Sari Robins

by When Seducing a Spy

  Heath’s eyes narrowed. “Why else are you suggesting this? You have another reason, I can tell.”

  Bills stared over at the bar a long moment. “You’re quite right. I confess that I think this will be a first-rate path to you understanding the terrible mistake you’re making.”

  “You have that dim a view of women?”

  “And of the nuptial yoke. There’s a reason they call it wedlock, getting leg-shackled, the parson’s mousetrap–—”

  “Enough, I grasp your point.” Scratching his chin, Heath considered the scheme and all its ramifications. “You really want me to do this?”

  “Actually, yes. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity on so many different levels. Hell, if nothing else, it’ll be a blazing good time.”

  “I’ll consider it, but I’ll need your help.”

  Bills smiled, obviously delighted to have won. “Anything whatsoever for you.”

  “Anything?”

  “Unconditionally, my friend,” Bills replied, obviously well pleased with himself.

  “Then you must do it with me.”

  Bills straightened. “But–—”

  “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” Heath mimicked Bills’s own words. “A blazing good time. If it’s good enough for the goose…”

  “Then it’s good enough for the gander. All right, my friend, I’ll join you. But let’s make this really interesting.” Bills raised his glass. “A wager. That I change your mind about marriage.”

  Heath raised his glass. “I accept. And bet you that I change yours about women.”

  They clanked glasses. “May the best man win.” Smiling, they drank.

  “We’ll have two more, Joe!” Bills called to the barman. “And keep them coming! My friend and I are about to get foxed, and then we’re going into the henhouse to pluck some hens!”

  Chapter 6

  Tess climbed the stairs leading to the red-painted door marked 183A, the entrance to the Society for the Enrichment and Learning of Females. She felt drained by her meeting with Reynolds. She hated how he belittled her efforts regarding Countess di Notari, acting as if she’d been lax in her duties.

  Granted, she hadn’t learned much, except for the fact that the countess had taken up residence at 45 Linden Square and that she was sleeping with Lord Barclay, but it had been only a few days since she’d begun the investigation.

  First Tess had had to convince Edwina, the president of the society, that she was the best choice as the new membership chairwoman. Janelle Blankett had put up a mighty fuss, and after much negotiating, Tess secured the role of chairwoman with Janelle as her vice-chair.

  Tess was not so pleased to be working with Janelle. The lady had a scalding tongue and often had no sense of diplomacy. Tess found her to be a bitter woman, something she attributed to the facts that Lord Blankett was an oft-absent husband who was obsessed with horses and that Janelle’s son was a well-known drinker and gambler, a disastrous combination in anyone, but especially in one’s child. Poor Janelle, and anyone who had to spend an inordinate amount of time with her.

  But Tess would make do, as she always did. To her anything could be dealt with as long as she was a player and not a passive observer as she’d once been. Growing up, she’d been overshadowed by her sisters, bullied by her brother, and often ignored by her parents. She hadn’t really minded being on the outskirts of it all since her house was so full of noise and color.

  Then Quentin had stepped into her life, waking passions she’d never known existed. For all his faults, he’d been entertaining and funny. Living with him had been a whirlwind of pleasure. But looking back, it was still all about what Quentin had liked and the amusements he’d preferred. Between the sheets he’d taken his pleasure and had assumed that she’d enjoyed it.

  Their activities about town mirrored the bedroom; he took his enjoyment as he pleased and assumed that she’d get hers in the meantime. She may have liked opera, but he preferred plays, so they went to plays. She may have loved art, but he had no taste for it, so they never once visited a gallery or museum. She loved nothing more than to snuggle before a warm fire, go to bed, and rise early in the morning ready to enjoy the day. He preferred late nights out and long days slept in. So Tess struggled to keep up, often still rising early and feeling like the dead.

  Then after Berber’s death, Tess’s desperation to please had become almost like a sickness. She’d ached for her husband’s grief, and felt stunned when the blame for the terrible accident was laid at her feet. So she’d toiled to show Quentin, and the world, that she was a good wife, a good friend, and would never harm anyone she cared about.

  All that changed the night Quentin had confessed to her that he’d gambled away their future. He’d explained, without a shadow of remorse, how he’d emptied their bank accounts, pawned her jewels, and placed liens on their properties. He’d blamed it on a run of bad luck, the rules of the gaming hells, the poor sod who’d played next to him. He’d had a share of blame for everyone. Except for himself.

  He’d pecked her on the cheek and left her then, off to “win back” their money. He’d only told her so he could pawn her wedding band, which, in her shocked stupor, she’d blindly handed him.

  The taking of her ring and Quentin’s betrayal together broke almost every last desire in her to please.

  Quentin’s treachery had happened over the course of months, but when the reality of it sank in, it was like a scythe slicing through the thin fabric of their marriage, leaving it in tatters.

  After that, Tess’s only focus had been on how to restore some semblance of a future to their lives. She’d begun making lists, placing the household on a budget, and had even gone so far as to talk to Quentin’s parents about his obsession with gambling. Oh, what a terrible encounter that had been! Tess shuddered simply recalling the ugly accusations and the rampant denial. Quentin was perfect, anything amiss was her fault entirely. She’d learned later that his gambling had been a problem for years, which was why he’d needed a well-heeled bride.

  Exactly ten long, fearful, acrimonious, tear-filled days after his world-altering confession, Quentin was caught cheating at cards and issued that stupid challenge. He was dead by the next dawn. Tess’s world had fallen apart around her as the reality of Quentin’s death, the debts, the loss of her home, and the magnitude of the scandal sank in.

  Then her father had given her the unjust choice—marry her cousin or go without. Quentin had been barely two months’ cold. Her father had wanted to save face and show the world his family’s disdain for the lying cheat. Tess marrying so quickly after his death would do that quite admirably.

  Tess clearly recalled that moment standing before her father’s great black desk, as he’d puffed on his cigar and shuffled his papers, not once meeting her eyes. He’d considered the matter decided, and he was only pretending that she had any option. Tess’s brother had stood by the window staring out at the garden, his back to her as if unwilling to witness the distasteful exchange.

  Standing there, she’d blamed herself for allowing them to think that she was so malleable. She’d been like a seashell swept up in the current, crashing against the rocks, again and again. All her life things had happened to her, and in that moment she swore she wouldn’t be that passive child ever again.

  Then she’d given them her answer.

  Her father’s shuffling had stopped, her brother had turned, and in that reaction Tess had tasted the exhilarating power of making a choice…and suffering its consequences.

  For all the grief she’d experienced, the yelling, the ultimatums, the barred doors, the creditors, when she looked back on that dark time, she appreciated that it was the severity of her situation that gave her rebirth. And she was thankful for it.

  “Good day, Lady Golding.” A grim-faced butler dressed in a purple uniform with marigold lapels had opened the door.

  Tess blinked, brought back from the past. “Ah, thank you. Good day to you, too, Deering.”

&nbs
p; As she stepped inside the vestibule, she noted that the adjacent door leading to Edwina’s house was closed, a situation that was happening more frequently now that Edwina was pregnant with her first child. Dr. Winner had prescribed limited activity for Edwina, forcing her to lessen her involvement in the society. She had tried to resign her post as president, but no one would have it, and Tess was glad. She liked the ebony-haired, dark-eyed lady; she was smart, and driven to do good works. There was no way on earth that she was involved in anything nefarious, and Tess was going to see that fact proven without doubt.

  Tess had a new perspective on her covert activities at the society; like a surgeon with a scalpel, she would carve out the countess and ensure that no shadow of blame besmirched the society or its members. In addition to protecting king and country, this was her newest goal.

  Tess handed her gloves to the butler and allowed him to remove her cloak.

  “They’re waiting for you in the library, ma’am.”

  Waiting for me? “Who?”

  “Lady Blankett and the two gentlemen.”

  Tess raised a brow, wondering what was up, but the butler had already begun walking away and Tess was not one to chase servants; it brought too much attention to the inquiry.

  Smoothing the line of her navy wool dress, Tess adjusted her floppy bonnet and headed up the stairs.

  The door was open as she approached, and Tess allowed her steps to slow so she could overhear the goings-on inside the library.

  “This is most extraordinary! Most extraordinary!” Janelle sounded vexed.

  “We can say no, can’t we?” It was Ginny’s sweet voice. Lady Genevieve Ensley, known to her friends as Ginny, was a rosy-cheeked, gray-haired matron, a founding member of the society, and Janelle’s dearest friend. “It’s not taken up in our charter—”

  “And why would it be?” Janelle cried. “It’s positively ludicrous! Ginny, will you please read Lucy’s note, I am too upset to read it myself.”

  Mrs. Lucy Thomas must have written a communication. The dark-haired, doe-eyed beauty had lost her husband to a terrible wasting disease, and when her dying husband had lost his ability to speak, inexplicably, so had she. Despite being mute, she was a very active member of the society, and was on the membership committee with Tess and Janelle. Tess liked her, even though she could be a bit shallow. She would write little notes that bore no import, like one yesterday asking if Tess admired her new gloves.

  Ginny read, “It says, ‘They’re playing us for fools.’”

  Intrigued, Tess squared her shoulders and feigned nonchalance as she crossed the threshold. Two gentlemen sat on the couch facing the ladies standing before the hearth; one had blond, slicked-back hair, the other was dark-haired and square-shouldered.

  Even with the dark one’s coat designed to enhance, she could tell that those muscular shoulders were not made of cloth padding. The man’s body was strapping indeed, but what was most remarkable was that Tess was taking notice of such masculine attributes, and twice in a handful of days.

  Tess caught Janelle’s eye, and the storklike matron cried, “Oh, thank the heavens you are here! Lady Golding is the chair of the committee, and she will decide what to do with you.”

  Tess hid her smile. After weeks of fighting for authority, Janelle was suddenly very quick to abdicate it.

  The men stood and turned.

  Tess’s heart lurched. “What the devil are you doing here?”

  Heath had the audacity to smile and bow. “So good to see you, too, Tess.” His chocolate brown superfine coat matched his dark eyes and blended with his long hair held back with a leather tie. He wore a white linen shirt with a high, pointed collar that almost met his thin, dark whiskers, and although he was clean shaven, she could almost see the shadow of dark striving to grow through.

  Her traitorous cheeks suddenly burned and her insides warmed, probably because she was so infuriated to see him again. That was the only thing that could explain the stirring he inspired deep inside her.

  Tess lowered her eyes, only to notice that Heath’s bulging thighs made his caramel-colored breeches as if like they were layered on, like sugar on flan. Tess swallowed, as her mouth was suddenly bone-dry, and she forced her gaze from those curving muscles down to his black Hessians. Heath’s boots were so shiny as to have been polished by a valet, a valet for heaven’s sake! Who would have thought that the rambunctious son of a tutor would turn into such a gentleman dandy?

  Befuddled by his presence and his unsettling effect on her, Tess turned to the stranger. “Who are you?”

  The companion’s pale gray eyes widened, but then he smiled, bowing. “Mr. William Lawson Smith, at your service.”

  The fair-skinned, blond gentleman was about a hand’s width shorter than Heath, but Heath had always been tall, a full head and shoulders above Tess. Mr. Smith wore a royal blue coat, double-breasted, just like Heath’s, but whereas Heath was the epitome of lean, broad musculature, his companion had a bit of a pot belly, as evidenced by the colorfully striped waistcoat jutting out.

  “You know this man?” Janelle barked, motioning to Heath.

  Tess frowned, having trouble tearing her eyes from Heath’s broad shoulders. “I can claim a slight acquaintance.”

  Heath flinched, raising his hand to his heart. “Slight? You wound me, madame. We’ve known each other for over fifteen years.”

  Looking away, Tess folded her hands together before her. “But not recently and not well.”

  “You’re cross with me, and I don’t blame you after our last meeting. I shouldn’t have called you what I did.”

  “What did he call you?” Janelle asked, a speculative gleam in her eye as her gaze flitted from Heath to Tess and back again, as if she were watching a tennis match.

  Tess looked away, uncomfortable explaining the source of her anger, especially since it seemed so volatile where Heath was concerned.

  “I referred to her by her married name,” Heath supplied, stepping forward. “After we’d agreed as children always to be friends, never to be so formal as to not call each other by our Christian names.”

  “That was a long time ago,” Tess bit out.

  “Did you forget?”

  Tess wished she could lie about it and pretend it didn’t matter, but he’d broken the promise first and she wanted him to know it. “No.”

  “Then I am sorry and it will not happen again.”

  Her gaze met his. Something familiar and yet wholly foreign glistened in those chocolaty brown eyes, as if he was the lad he’d been, yet now there was heat and invitation and hidden mystery…Her heart began to pound and her belly fluttered. Her cheeks warmed and she licked her lips, ripping her gaze from his. “What…what are you doing here?”

  Moving around the sofa, Mr. Smith grasped her hand.

  Tess started, assaulted by the surprising but gentle touch and by the scent of Eau de Cologne.

  Mr. Smith scratched his chin. “I understand that you are in the rare book trade, Lady Golding. As a lover of fine books, I have an extensive collection that I would like to expand. Is there the possibility that we might discuss the matter?”

  Heath’s face darkened. “Bills…”

  Mr. Smith smiled at her, amusement gleaming in his pale gray eyes as he spoke to his friend over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Lady Golding is far too smart to fall for a slick-tongued lout like me.” Raising her hand to his lips, Mr. Smith murmured, “Unless, of course, I can convince her to become my mistress…”

  Ginny gasped, her blue eyes shocked.

  Heath took a menacing step forward.

  “…of membership, that is,” Mr. Smith continued. There was deviltry in his voice and gaze. “Wouldn’t that be fun, Lady Golding? Having me and Bartlett at your beck and call day and night. Testing us, challenging us, evaluating our mettle?”

  Despite herself, Tess was amused. There was something oddly charming about this pudgy man. Even though Mr. Smith’s cambric shirt was full of frills and lace and his
cravat wound so tightly on his neck one wondered that he could breathe, there was something devilishly droll about him.

  “What are you talking about, Mr. Smith?”

  “We wish to apply for membership to your society,” he cooed, his breath warming her hand.

  “To what end?”

  He shrugged a shoulder. “Call it a challenge.”

  Heath stepped between them, breaking Mr. Smith’s grasp. “Enough, Bills. I think this was a mistake.”

  “Of that there’s little doubt.” Tess crossed her arms and stepped away from the earthy scent Heath emanated. It was far preferable to the cloying colognes most gentlemen wore, but it was disconcerting just the same. She didn’t want to catch Heath’s scent, any more than she wanted to spend another moment in his presence. He was like glaring sunlight in her eyes the dawn after a night of revelry, and she just wanted to lower her lids and have him be gone. Again, she wondered at that searing gaze when their eyes first met, but she was better off not knowing. Better off staying away from Heath, and keeping her past locked away.

  Janelle tilted her head. “I’m curious as to why the two of you would even consider making application to a society for females.”

  Mr. Smith’s smile was apologetic. “It was a bet, actually. Heath here was bemoaning the rhetoric of independent ladies these days. He believes that women live to serve men. That this whole notion of ‘self-reliance’ is merely a cry for attention.”

  Tess felt her eyes widen and her ire rise up like a goddess incensed. The jackass! “Oh he does, does he?”

  Heath raised a hand as if in surrender. “That’s not what I said–—”

  Mr. Smith interrupted, “He was also of the opinion that, as inferior beings, females cannot hold a solid thought in their heads. As such, he posed the question, what could women possibly have to learn, or better yet, how could they possibly be enriched?”

  Crossing her arms, Lucy stepped beside Tess, with Janelle and Ginny following close at her heels, her limp barely slowing her down. All four women lined up, facing the men.