She blushed and turned her back on him, busying herself with wiping away some flakes of ice that had fallen on the side table. “Thank you,” she said without turning around. “I’d begun to wonder if my presence here was more of an irritation than a balm.”
Frederick shook his head decisively, but since her back was to him, she couldn't see him. “I doubt you could ever irritate me even if you put your mind to it,” he said. His voice sounded gruff, so he tried to even it out. “Quite the contrary. I find your presence unaccountably soothing.” He hadn’t been able to eliminate the emotion from his tone, but at least he didn’t sound angry any longer.
She turned to face him. Her head was dipped slightly as she peered at him. She seemed to be trying to gauge his mood. She seemed to like what she saw, because a slow, sultry smile began to spread over her lips as she took a step closer to him.
Something banged at the door of the drawing room, startling them both. Frederick was stunned when the door flew open and an older woman came bustling in, carrying a bag.
Josephine’s jaw dropped at the sight as well, but her expression of surprise was quickly replaced by one of pleased satisfaction.
Their unexpected guest wore a dark-green coat buttoned askew. Her mulberry-colored hat sat at a worrisome angle, looking as though it would fall to the floor at any moment. The entire ensemble gave her a decidedly lopsided appearance that wasn’t helped by the large and obviously heavy basket looped over one arm.
“This is my housekeeper, Mrs. Drummer,” Josephine announced. “A more versatile woman you’ll never find. She’s extremely knowledgeable regarding herbal remedies. I think you’ll be quite pleased.”
Before Frederick could rise to greet her, the woman hurried across the room and claimed the seat next to him on the sofa. She plunked her large basket on the floor by her feet. “May I see?” Mrs. Drummer asked, holding out her hands and glancing toward his.
With one last dubious glance at her hat, he held them out. “I hope you can help. As fate would have it, tonight has been a complete disaster.”
“No one can ever predict what the three Moirai have planned for us,” Josephine said.
Mrs. Drummer gently stripped away the damp bandages and then cradled his hands while she examined them. She clucked her tongue in dismay. “My, but those look painful.” She shot him a smile full of reassurance. “Don’t worry, I’ll have you feeling better in no time.”
“The Moirai? They’re from Greek mythology, right?” He searched his memory. “Weren’t they the three Fates?” Frederick asked. “Do you believe in that sort of thing?”
“That our lives are predetermined?” The corner of her mouth turned up. “That concept doesn’t fit into my philosophy of life. I believe our choices drive our outcomes, not merely some external force.”
Frederick sat up a bit straighter. “Are you saying it’s a combination of the two? Both self-determination and fate?”
Mrs. Drummer stood and picked up her basket before crossing to a nearby desk. She opened the basket’s hinged wooden lid, peered inside it, and extracted a cloth bag along with a mortar and pestle. She commenced pulling out handfuls of fresh green leaves from the cloth bag and tossing them into the bowl. She tore them into smaller pieces and then began to smash them together using the pestle. The pungent smell of the broken leaves drifted toward him. It wasn’t unpleasant— very fresh in fact. Then she splashed a bit of liquid into the bowl and mixed it all a bit longer.
“I think the circumstances of our birth wield the greatest influence on our lives. I’ll never be queen because I wasn’t born to it, nor will I be the captain of one of Her Majesty’s warships since I’m not a man. Even so, that doesn’t mean I can’t exert control over my own life through the choices I make. I choose my friends. The foods I eat. The places I go. No one else controls these things.” She drew closer to observe Mrs. Drummer’s preparations. “But then again, I’m fortunate in this. Most of my friends don’t have my level of freedom. Their husbands make those choices for them.”
Mrs. Drummer extracted a length of flannel from the bag, pulled a pair of scissors from her pocket, cut off a strip of fabric, and then spread the mashed leaves over it.
“Did Lord Harrington treat you that way? Did he limit your choices?”
She tensed. “More so than I would have liked.” She shook her head, glancing at Mrs. Drummer as though trying to decide how much she wanted to reveal in her presence. “I’d thought we’d travel around the world once we’d married. I’ve always wanted to visit Anatolia, Greece, Rome, so many places. He promised we’d go, but he never made it a priority, despite his promises. My husband was a good man— just—”
“Just a bit too thoughtless and overbearing?” Frederick suggested.
“Perhaps a bit. He meant well, but he had the need to be in control of everything. I found it wearing at times.”
“This should help,” Mrs. Drummer said, carrying her concoction toward Frederick. He glanced at it. The poultice didn’t look like much of anything at all. Just a thick green mess.
Mrs. Drummer sat next to him. “Give me your bad hand,” she said.
Frederick glanced at the clock above the fireplace mantel. Nearly twenty minutes had passed since he’d entered this room. He could sense the church register slipping farther and farther away with each passing second.
He held out his right hand. She cradled it as she gently draped the poultice across his burns. The light pressure of the flannel hurt at first, but at least the leaves were cool. A moment later, however, the poultice began to take effect. The pain receded quickly. It didn’t disappear entirely, but it was no longer all-consuming.
The moment the pain eased its grip on him, Frederick began to think more clearly. He hadn’t realized how much energy he’d been expending on suppressing it, but now that his mind was crisp and sharp once again, he found himself immediately focusing on finding the book.
The identity of the person who’d orchestrated tonight’s theft suddenly came to him, as crisp and clear as if the man were standing before him. It had to have been the Frenchman— Monsieur LeCompte. The fact that the thief possessed a key had troubled Frederick. It was a clue. An enormous one. Not even Frederick had managed to obtain a key.
Only LeCompte possessed the requisite skills to set tonight’s events in motion. The embassy’s renovations had only recently been completed, and LeCompte was one of the few people who could have acquired a key to the new locks. He was also one of the few who could have procured an invitation to the ball for the mysterious thief. Those two facts placed him on a very short list of suspects. What made him stand out was the fact that he possessed a strong motivation to acquire the book, a motivation that was nearly identical to Frederick’s. LeCompte wanted Emperor Napoleon to be able to use it as leverage against Czar Nicholas.
An intense sense of urgency swept over Frederick. Time was of the essence. His duty couldn’t wait— not for an evening, not even for another hour. He knew what his country demanded of him. He had to send Josephine away from here as quickly as possible, and he had to locate the Frenchman and retrieve the church register.
Frederick barely contained his impatience as Mrs. Drummer used strips of linen to wrap the poultice in place on his right hand. Then she began treating his other hand.
When Frederick glanced at Josephine, his mental resolve weakened. She was beautiful tonight. She’d swept her glossy blond hair up into a chignon, and gossamer tendrils framed her face.
She met his gaze, but hers was full of concern. For him.
Her sweet mouth with its slightly fuller lower lip was tense with worry. This was only one of the many expressions her eloquent face had presented to him over the past few months. He’d seen those sweet lips drawn up in a bow of delight or tightened in a frown of consternation. Only a week ago he’d seen them swollen and ripe with his kisses, and he’d love nothing more than to see them that way again. Tonight.
But, no, not tonight. He needed to send her away,
and to do that, he needed to persuade her it was for the best.
As he observed her, he realized her definition of what was “for the best” would be quite different from his. Her priority would be to care for him and promote his recovery, while his was to track down LeCompte and retrieve that book. How would he convince her that his mission needed to take precedence over his well-being?
The realization came crashing down on him. It came down to choices again. And his were limited. If he wanted to leave quickly, he’d need to lie to her. To control and manipulate her.
The thought galled him, even as he steeled himself to do it. How had he come to this? How had he turned into the sort of man who manipulated and lied to someone he cared for?
“Is the poultice helping?” Josephine asked.
The hopeful look on her face pierced him. He didn’t deserve her sympathy. He realized this even as he nodded. Even as he began lying to her. “The pain has eased considerably.” He faked a broad yawn. “Pardon me. It appears the night’s events took more of a toll than I’d realized.”
“You need to rest. I’m certain you’ll feel much better in the morning.”
Mrs. Drummer shook her head. “By morning, the effects of the poultice will have disappeared and you’ll need to reapply it. Lady Harrington is right though. You should catch whatever rest you can now while the pain is at bay. It’s unlikely you’ll sleep through the night.”
He let his eyelids droop slightly. “In that case, perhaps I should retire now.”
“Yes. I believe that’s just the thing.” A broad smile of approval lit up Josephine’s face, and it made him feel like a manipulative cad.
He was a scoundrel. An unmitigated scoundrel.
“Mrs. Drummer and I will leave you to recuperate,” Josephine said.
The housekeeper gestured toward the bag on the table. “I’ll leave these supplies so your valet can prepare a fresh poultice once this one begins to lose its potency.” She quickly rattled off instructions for making it. Frederick listened closely and committed the steps to memory.
He rose to his feet as Mrs. Drummer collected her basket. It was obviously much lighter, but when she looped it over her arm, she still appeared lopsided. That was probably because she’d never addressed the problem with her misaligned buttons.
Josephine eased closer to him. “I’m glad we were able to help you.”
“Thank you for your thoughtfulness. I don’t deserve it,” he said. Josephine looked enormously pleased by this, and her smile skewered his lying heart, forcing him to look away.
Tonight’s lies were for England. For the Queen. At least, he tried to tell himself that. Unfortunately, it did nothing to ease his guilt.
Shouldn’t he at least be truthful to himself? Tonight’s lies hadn’t been simply to protect her. They’d been to manipulate her into behaving a certain way. The lie had been more expedient than the truth, and that self-knowledge left him feeling raw.
Apparently he now lied simply because it was convenient. He’d sunk even lower than he’d realized.
CHAPTER FOUR
As Josephine stepped out the front door of Woolsy House, the cold night air slid its fingers around her, driving the warmth from her body. It hadn’t seemed so cold when she’d first entered the house. Had the temperature dropped while she’d been ensconced with Frederick, or had his presence earlier kept the chill at bay?
Her coachman stepped forward to escort her to her carriage. “Where would you like me to take you, m’lady?” he asked as he opened her carriage door.
Despite wanting to hurry into the carriage, she paused and stared into its dim interior as she considered the question. Should she return to the Koliada Ball? She glanced back at the front door of Woolsy House. She dreaded the thought of returning to the Russian ambassador’s stuffy, overheated ballroom, but her quiet home didn’t appeal to her either. Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of anyplace else she wanted to go at this time of the night. Not alone. She let out a heavy sigh. “Home,” she said.
As she settled inside the carriage, her thoughts drifted to the book currently sitting on the table next to her bed, and she gave a slight smile. She’d been looking forward to reading more about the tomb Mr. Fellows had discovered in Lycia, and tonight would offer her the perfect opportunity. Charles Fellows had discovered what appeared to be a Greek tomb in Anatolia— a region that had never been a part of Greece. The elaborate and enormous structure was a mystery, one she found fascinating.
Josephine unfolded the traveling blanket from the seat next to her and draped it across both her lap and Mrs. Drummer’s. The coachman handed each of them a hot brick wrapped in cloth. Josephine cupped her hands around hers on her lap, savoring its warmth.
She stared down at her gloved hands in the dim interior glow of the carriage lamp, but the image was immediately replaced by the memory of Frederick’s fire-ravaged hands.
Tonight had been entirely unexpected, from beginning to end.
What was she to do about Frederick? He’d slowly and relentlessly pursued her for months, never giving up until he’d finally broken down her resistance and seduced his way into her bed and into her heart. He’d convinced her she was special. That she was important to him—
And then he’d ignored her.
Had his presence at the embassy ball truly been a last-minute decision, or had he simply lied to her? The mere fact that this was a question in her mind told her a great deal about their relationship.
Obviously, she didn’t trust him.
He’d lied to her before, she was certain of it, but only to conceal his activities as a spy. At least, that's what she’d always believed.
Now she wasn’t as certain. He might have been on a mission tonight, but that didn’t explain why he’d avoided her all week.
“The burns on Mr. Woolsy’s right hand were severe,” Mrs. Drummer said as she placed her basket on the floor by their feet. “He’ll recover, but I’ll wager his sense of touch will be dulled for quite a few years.”
“In both hands?” she asked, alarmed. Josephine wished she could make out Mrs. Drummer’s features in the dim interior light of the carriage, but she could only see well enough to catch her movement as she shook her head.
“The ones on his left hand aren’t as bad. He should recover well enough.”
A coil of tension eased. “That’s good news.” She rubbed her fingers together, wondering what it would be like to lose the sensation of touch. She hoped it wouldn’t hinder his work as a spy.
Being a spy meant everything to Frederick. It was his passion. She couldn’t imagine separating the man from the role.
“I’m relieved to hear he plans to rest,” Mrs. Drummer said. “He’ll have a bad night of it. Those burns will keep him awake.”
“I was worried he wouldn’t see reason. Once he’s chosen a course of action, he doesn’t change his mind easily.”
Mrs. Drummer nodded. “So he’s one of those, is he? He had me fooled.”
“One of those what?” Josephine peered at the woman’s face in the darkness, but couldn’t make out her expression.
“I’ve found injured men tend to fall into one of two broad categories. One group is chock full of men who are stubborn when it comes to their own healing. Their technique is to ignore the problem until it goes away on its own. I think it’s because they hate to show any weakness. The other group— well, they’re quite the opposite. They demand their due and expect everyone to cater to them, even when faced with a minor injury. Mr. Woolsy must be one of those rare men who doesn’t fall into either category.”
Josephine nodded. Her husband had been in that second category. She hadn’t minded coddling him when he wasn’t feeling well, but it would have been nice if he’d reciprocated when she’d been in a similar state. Instead, he’d avoided her when she was ill. He’d said he wanted her to rest and recuperate, but if so, why did he demand so much of her attention when he was unwell?
“At first I thought your Mr. Woolsy bel
onged in that first group, but I changed my mind when he turned into such a pussycat after I applied the poultice. Now I can’t place him in either category.”
“Is that so uncommon? I’d think anyone would be swayed to do as you say after they experience the effectiveness of your treatment.”
“Men aren’t nearly as logical as they’d like you to believe. Certainly not when they believe their masculinity is being threatened. Those stubborn ones tend to decide they were originally mistaken regarding the severity of the pain rather than admitting my poultice helped them. If you’re right about how determined Mr. Woolsy is, his decision to stay home seems to go against character. Perhaps you hold more sway over him than you realize.”
Josephine pulled at her glove, pleased to know she could encourage Frederick to behave responsibly regarding his health. Perhaps he truly did care for her.
Like errant children ignoring their mother’s orders, Josephine’s thoughts returned to Frederick’s lie— the one in which he’d told her he couldn’t attend tonight’s ball. It worried her to know he’d deceived her so casually. So thoughtlessly. As though lying to her had become a reflex rather than a conscious decision.
Considering the nights they’d spent together, he should have been more solicitous toward her. Was it possible he didn’t value her? The thought caused her stomach to tighten into a knot. She’d believed they had something more. Something real. Had she been fooling herself?
She tightened her grip on the cloth-wrapped brick. She wouldn’t waste her time pining away for a man who didn’t respect her. She refused to debase herself in such a way. Even if she managed to capture his attention, a man whose heart wasn’t committed would quickly slip away. No, she firmly believed that a man she had to chase wasn’t a man worth having. If he truly wanted her, he’d be the one to pursue her, not the other way around.
But Frederick had pursued her. Relentlessly. For an entire year.
Perhaps behavior earlier tonight had been an aberration. Perhaps he’d been telling her the truth about his last-minute change of plans. He’d also mentioned that alcohol had a strong effect on him. That, combined with his burns, might explain why he’d seemed so distant for much of the night.
My Lady, My Spy (Secrets and Seduction Book 4) Page 4
