“A pleasure.” Ben took her hand briefly. “I am sorry I did not have a chance to meet you formally at our mother’s ball a few nights ago.”
Emily nodded. “Yes, it was a lovely night. Your mother has always hosted the best events.”
“I’ll be sure to tell her.” Ben laughed. “Not that she isn’t already fully aware. Mama delights in a ball. Unlike my brother here.”
Grant glared as his brother elbowed him playfully.
Emily swung her gaze on him. “Do you not enjoy a ball, my lord?”
Her pale blue stare was so startling, piercing, that Grant struggled to answer, “I—I admit, my lady, they have never been my most favorite events.”
“Then what do you like to do, my lord?” she asked. She tilted her head and a few curls bobbed free around her face, tempting him to brush them away as she, herself, had done earlier.
Instead, he fisted his hand at his side and shrugged.
Benjamin, of course, was at no such loss for words. “Oh, my brother delights in many activities,” Ben chuckled, ticking items off on his fingers. “For example, he adores a musicale…the more off key the better. He cannot bear missing a thrilling game of whist with our aged grandmother in the country. Oh, and do not begin to indulge his secret passion for the family portraits that so many hang in the halls of their homes. If only my brother had unlimited hours, I think he would spend them listening to Society matrons describe the whiskers their ancestors wore with such distinction.”
Grant shot his brother the darkest glare in his repertoire, but found himself watching Emily’s reaction to Ben’s teasing with interest. She shot Grant a sly smile that was as potent as the brush of skin against skin.
“Really? My, you are fascinating, my lord. I never would have guessed to look at you that you had such, er, intriguing interests.” She lifted a gloved finger to her lips, drawing Grant’s gaze to their full, supple softness. “Did you know that Lady Laneford has one of the most extensive portrait collections in all the Empire, right here in her Great Hall?”
“Does she?” Grant asked on a sigh.
“She does. And if you would like, I would gladly give you the tour that I was forced to endure—” She held up a hand in mock interruption. “I beg your pardon, given the pleasure of hearing, several times over the past few years.”
Grant cocked his head, barely keeping his eyes from widening in surprise. As annoyed as he was at Benjamin for meddling and wheedling and generally making him look a fool, his brother’s playful tactics had worked. Emily was asking him, in the most natural way, to walk with her. They would be alone and after this lighthearted exchange, she might even be more receptive to sharing information.
“My lady, I would like nothing better,” Grant said with a bow.
Emily inclined her head toward Ben. “And what about you, Mr. Ashbury? Would you join us, as well?”
Ben wrinkled his face in disgust. “Good God, no! A portrait gallery, how dull. I leave it to you two adventurers with much pleasure, I’m sure.”
With a laugh, Emily turned from his brother and motioned to the parlor door.
Emily intertwined her fingers behind her back as she and Grant strolled up the long Great Hall. The buzz of the gathering was long forgotten, left behind after a series of mazelike twists and turns in the hallways. Now they were utterly alone, and while it certainly was not inappropriate to share such an innocent diversion like looking at the portraits with Grant, somehow it felt less than innocent.
In fact, it felt downright naughty.
Grant cleared his throat as he craned his neck up to observe a portrait of some long dead Laneford ancestor. “I hope my brother and I did not intrude upon your conversation with Mr. Clare, Lady Allington.”
She allowed her gaze to flit to his face, but his expression was unreadable. “Of course not. Mr. Clare and I simply found ourselves seated next to each other this afternoon. It was not in any way a private exchange.”
Grant’s mouth relaxed a fraction, just enough that she realized he was pleased to hear such news. Her heart gave an unwelcome thump. It seemed Tristan had been correct that she hadn’t lost whatever interest she’d sensed in Grant at the ball a few nights ago.
A fact that gave her a little too much pleasure.
“Hmmm.” He lifted a hand to his chin as if the painting were the most interesting thing in the world, although Emily doubted he cared two licks about it. “You see, I was not certain if you required saving, as we discussed earlier. How am I to be your champion, fair lady, if I do not know when you need a knight to gallantly sweep in and slay your dragons?”
Emily tilted her chin to look at the floor as a blush warmed her cheeks. She couldn’t help but smile at his teasing words. There was just something about Grant that made her feel…light was the best way she could describe it. It wasn’t an experience she’d often had in her life. And never in association with a man.
She shook off the unwanted reaction. This time alone with Grant Ashbury was about gathering information for her investigation, not anything else. And there was no time like the present to get her mind off inappropriate things and back to matters at hand.
“Tell me, Lord Westfield, was your brother in jest when he listed your favorite pursuits?”
Grant grinned, but didn’t take his eyes from the painting in front of him. Somehow, she had the impression he was still utterly aware of her every move.
“Of course. You see, one of my brother’s favorite pastimes is to torment me mercilessly. And if others measured their successes as well as he does in that realm, there would be more rich and happy men in the Empire.” He shrugged. “You know, of course, you have brothers and sisters, do you not?”
Emily was unable to keep her shoulders from stiffening, her heart rate from doubling. “Y-yes,” she muttered. “I have brothers and sisters.”
Ones who had inherited their feelings toward her from their father, a man who vocalized his disdain for her presence within the confines of their home, if not in the public arena. She had nothing like the easy relationship Grant and his brother shared. Her hands fisted reflexively at her sides.
Grant turned toward her, his smile gone. “Are you well, my lady? Suddenly you are pale.”
Emily jolted. Dear Lord, was she actually allowing her reaction to the mention of her family to reflect on her face? That would not do! Quickly, she wiped away all emotion and gave Grant her best empty smile.
“Yes. It is nothing.”
He reached out, taking her arm before she realized what he was about to do. Just as it had on the dance floor a few nights ago, his touch set off a firestorm of reaction in her body. It was like the simple brush of his fingers reverberated in every nerve ending she possessed and she shivered uncontrollably as he slipped her hand into the crook of his arm.
“My apologies,” he said, his voice suddenly rough. “I had forgotten your recent illness. Perhaps you are tired. Would you like to sit?”
He motioned to a cushioned bench in front of a picture window that overlooked the snowy gardens outside. Emily nodded.
“Yes, thank you.”
She sat and Grant took a place beside her. His large frame did not allow much space for her on the narrow bench and it forced them to be seated very close together. Probably too close for propriety and judging from the flicker in his eyes, he knew that fact as well as she did.
The only recourse she had was to pull her arm from his, hoping that breaking contact would also break the strange spell that had suddenly come over her.
It did little to help. Her senses remained heightened by his proximity. Even his scent taunted her. So warm and masculine and clean. There was an underlying spice to it that suggested something…wicked.
She cleared her throat and blinked to focus. “If your brother was wrong about your interests, then what are they in truth?” she asked, hating the little tremble to her voice.
Grant tilted his head and his face moved closer. “Why such curiosity, my lady?”
<
br /> She shrugged, loathe to overplay her hand. “No particular reason. I’m just wondering. You do not seem to have a great love for Society. You’ve always seemed somewhat…bored by the events I have seen you attend over the years. I wondered whatever could capture your attention.”
He drew back just a fraction and she hoped she hadn’t gone too far. Certainly what she had just said was very forward.
He cleared his throat, rubbing his palms on the rough fabric of his trousers. “I suppose I am little different from any other gentleman. I enjoy a good wager now and again. I fence at my club.”
He leaned back, cupping his hand around the back edge of the bench. Suddenly, Emily was all too aware of his fingers, just inches from touching her, though he never moved to do something so inappropriate. Still, the promise of the graze of his hand over her hip was there, hanging in the air between them. Air that was suddenly awfully warm.
“What about you, my lady?” He arched an eyebrow. “What are you…passionate about?”
Emily swallowed. Her lips felt dry. Her throat was suddenly parched. And had Grant moved closer or was he getting bigger?
“I—I—”
She was stammering. She never stammered. Always cool under pressure, that was what she was known for. Once she had talked herself out of being captured by a group of thieves who had returned to their hideout earlier than expected. But now, with a gentleman who was no kind of threat to her, she felt odd. Strained. And she also felt a strange urge to tell Grant more than she wanted to reveal.
She scooted back at that thought and her backside slid off the bench an inch, sending her off balance.
Grant’s hand instantly shot out, grasping her upper arm with the coiled strength of a powerful animal, steadying her so she didn’t fall.
“Emily?” he whispered as he pulled her back onto the bench and even closer.
Close enough that their breath mingled as she looked up, frozen, at him and he stared down at her. Waiting.
But for what?
Instinctively, she extracted her arm from his grip in a few controlled motions and got to her feet. She backed away, never letting her eyes leave his.
“I am sorry. Perhaps you’re right that my illness has made me overly tired. I ought to return to the parlor and say my good-byes to Lady Laneford. But I thank you for…” She hesitated. What should she thank him for?
“No, thank you.” Grant got to his feet in a slow reveal of powerful corded muscle and lean body. “Thank you for your tour of the portrait gallery. May I escort you back to the group?”
She shook her head. “Thank you, no. I’ll find my own way. Good afternoon, Lord Westfield.”
“Good afternoon, Emily.”
She shut her eyes as he said her given name a second time. It was as intimate as a caress.
Without looking at him, she hurried from the room, fighting to catch her breath as she raced blindly down the hall.
She was going to have to find a better way to uncover Grant’s activities. Because spending time alone with the man was obviously too much for her.
Much too much.
Chapter 4
“I need more information about Lord Westfield’s whereabouts recently. I need more information about the man, period.”
Emily paced in front of the blazing fire at Anastasia’s new London home. She had been invited for tea at Ana’s because Meredith was leaving Town in the next few days to assist Tristan with his first case. Their conversation had turned to business. It always did. Or it always had. Now their time together was as often punctuated by giggling stories about husbands and love as by frank discussions about evidence. And those stories left Emily in the cold.
Both Ana and Meredith looked up from their teacups. They exchanged a quick glance that had Emily wincing. Their unspoken communication pushed Emily even further out of their world.
“You have spoken to him, haven’t you?” Ana asked. “Have you garnered nothing from those exchanges?”
Emily turned her back on her friends and pretended to look into the fire. She hardly saw the flames. All she could see were foggy images of Grant’s face moving toward hers while they sat on the bench together in Lady Laneford’s hall. Instead of the heat of the fire, she felt the burning hiss of his touch when he grasped her arm. The answering flame of her own long-denied body.
Not that she could confess those things to her friends. She could scarce understand them herself. It was shocking to want a man she hardly knew. Especially when desire had never been something she sought. But now it buzzed around her like an angry, persistent bee. Just as her fears and memories haunted her. Was this strange wanting for Grant just another emotional toll of the night she was shot?
“No,” she whispered. “I’ve garnered nothing of value from our few encounters. I hoped you two might have found more in your research.”
Meredith cleared her throat as Emily turned back to face her friends.
“I’m afraid we have come up with as little information as your own efforts,” Meredith said with a shrug. “It seems Lord Westfield is a closed book. You will simply have to seek him out at more of these gatherings. I’m sure he’ll ultimately give you some kind of clue as to his thoughts and activities.”
Emily swallowed past the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. They were lying. She could see it in their eyes, the same ones that slid away from hers. She could hear it in their voices.
Her two best friends, the women she had depended upon for years, had put her very life on the line with that hard-given trust, were lying to her. Bald-faced, blatant lies.
She wasn’t sure whether to scream or cry.
Instead, she folded her arms and glared at them. “Really? How very interesting that you two have uncovered nothing about Grant. Especially since I received a note from Jenkins just this morning that outlined, in detail, his every movement for the past month.”
Ana choked on a mouthful of tea and Meredith’s face drained of color. Emily wanted to feel triumphant that she’d overcome their reticence, but she couldn’t manage it. Not when the underlying issue was so clear. They no longer believed her competent.
“You spoke to Jenkins?” Meredith asked.
Emily nodded once. Jenkins was one of their men on the street. Man of the street, in all actuality. A pickpocket with a penchant for collecting information as readily as he collected trinkets. He was more than willing to sell that information to spies who were able to pay his price.
She clenched her fists as she tried to remain calm. “Of course I spoke to him. From the very beginning, it was clear to me that you and Ana and Charlie would resist helping me. You’ve made it abundantly apparent that you don’t think me capable any longer.”
Ana got to her feet. “That isn’t fair, Emily!”
“Isn’t it?” She clenched her fingers harder, until they actually hurt. “I adore you, all of you, but if you don’t think I know you’re trying to protect me, then you’re all fools! You want to keep me so safe that it appears you are even willing to put Lord Westfield in potential danger. Unless one of you is actually investigating this case behind my back, sending me on a fool’s errand!”
“That isn’t the truth at all,” Meredith protested even as she placed a hand on Ana’s arm.
Emily turned away in frustration. There was so much unspoken communication between her two friends. Communication about her. Like she was some child who needed tending. An invalid who wasn’t capable.
Worse, she didn’t feel capable. After two encounters with Grant, she felt…unsure of herself. She’d been so certain returning to the field would banish these anxieties and worries. But it hadn’t. Instead only new and more troubling emotions joined them to torment her.
“We don’t want to hide anything from you,” Meredith insisted. Her voice was calm and even. It was a soothing tone Emily had heard her friend use with reticent witnesses before. Placating. “And if you’ve uncovered something from another source, then that is wonderful.”
&n
bsp; Ana pursed her lips, but she retook her seat beside Meredith. “Yes. What information did Jenkins give you?”
Emily took a few steps toward the table, but did not retake her seat. She pondered the question. Had it come to this? Her friends did not feel her competent enough to share all their information and she did not trust them enough to reveal what she knew?
“The hells,” she finally admitted on a sigh. She would not keep secrets. She would pretend to her friends that she was still a strong and capable spy, despite their worries. “His lordship has spent quite a bit of time recently in the hells. Especially at The Blue Pony near Newgate.”
Meredith’s eyes widened with enough surprise that Emily realized this was new information to her friend. At least she hadn’t hidden the facts.
“The Blue Pony?” she repeated.
“What is The Blue Pony?” Ana asked with a tilt of her head. Even after six months of working in the field, she remained naïve about certain things.
Emily shrugged. “It’s one of the rougher gambling halls in the city. Not a normal haunt of an earl, certainly. At least, not one who isn’t in serious financial jeopardy.”
She frowned as she sat down. Grant had mentioned he liked a good wager from time to time, but she hadn’t been under the impression that he was so desperate a gambler as this new information implied. The Blue Pony was the kind of place a gentleman frequented only if he had lost his ability to show his face in more respectable clubs. A place where men lost their fortunes and sometimes their lives.
Of course, a gaming habit gone terribly wrong had been the cause of threats against many a man’s life. It offered an explanation for why someone would want to harm Grant. So whether she liked it or not, she had to explore the lead.
“You look concerned,” Ana said softly. “Distant.”
Emily shook her head. There she was, revealing her feelings again. “I’m only thinking about the case.”
Meredith’s eyebrow arched with incredulity. “Is that all?”
“Of course,” Emily snapped.
Jenna Petersen - [Lady Spies] Page 4
