My Lady, My Spy (Secrets and Seduction Book 4)

by Sheridan Jeane

  Taylor pulled a celadon-blue gown with snowy-white trim from the wardrobe and examined it as Josephine took a bite of her egg.

  Josephine stared at the gown. Once she’d set aside her widow’s weeds a year ago, she’d chosen a new wardrobe, and on a whim, she’d had every gown made in celadon blue. A reminder of happier times. Of dreams for the future.

  “It needs pressing,” Taylor said. “I’ll bring it back shortly, m’lady.”

  Josephine nodded, her mouth full. She waved Taylor away as she swallowed her second triangle of smoked salmon and toast.

  As Taylor opened the door, a white streak tore through it.

  “Oh, no. Domino!”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ve nearly finished eating my salmon.”

  Domino jumped onto the bed, stalking the fishy scent. She paused only briefly to glance at Josephine before continuing on.

  “Who’s my good girl?” Josephine crooned. She put a sliver of smoked salmon on her fingertip and held it out for the cat. Domino delicately accepted it and then dropped to the floor to eat it.

  “You spoil that cat.”

  “Fiddlesticks. She isn’t spoiled. She always asks for permission before she takes anything. Didn’t you see the way she looked at me first?”

  Taylor snorted. “She just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t swat her away.”

  Domino jumped back onto the bed, ready for more fish. As Taylor left the room, she shook her head and clucked her tongue.

  Josephine wondered if she’d make a terrible mother. Too lenient. But her own parents had been kind and supportive, and she’d turned out well.

  Of course, to be properly done, motherhood required a husband. Unfortunately, she was decidedly lacking in one.

  The late Lord Harrington had died two years before in a hunting accident. She suspected alcohol had played a part in the mishap. John's compatriots from the outing had volunteered little information, but she could spot a fabricated story easily enough. Their combination of bare facts along with identical bits of description betrayed their complicity. They'd clearly rehearsed their story.

  Her marriage to John had been no love match. She’d known him too short a time to develop strong feelings. Mother had said they’d come with time. Perhaps they would have. She’d tried to care for him, really she had, but she’d only managed to cultivate a mild affection for him.

  It shamed her that she’d recovered so easily from losing him. She’d wanted more from their marriage. She’d always dreamed of an epic love. What girl didn’t? But all they’d ultimately shared had been something tepid and unsatisfying.

  She set aside her breakfast tray and climbed out of bed. Domino jumped onto the side table to examine the remains of the meal, sniffing in disappointment when she didn’t find any more smoked salmon.

  As if drawn forward by a string, Josephine crossed the room toward her little curio cabinet. It contained a number of oddments she’d collected over the years. She’d intended to add many more interesting items during her travels. She’d planned to visit Egypt, Greece, Istanbul, Rome... so many, many places. She loved learning about ancient cultures. Studying the remains of civilizations. Visiting ancient cities— their monuments and tombs— had been her dream since childhood, but those dreams had never materialized. Marriage had put an end to them.

  She stared now at the robin’s nest at the center of the glass-and-metal cabinet. Her first curiosity, brought home from her trip across the Atlantic to New England when she’d been a girl. Her parents had taken her there to see some of the world and to visit her uncle and cousins.

  She’d fallen in love with the bedroom she’d used during her visit. A red-chested bird built a nest in the tree just outside her window. This nest.

  The bird’s quick, sharp movements and the flash of its red breast caught Josephine’s attention from the outset. She watched it work all day, not wanting to leave her bedroom. It created a frame of dried grass. Then it added a layer of mud to the interior that worked as a sort of glue to hold the bits together. It finished by lining the nest with more bits of dried grass.

  A few days later, the bird laid the most beautiful celadon-blue eggs— a unique shade that was soft yet intense. She’d never seen anything like them before. After the robins hatched, she scrabbled through the rough grass beneath the nest to collect the broken fragments of blue shells— her most precious treasure from that trip.

  The fledglings hadn’t stayed long. A short two weeks after they hatched, they disappeared. She’d been heartbroken. When Uncle Martin found her in tears, he’d climbed out the window and retrieved the nest for her.

  When her quiet tears turned into wails of grief, he scrambled back inside through the window, clutching his prize. With patience and effort, he managed learn why.

  “I wanted to watch a new family of robins hatch in the nest.” Josephine could barely make herself understood through her hiccupping sobs. “Now they won’t ever come back. No birds will ever use it again.”

  Uncle Martin let out a soft laugh. “Don’t worry yourself, my pet. Robins always build a new nest. They never reuse old ones. It’s yours to keep now. As a souvenir.”

  He placed the bowl of straw and dried mud in her hands. Its weight surprised her. When it had rested on the swaying branches, it had seemed so insubstantial. So fragile. She’d been startled to discover how sturdy it felt. Even so, when she’d prepared for her return trip to London, she’d carefully packed it to ensure it wouldn’t be damaged during the long sea voyage.

  Now she gazed at the bright celadon-blue bits of eggshell. Her bedroom walls perfectly matched their hue. To her, the color represented the indomitable spirit of life. Of home. Of happiness.

  When she’d first married John, she’d created her own little robin’s nest in their home in London. He’d balked at painting the walls celadon-blue, but she’d done her best to recreate the private retreat despite having walls the wrong color. Even so, she’d always known she’d eventually convince him to change his mind. She’d imagined her children visiting her there, laughing and romping as she readied herself for an evening’s entertainment at some event in the city, or anticipating guests who would arrive soon for a dinner party.

  And then a gun ended John’s life. Their enormous house in London went to the new Earl of Harrington— John’s younger brother. Josephine now lived in this smaller town home she’d inherited from her mother.

  She'd never imagined she’d live here because she'd never considered the possibility that John might die at such a young age and leave her childless.

  At least she could claim two annual stipends— one from the Harrington estate and another from her father. She didn’t live lavishly, but neither was life difficult.

  Her situation might be a comfortable one, but she found the life of a widow to be stifling.

  When she’d first relocated to this new residence, she’d tried to recreate the robin’s-nest feel of the bedroom she’d shared with John. She’d even gone so far as to paint her bedroom walls in this particular shade of celadon blue. It hadn’t taken long for her to realize she’d made a mistake. She couldn’t recreate her former home any more than a robin could reuse an old nest. It was gone. The children she’d imagined would never exist.

  There might be other children someday— another husband. She was young, after all. But immersing herself in a shrine to her dashed hopes and dreams made her feel as though she was trying to recreate a past that was gone forever.

  Even so, she loved the color. It, at least, set this room apart from the one she’d shared with John. The color lifted her soul. Filled her with hope. She’d always been drawn to it. Always would be. It had been one of the things she’d first noticed about Frederick. Those celadon-blue eyes.

  Up until recently, she’d imagined she and Frederick might— might what? Her entire body tensed as she thought of him. A week ago, the man had sent her heart fluttering and caused her cheeks to flush. Now anxiety and self-doubt replaced her tender feelings.
<
br />   Was Frederick afraid of caring about any woman, or was it only her?

  She’d thought better of him— believed their mutual attraction was more than a physical outlet for him. It certainly had been more for her. Much more.

  Could a man separate his body and his emotions so easily? For her, what they’d shared only served to strengthen her feelings for him. It would appear he hadn’t experienced the same response.

  Frederick kept himself aloof. Last night’s revealing interlude at Lord and Lady Aldridge’s perfectly illuminated their relationship, highlighting all the problems. Frederick didn’t really trust her. He wanted her, yes, but not as his wife. Only as his plaything. That flash of jealousy might have proven he didn’t want to share her with another man, but that wasn’t enough. Not enough by far.

  She knew he was attracted to her, but apparently his attraction wasn’t strong enough to cause him to pursue her. It wasn’t strong enough to goad him into laying claim to her and fighting for her.

  She was worth more than that. She deserved more.

  She refused to settle for less.

  She would excise Frederick from her life. What other choice could she live with?

  Pain seared through her. She’d come to care for Frederick, perhaps even love him. Why couldn’t he love her too— love her enough to want to be with her?

  §

  Josephine breezed back into her townhouse, bringing a gust of bitter cold with her. She’d ventured out to clear her head and let her decision settle in her mind. There was nothing like a brisk ride through the park to invigorate the body.

  Well, almost nothing. Memories of that weekend with Frederick still haunted her. Waking up in her bed to find him still there, his arm flung across her as though claiming her in his sleep. The smile that curled over his lips when he woke to see her. The way he’d pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her neck, seeming to breathe her in. Their hurried kisses as he tried to force himself to leave her bed, wanting to protect her from discovery by the servants, yet unwilling to be separated from her.

  Good sense had prevailed. Giving her one last hard kiss full of passion and promise, he’d slipped from her bedroom and back down the hall to his. She’d floated all day, and then they’d shared a second glorious night.

  She’d returned to London walking on air. As each day had passed without Frederick, however, she’d dipped closer to earth. At first, she’d made excuses for him, thinking he might have been called away unexpectedly, but when no note, no explanation came, doubt began to seep in.

  She’d finally resorted to contacting him, fool that she was. She’d told herself she wasn’t pursuing him. She was simply worried he could be in danger. In her letter, she’d asked him if she should still expect him to escort her to the Koliada Ball at the Russian embassy.

  His answer had been brief. He wouldn’t attend.

  But then she’d seen him there.

  Even now, the memory both humiliated and infuriated her.

  She detested lies. Detested secrets. She was a fool to be involved with a spy— a man whose entire life was a lie. She’d convinced herself he’d treat her differently from the way he treated the rest of the world. That she’d be with him inside his cocoon of trust rather than outside it along with everyone else.

  She’d been woefully wrong.

  Somehow, Frederick Woolsy had made her forget her ideals. How would she defend against him if her own heart betrayed her?

  She needed to stand firm. He was the wrong man for her.

  Determined in her mind, if not in her heart, Josephine hurried up to her room to change from her riding costume and back into a dress as blue as a robin’s egg.

  She needed to take control of her life again and stop letting things happen to her. Carpe diem— seize the day.

  She refused to let her attraction to Frederick derail her and send her world crashing down. The wrong man was worse than no man at all.

  It was best not to dwell on her decision, but instead to move forward and let other aspects of her life fill the aching void. After John’s death, she’d learned the importance of staying active and maintaining her other interests.

  She pulled her lap desk from under her bed and placed it on a table while she settled onto the armchair near the fireplace. She draped a blanket over her lap. Domino approached Josephine’s feet, tucked away beneath the throw, and plopped down onto them as she began purring noisily and kneading the soft blanket.

  Josephine leaned over and scratched Domino’s head before returning to her task. She arranged the small desk on her lap, extracted the small pot of ink, a pen, and some writing paper from the small drawer it contained, and started composing a letter. It didn’t take long for her to pen her request to the curator of the museum.

  After all, being a countess had its perquisites. Even a widowed countess wielded considerable influence in the British Museum. Especially one who had donated generously over the past few years. Mr. Beasley wouldn’t be able to refuse her request to meet with him.

  Josephine tucked the letter into an envelope and then let out a heavy sigh as she stared down at it. This was, truly, a delaying tactic. She’d put off the task that had been looming over her head long enough. She sent for her housekeeper.

  Mrs. Drummer appeared in Josephine’s open doorway a short time later. “Good afternoon, Lady Harrington.”

  “Good afternoon. I’d like you to prepare the supplies for Mr. Woolsy’s poultice.”

  “I just finished gathering them together. Would you like me to deliver them to him?”

  Josephine shook her head. “I’ll take care of that. I plan to leave in ten minutes. Please arrange to have my carriage brought around.”

  “Of course,” she said. She gave a curtsy and hurried from the room.

  Josephine imagined being alone again with Frederick, and hesitated. Maybe she should bring Mrs. Drummer along. What if Frederick tried to pull her into his arms again? Could she resist him? Could truly break things off with him?

  She scowled at herself. She had to. And she didn’t need Mrs. Drummer for added courage. Of course, she could always hope Frederick’s brother Robert would be there to serve as a buffer.

  Filled with resolve, Josephine lifted her chin. Seeing Frederick would be a test of her conviction, but she could do this.

  She must do this.

  CHAPTER TEN

  By the time Frederick finally returned home two hours later, he was tired, he was frustrated, and his hands hurt like the blazes. But at least he knew he’d successfully distracted those men. They’d chased him all over the city.

  “Good afternoon, my lord,” Landon said as he took Frederick’s hat and coat.

  “Is Daniel here?”

  “No, sir. Lord Huntley returned over an hour ago and waited for a while, hoping to see you, but he had to leave for an appointment. He—”

  “Did he have any trouble?” Frederick peered into the drawing room. Had Josephine stopped by to deliver the poultice supplies while he’d been roaming around London? Had she left him another basket? He scanned the room. Nothing.

  A sharp pang of disappointment speared him.

  “No, sir.” Landon pressed his lips together and scowled. “But another—”

  “Send my valet to me.” Frederick knew he was treating Landon abominably, but he was in too vile a mood to behave any other way at the moment. Once he had the pain under control, he’d be able to manage being civil. “I need his assistance immediately.”

  Landon’s scowl deepened. “Very well, sir.”

  As Landon turned on his heel and stalked away, Frederick dropped onto the drawing room sofa. Herbert arrived moments later, carrying a small bundle.

  “Can you scrape together any remaining bits of that poultice you made earlier today?”

  Herbert nodded. “I don’t know how effective it will be, but there’s a small amount left.” He handed Frederick the bundle, which turned out to be filled with ice. The man was a certifiable genius. Frederick
cradled it in his hands and suppressed a moan of relief as the cold began to counteract the pain.

  A few moments later, Herbert hurried back into the room carrying a cloth-covered bowl. Landon appeared immediately behind him.

  “There’s a gentleman here to see you. Mr. Devin Montlake, a barrister.”

  Was it so late in the day already? The lawyer must have traveled from Maidenhead in record time. “Send him in. I’ve been expecting him.”

  After receiving the letter, Mr. Montlake must have taken the very next train leaving for London. With a heavy sigh, Frederick sank back into the cushions of the garnet-colored sofa. At least the ice dulled his pain. Now he could think a bit more clearly.

  Herbert sat next to him as he gently unwrapped the bandages from Frederick’s right hand. Then he passed Frederick a bowl of vinegar-tinged water.

  Frederick dipped his hand in a bowl and rinsed off the bits of smashed leaf. He lifted his dripping hand from the bowl and peered at his fingertips. How he’d managed not to break open any of those blisters was beyond him.

  Herbert handed him a towel, and he blotted his hand dry just as his guest entered the room.

  “Mr. Montlake. A pleasure to meet you. Please forgive me for not rising to greet you, but I suffered some burns the other night. My valet is helping me change the dressing. I wouldn’t subject you to this if not for the urgency of our situation. I appreciate your making the journey on short notice.”

  Mr. Montlake’s clear blue eyes pierced him with a gaze that seemed to take in every detail of his disheveled appearance. “Miss Winter sent for me. Is she here?”

  “She’ll be here shortly. She’s meeting with Lord Tidmore to make arrangements for him to preside over her case now that she’s acquired new evidence. Given the extreme urgency of the matter, I have every hope he’ll hear it immediately.”

  The barrister raised his eyebrows. “That’s excellent news. Her case troubles me more than any other I’ve dealt with.”

  “Have you known her long?” Frederick watched as Herbert gently applied the poultice to his burns. Although it didn’t cause his pain to diminish as much as a freshly made poultice would, the effect was immediate. He leaned back against the sofa cushions.