant’s spine stiffened at the realization.

  “Well, my lord, it seems you and I are suddenly thrown into each other’s paths more regularly, does it not?” she asked, tilting her head. She was examining his face, searching it for…something. Grant broke eye contact.

  “It does seem to be, my lady.” He shrugged. Behind him, Benjamin cleared his throat. Loudly. Grant shot him a glare over his shoulder. “Forgive my rudeness. Have you ever been introduced to my brother?”

  She shook her head and again her smile was filled with warmth. She didn’t hold back for Benjamin either. Grant was filled with an unaccountable urge to shove his brother out of the way or step in front of him if only to see how it would feel to have Emily look at him with such openness. Just for his case, of course.

  “Lady Emily Allington may I present Mr. Benjamin Ashbury,” Grant said, somehow keeping the edge from his voice.