Tempting The Rival (Scandals and Spies Book 3)

by Leighann Dobbs

  The woman clucked her tongue. “That beast cannot come in here.”

  Chubs slinked along in Felicia’s shadow, his head down and his ears flat against his head as if he was trying to be invisible. Felicia snapped her fingers and pointed to the corridor. “Door. Guard.”

  Chubs whined, but complied. His steps were heavy, slowing the farther he got from Felicia. Eventually, he reached the door and dropped his rump to the floor.

  Giving the cook a thin smile, Felicia said, “I haven’t had the chance to feed him all day. Could I beg you for a bowl of water and a bit of food?”

  The woman eyed Felicia critically. “You look like you could use the same.”

  Coming from a woman who might be bonier than Felicia, that was rich. The glimmer of a smile crossed her face before she tamped it down.

  “Thank you, but I don’t know that I could stomach anything.” She raised her hand to her throat as she spoke.

  A gentler expression eased the predatory look on the woman’s face. “One of those affected by the fire, are you?”

  Felicia nodded.

  The woman, no longer reluctant, poked around the kitchen and soon set down a bowl of water and one of chopped meat that had been stashed separate from the chunks in piles next to the vegetables. Chubs wagged his tail at the offering and dug in. By the time the woman had finished serving him, a kettle on the stove whistled and she used a cloth to pour out the water into a teapot to steep.

  “You should be abed, Miss,” she admonished.

  Felicia smiled sheepishly. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible for me. I have to brew more of the tincture for the household, or we’ll run dry.”

  That wasn’t strictly true. In fact, Gideon had barred her from helping at all. He had an impeccable memory and recalled her every instruction. Now that day had dawned, he’d enlisted the help of his friends Catt and Rocky to prepare more tincture in order to keep a ready supply for those who would need it in the coming week. Despite the fact that they were, all three of them, botanists by trade, Catt and Rocky had warmed to the task once Gideon had issued a challenge. They were currently embroiled in a battle to brew and bottle the most tinctures in the shortest amount of time.

  Admittedly, their competitiveness only added to the hostile air in the orangery.

  As she set a cup and saucer in front of Felicia, the cook’s eyebrows climbed up her forehead. “You are the woman who created the medicine for everyone?”

  “I am indeed. Do you know how it has been received?”

  “Most everyone affected is sleeping—far more peacefully than I would have imagined, given the coughing.”

  Felicia nodded. “That is to be expected. The tincture contains a healthy dose of laudanum. It is best for the body if they sleep as much as they can while they heal.”

  When she took a sip of the hot tea to ease the pain in her throat, she winced. It burned on the way down. Better to let it cool a moment more before she took another sip.

  “You’ll give advice but not take it, I see.”

  Felicia mustered a wan smile. “I don’t have the luxury. It was my room that was hit the worst through the fire.”

  Pouring herself a cup of tea, the woman took a seat on the stool opposite Felicia. For some reason, that made her smile. This woman, if not most of the staff, wasn’t daunted by her. Felicia much preferred to be treated like an equal.

  “I don’t suppose anyone saw who set the fire?”

  The woman leaned closer. “You don’t believe it an accident.”

  Felicia cocked her eyebrow. “I didn’t leave an open flame in the room, and I won’t insult the staff by suggesting they did such a thing.”

  The woman made a face that looked as though she sucked on a lemon. Her expression made it perfectly clear what she thought of such a notion. Triumph burned in Felicia’s chest, a little like the tea, but she savored the sensation. She was right, and Gideon was wrong. It couldn’t have been an accident.

  “This is such a large estate, but I imagine someone setting fire to it must be noticed. A stranger doesn’t belong here.”

  For now, she kept her theory that it had been a rogue member of the staff to herself.

  The cook stiffened and slipped off of the stool, clasping her hands in front of her. She peered at something—or someone—over Felicia’s shoulder.

  When Felicia turned, she stopped short. She had never seen Gideon look so cold or forbidding. He clasped his hands behind his back. “Miss Albright, a word?”

  It was not a request.

  Struggling to hide the pain in her throat and lungs, Felicia crossed the kitchen with a clipped gait. Chubs followed her into the hall, done with his meal.

  The moment they stepped out of sight of the doorway, Gideon rounded on her. She leaned against the wall, weaker than she cared to admit. Especially to him.

  “It is not your place to question the servants.”

  Gideon’s gaze snapped with the rebuke.

  She gritted her teeth. “Even if you don’t care to consider the fact that we may have an enemy—”

  He stepped closer, as if trying to shield her with his body and thereby contain her words. After glancing over his shoulder he said sharply, “Stop right there.”

  There was an edge to his voice. She closed her mouth. Anger simmered inside her and she used it as fuel to stand. Between the wall and Gideon, she was well enough supported not to be in danger of sinking to the floor.

  His expression was stony as he returned his gaze to her. “If the fire in your chambers was deliberately set, Keeling will learn of it. He does not need your help on that account.”

  Felicia lifted her chin, but Gideon wasn’t finished talking.

  “Not every servant here is a spy. One wrong word in the wrong ear could send twitters throughout the staff that might reach back to my mother.”

  He planted his hand next to her shoulder, hemming her against the wall as he caught her gaze and held it. He lowered his mouth to her ear. The intimacy sent shivers over her skin.

  “You weren’t here when my father died. Mother retreated from us all. At first, we weren’t certain she would survive. Even though she rallied, she hadn’t truly returned to her happy self until Tristan met his wife earlier this year. I will not jeopardize that by having her learn that her sons are spies and amplify the worry that she already feels for us and Anthony. Do you understand?”

  He drew away just far enough to meet her gaze. His eyes were just as intense as his voice.

  She nodded. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to cause your family pain.”

  She hadn’t. All she wanted was for him to believe her so they could tackle this problem together…

  Forcing the thought from her head, she straightened her shoulders and met his gaze. “Mr. Keeling will look into it?”

  Gideon nodded. “Whether deliberate or accidental, he’ll look into the fire and its cause either way. It might have killed someone if you hadn’t gotten there when you had.”

  Yes—it might have killed me. She still didn’t know what the attacker had used to set the fire, but given that it had grown to such a strength without being noticed and doused, she assumed that it would have harmed her had she been in the room at the time.

  The tension in the air between Gideon and Felicia intensified. “Will you leave Keeling to his job and trust that he’ll be able to get to the bottom of the situation?”

  What if Mr. Keeling were the French spy? Perhaps it was best if she didn’t consider such a thing. Given that Mr. Keeling was presumably the Duke of Tenwick’s second in command—at Tenwick Abbey, if nowhere else—it wouldn’t bode well if his loyalties had been twisted.

  If the spy were someone else… She had to presume that Keeling would be able to discover who. Before she passed judgment, she could wait to hear what he had to say about the fire. Would he take Gideon’s side?

  He’d have to be a fool.

  Then again, Gideon was no fool, and he refused to believe what was in front of his eyes
.

  “I won’t ask again,” Felicia said. For now, she added silently. If there was another mishap…

  She had to remain vigilant. Another mishap could result in the end of someone’s life.

  The hostility in Gideon’s face and stance melted away. “Thank you.”

  She changed the subject. “How are Catt and Rocky faring with the tincture?”

  Taking a step back, Gideon clasped his hands behind his back as he answered. “Quite well. I’m afraid the orangery won’t be free for our work for several hours, at the least. They’ve each claimed one of the work benches.”

  That was a shame, but given that she could barely breathe while in the orangery, perhaps it was for the best.

  Softly, he suggested, “Why don’t you take the opportunity to rest? And maybe bathe.”

  Felicia pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. Was he trying to tell her that she stank? Given that she wore the same dress as yesterday, one which seemed to have infused the smoke in every fiber, she knew exactly how bad she smelled.

  Still, it was fun to look at him blankly and say, “I beg your pardon?”

  His cheeks turned pink. He averted his gaze. “Not that you don’t look beautiful even when you smell like a cheap cigar—”

  She pressed her hand over her mouth, shaking.

  Now frantic, Gideon held up his hands in surrender. “I’m sure many men find that alluring. It’s just… um… forget I said anything. Carry on.”

  The cherry-red stain of embarrassment colored Gideon’s cheeks, ears, and dipped beneath his collar. Turning on his heel, he retreated into the kitchen. Felicia slumped against the wall and struggled to breathe while she battled laughter. She stifled it against her sleeve.

  My, she did reek. If she was going to find a bath, she would need fresh clothes. Did the ones in the wardrobe smell as bad as the one she wore? Most likely, but perhaps she could find something salvageable. It was worth a look.

  Felicia had almost made it to the top of the stairs when she ran out of breath and had to sit again. She hated the weakness that came from her illness. Why hadn’t she tied a handkerchief over her mouth and nose last night? She knew why—she hadn’t been thinking. Once she’d seen the fire, she’d panicked and done everything she could to try to smother it.

  Her heart beat uncomfortably fast in the base of her throat as she caught her breath. She hunched over her knees, waiting for the weakness to pass. Praying for it to pass. She wouldn’t always be like this, would she? She smothered the irrational fear. This was a temporary illness.

  “Felicia, dear.”

  She glanced up as someone called her name. Evelyn breezed up the stairs toward her.

  “Whatever are you doing up here?”

  Felicia mustered the brightest smile she could manage. “I was just going to see about salvaging a few of my dresses, if I’m able.”

  “Nonsense.”

  When Evelyn offered her hand, Felicia resignedly took it. It appeared that her rest had ended. She accepted the dowager’s help to stand.

  “Your dresses will be a mess. They’ll need washing and pressing at the very least. Let the servants handle it. You may borrow something from me in the meantime.”

  “That isn’t necessary—”

  Evelyn raised her eyebrows. “Please don’t tell me you mean to wear that dowdy thing forever.”

  She had a point. Admitting defeat, Felicia inclined her head. “Very well. One dress. Something you don’t commonly wear, perhaps.”

  The older woman’s expression brightened. “We’ll try a few on and see which fits best.”

  If Felicia could manage to remain standing for that long. She gripped the banister hard.

  Evelyn must have noticed because a worried furrow formed between her eyebrows. “Do you need some help walking down the stairs?”

  No. The word was on the tip of her tongue, but she squelched it as she remembered what Gideon had said. It was difficult to think that this caring, composed woman might have been on the brink of death through grief. But Felicia could all too easily imagine it. After all, she’d only been acquainted with her a handful of days, and yet the dowager looked as though she genuinely worried after Felicia’s health.

  She smiled. “Please. I get winded easily.”

  The trip to the family wing was long, but not as arduous as traversing it herself. Evelyn proved a skillful conversationalist, guiding Felicia through a myriad of topics from her love of chemistry to her love of dogs. The one topic she thankfully steered clear of was that of Felicia’s relationship with Gideon. Although Felicia had feared that Evelyn might prove as tenacious on the subject as Lucy, her fears were soon put to rest.

  In fact, Evelyn spoke of none of her children. The focus was solely on Felicia. Perhaps because of the gentle interrogation, Felicia was grateful to sit in a padded armchair upon reaching Evelyn’s room. Unlike some of the rooms in the house, hers was decorated simply, in neutral colors with a splash of pink or yellow here or there. The one fixture to the room was the massive portrait of the family. Lucy, only two or three years old. Gideon, not quite ten. Three other boys in their teenage years. The oldest, certainly the current Duke of Tenwick, stood in front of an older man who had a hand on his son’s shoulder. The entire family beamed.

  Evelyn peeked over her shoulder, her eyes softening. Her eyelashes fluttered as she fought against the moisture shining in her eyes. “That was commissioned almost four years to the day before my husband’s accident. My family.” She fished out her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

  “Gideon looks like quite the rascal there. I can picture him about to pull his sister’s hair.”

  The older woman laughed. “Actually, I believe he’d done something to Anthony’s trousers. He’s the boy standing next to him. Throughout the entire sitting, Anthony couldn’t keep still.”

  Felicia didn’t know what to say to that, so she stroked Chub’s ears instead.

  Turning, Evelyn opened the doors to her wardrobe and ran her hands over the dresses inside. “Do you have any brothers or sisters, Felicia?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  With a frown, the dowager turned. “What can you mean?”

  “My father might have remarried. I haven’t been home in—” Thirteen years. “—a long time.”

  “How dreadful! Don’t you and your father get along?”

  Felicia grimaced. She adjusted her position on the seat. “We used to, Papa and I. I haven’t spoken to him in a long time.”

  For years, she’d thought about writing home. Asking how he fared, if he missed her. To what end? She’d railed at him as she tried to convince him that a marriage was not what she wanted or needed. He hadn’t believed her then—she highly doubted he would believe her now.

  Abandoning her task at the wardrobe, Evelyn perched on an ottoman in front of Felicia. She gathered one of Felicia’s hands in both of hers. “I’m sorry. And your mother?”

  I don’t remember her. Felicia choked back the tears that formed a lump in her throat. That wasn’t strictly true, she did remember some things—a musical laugh, the way she would stroke Felicia’s hair, her soft voice. But the recollections were muted, as if seen from a far distance.

  “She died when I was very young. It was just me and Papa, growing up.”

  It’s why I am who I am today. If her father had remarried, she might have been taught all the frivolous skills a lady learned instead of the thorough education she’d received from her father.

  “May I ask what happened between you? If I’m prying, please say so.”

  Of course she was prying. But Felicia felt indebted to her for opening her home and welcoming Felicia with such graciousness. Not to mention, this was the closest Felicia had felt with a maternal woman in years. Perhaps ever. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend that Evelyn was her mother, asking a seventeen-year-old Felicia what troubled her.

  “I wanted to study science. My father arranged a marriage to a man who would never h
ave allowed it. It became clear to me that if I wanted to pursue my independence, I couldn’t do it while under the charge of any man, not even my father.”

  Evelyn’s hand tightened on Felicia’s. “You ran away?”

  The eve before the wedding. “I had to.”

  Although she expected Evelyn to show some form of condemnation, the expression on the dowager’s face was kind. Sympathetic, even. “How old were you?”

  “Lucy’s age.”

  “And you’ve been on your own ever since?”

  Felicia straightened her shoulders. She didn’t need pity or sympathy. She’d made a spectacular life for herself. Yes, it was hard at times, but it was on her terms.

  “I have. I like traveling,” she lied.

  She hated traveling. The same places, different faces. Always having to be her best, most brilliant self to attract customers. Calculating how much to flirt with the men so she wasn’t chased out of town or didn’t invite too much attention once her stall closed. Her favorite time was when she wintered among friends and could simply be herself.

  Evelyn patted her hand. “Then I’m sorry my son is keeping you from doing so.” She had a knowing gleam in her eye, as if she suspected that Felicia didn’t mind as much as she pretended.

  Felicia shrugged. “Winter is almost upon us. I would have had to stop soon, in any case.”

  “Well, then I hope you’ll stay the winter here with us, regardless if you conclude your business with my son by then.”

  Felicia smiled thinly. She didn’t think Gideon would be happy if she accepted such an arrangement without first speaking with him. A week ago, she would have said he was vehemently against her presence, seeing as they were rivals. But now their relationship was often volatile, but there was something akin to camaraderie at its core. She was afraid to name it.

  Instead, she said, “I believe I’ve recovered my breath. Which dress do you think I might wear?”

  A broad smile capped Evelyn’s face as she scurried toward the wardrobe again. “Let me see. Hmm… it’s a shame I don’t have many bright colors anymore. All my colorful dresses predate my husband’s death.”