Sari Robins

by When Seducing a Spy

  “Don’t twist my words, Bills,” Heath warned, watching all the women but keeping his eyes on Tess.

  Tess lifted her chin. “Then why don’t you inform us of your opinion on the topic. I am dying to hear the pearls of wisdom that drip from your split, I mean silver, tongue.”

  “I believe…” Heath’s dark brown gaze flitted over to his friend, who was looking on innocently as if to say, You boiled the soup, now you swallow it scalding hot.

  Squaring his broad shoulders, Heath tilted his head. “All I said is that I am curious as to what you learn and how you wish to be enriched so I can better understand the female mind.”

  Mr. Smith slapped Heath’s back. “So that’s the story you’re sticking by, my friend?”

  Heath glared at Bills. “You’re the one who said that the ladies have nothing better to do than sit around talking about men.”

  Janelle huffed. “Of all the idiotic notions!”

  Ginny shook her head, indignant. “We have lots of things to talk about—”

  “That’s what I told him, I did!” Mr. Smith intoned, with a dog-eyed look. “But he would not listen. So we made a bet. If he was right I had to pay him one hundred pounds. If I was right, then he must give me one hundred and fifty.”

  “Why would you have to pay more?” Tess asked.

  Mr. Smith’s face was sheepish. “It’s the odds, Lady Golding. Odds favor he’s right.”

  Another jackass. Tess didn’t know the last time she’d been this angry, and about something so inconsequential. She didn’t care what Heath Bartlett thought of her! So why was she so furious? On behalf of her sex, she supposed.

  Tess looked to her comrades in arms. “Ladies, I believe that we have two new applicants to consider for the society.”

  “But they’re men!” Ginny shrieked.

  Tess raised a brow. “Nothing in our charter states explicitly that a man cannot join. I think that these two chaps need an opportunity for some enriching, don’t you agree?”

  Janelle’s greenish-blue eyes met Tess’s, and a sense of communion flashed between them. Janelle might be a bit harsh and somewhat of a shrew, but she was also quite sharp and a good ally to have. “I like how you think, my dear.”

  Turning to the men, Tess smiled. “But let’s make this really worthwhile. I propose a new wager.”

  Scratching his chin, Mr. Smith nodded. “I like this club already.”

  Shooting him a silencing glance, Heath crossed his arms and looked to Tess. “We’re listening.”

  “We will bet you two hundred pounds that you cannot make it through the application process to graduation day.”

  “Each?” Mr. Smith asked, his eyes twinkling, his pale cheeks flushed with excitement. “Are we in this as a team or do we stand alone?”

  “We’re in this together.” Heath slapped his friend’s back. “If he goes, I go. But how can we be certain that you will judge us fairly?”

  Tess smiled. “You’ll have to trust us. Those are my terms. Do you accept?”

  “I do.” Heath grinned.

  All eyes trained on Mr. Smith. He clapped his hands together. “Oh, I’m in. I wouldn’t miss this for the world! Hundreds of pounds on the line, and someone here is going to eat their words! I love it!”

  Tess smiled sweetly at Heath. “I do hope you like the taste of parchment, for you’ll be eating it before the month is out.”

  Heath’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t bet on it.”

  “I already did.”

  Chapter 7

  The next afternoon at the Society for the Enrichment and Learning of Females applicants’ meeting, Bills eyed the ladies assembled in the drawing room. He leaned forward and whispered to Heath, “You said Lady Golding was a dazzler; you didn’t mention that she’s sharp as a tack!”

  “Sharp-tongued, you mean.” Heath stared at Tess’s back, a decidedly flattering view of curves and slopes encased in robin’s-egg blue cotton, a lovely enhancement to her crystal blue eyes. Every time her gaze met his, he recognized the challenge within, and all he wanted to do was conquer her. He was unused to such primitive urges, but supposed that it was her defiance that drew his anger. Or could it be that she’d grown up to be a sophisticated siren who was too appealing for her own good?

  Could she truly have engineered George Belington’s financial downfall? Had they been intimate? Had she used her feminine wiles to convince him to part with much more than he ought? Images of the hoggish, hairy-nosed Belington with Tess made Heath’s stomach churn, and he couldn’t quite believe how far Tess could have fallen from grace.

  Belington had had to leave town on business, to save the last remnants of his fortune, his letter to Heath had said. But he’d left behind a duly authenticated affidavit setting forth the particulars of his allegations. That, along with a power of attorney granting his cousin, Lady Bright, full authority to act on his behest. And act she was, ordering Heath this way and that. Investigate the book business, she said. Look into her membership at the society, she demanded. Heath didn’t mind, though. It made Lady Bright beholden to him, a situation he welcomed, for he still needed her blessing for his marriage to her daughter.

  The first claim in the affidavit had been overly broad, asserting that Tess had taken undue advantage of him. This was no help at all, so Heath had focused on the next two claims. First, that she’d stolen jewelry allegedly worth hundreds of pounds, in particular a special collection in which each piece was designed to favor a bird with fine-colored gems. The next allegation was that Tess had pirated his entire library collection, allegedly worth thousands of pounds. Belington had thereafter stated that these thefts left him in dire straits.

  Heath couldn’t quite imagine how a landed gentleman could have his last bits tied up in jewelry and books. But it was not for him to judge. His role was to investigate a crime, then sniff out and bare the lavender-scented thief.

  Bare? Hastily Heath took a sip of tepid tea. He was going to have to be exceedingly careful where Tess was concerned; she was too pretty by half. He’d always had a weakness for redheads, ever since he was a lad. Crimson hair and milky white skin that looked smoother than cream had a way of making his body warm in decidedly uncomfortable ways when he was in public. It was one of the reasons he liked Penelope—she was the kind of woman whose influence would be very appropriately limited to the bedroom.

  Bills watched Tess with a decidedly assessing eye. “She’s not the typical well-bred lady, I’ll grant you that.”

  Heath straightened. “There was nothing wrong with her rearing. She was brought up in the manner befitting her station.” Heath had not liked her parents, but he respected the education they’d provided their children. Before the “incident,” his father had been in charge of the children’s instruction, and for all his faults, Heath’s father was a gifted tutor. If only he could respect the lines of propriety drawn for him.

  Bills sipped from the dainty teacup. “That’s not what I meant. It’s simply that she’s not particularly transparent. She’s not as easy to read as the typical English lady. She doesn’t flutter or flirt.”

  “Nay, not Tess.” But she had that mutinous streak that was far more beguiling. When had that happened? As a child she’d avoided confrontation at every cost, easily granting whatever anyone else wanted. Tess had been one of most biddable people he’d ever known.

  “Nor does she have a withering tongue or use all of those wonderful double entendres. She’s one to hold her cards close to her chest. Lovely chest that it is.”

  Scowling, Heath straightened.

  “Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed,” Bills charged. “You can’t seem to pull your eyes from her figure.”

  As he leaned back, Heath’s gaze happily settled on Tess once more. “I’m investigating her, I need to watch her.” Lush curves, milky white skin, and all. She moved as if unaware that she was so enthralling, but he knew that any woman that alluring had to be well practiced in the art of seduction.

  “So was she alwa
ys so sphinxlike?”

  “No.” Heath shifted, recalling a time when he could read every emotion on Tess’s face. Aside from her expressive mouth, her blue eyes had dipped when she was sad and crinkled at the corners when she was pleased. Often, even without the benefit of seeing her, he could tell by her footsteps if she was happy or upset about something. As a child she’d tended to skip when she was joyful. He could hardly imagine that girl had grown up to be the inscrutable woman standing across the room from him today.

  Her pretty face was closed, unreadable, her blue eyes hooded from view. Even her body gave little hint as to what she was thinking. She was poised, but other than that she was no open book for anyone’s perusal. But oh how he would love to peel open those pages…

  For the investigation, of course.

  “You didn’t really speak of your history overmuch.”

  Tearing his gaze from Tess’s lush rear, Heath coughed into his fist to clear his suddenly dry throat. “I hardly recognize the girl I knew.” Anxious to shift the topic, he nodded to the newest entrants to the room. “Who are those two?”

  “A countess and a friend. That’s all I know. Lucy told me that they are making application for membership, too. No doubt that’s the countess on the left.”

  “No doubt.”

  Not only were her silken skirts, heavy diamond necklace and earrings indication, but the lady’s bony shoulders were squared back and her hawkish nose lifted high with a decidedly authoritative air. She stood a full head shorter than the storklike Lady Blankett, yet seemed taller for some reason. Her dark curly hair piled atop her head like a beehive might have added to the effect, in great contrast to Lady Blankett’s tight graying blond chignon.

  Heath blinked, as realization dawned. “Lucy? You mean Mrs. Thomas? You’re on a first-name basis?”

  “We need to keep an eye on that one,” Bills commented, his eyes fixed on the brown-haired young lady dressed in black bombazine. In addition to the costume, there was an aged sadness in her doe-like eyes that let everyone know that she was in mourning.

  “The widow? The one who doesn’t speak?”

  Smiling, Bills nodded. “Oh, she gets her message across when she wishes to.”

  “I can’t believe you’re taken with a woman who’s still grieving for another man.”

  “I’m not taken,” Bills huffed. “More like curious. Why would a woman suddenly lose the ability to speak? It’s unnatural; women live to hear their own lofty opinions.”

  “You mean she wasn’t born mute?”

  “It happened when her husband was ill. When he lost his capacity to speak, so did she. Very odd.”

  “What’s odd is that you know so much about her when we’ve been here less than an hour.”

  “While Lady Blankett was interrogating you, I had a lovely chat with Ginny. What a dear.”

  Heath blinked, amazed by his friend’s natural charm. “Ginny?”

  “Lady Genevieve.”

  “Are you on a first-name basis with everyone in the society?”

  “Not with your Tess. She’s kept away from us, ostensibly to visit with some of the other applicants, the countess and some others. Or hadn’t you noticed her absence?”

  Of course, he’d noticed. Heath seemed aware of Tess at a very elemental level. He knew where she stood, when she drank, when she was present, and he felt, more than saw, when she departed. It must be having her under investigation that caused such sensitivity to her actions. For there was no other good reason to be so concerned with a woman he hardly knew, and he was the last man on earth to succumb to her feminine wiles.

  As Lady Blankett murmured in the countess’s ear, the lady’s brown gaze flitted over to him and Bills with interest. The woman next to the countess, a stout lady with mousy brown hair and a round, jolly-looking face, turned to them, making no secret of her examination. The lady murmured something to Lady Blankett, then Tess entered the conversation and a heated exchange ensued.

  “What do you think they’re talking about?” Heath wondered aloud.

  “My guess is that they’re trying to decide how to include us in the normal course of things while ensuring that we feel excluded.”

  “They don’t have to work very hard at making us feel out of place,” Heath murmured, sipping from the delicate teacup. “Between the paper-thin china and dainty furnishings, I feel like I’m walking on eggshells for fear of inadvertently crushing something.”

  “We may be bulls in a china shop, but as I said, we’re the only bulls in the running. Not a bad way of things.” Straightening, Bills smiled as Tess, Lady Blankett, the countess, and the stout lady approached. The widowed Lucy moved over to a group of young ladies by the window and motioned for them to join her at the secretary.

  By the lines creasing around her blue-green eyes, Heath supposed that Lady Blankett had to be about fifty years of age. She motioned to the new duo. “Mr. Smith, Mr. Bartlett, may I present Countess di Notari and Miss Gammon.”

  The men bowed and expressed the appropriate responses of honor and privilege.

  Surprisingly Tess hung back, not saying a word. Yet her crystal blue gaze was watchful.

  “Like you, I, too, wish to join the society.” The countess’s musical voice betrayed her Italian origins. “Yet I am inordinately qualified. And you”—her smile was thin.—“are not.”

  “I don’t see the trouble of it.” Miss Gammon waved a chubby hand. There was warmth in her blue gaze, and her lips seemed to hover on the brink of a smile. From her accent and manner, it was clear she was English. “The more the merrier, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Thank you, Miss Gammon,” Heath intoned, liking the amiable lady.

  Lady Blankett explained, “Countess di Notari made her application a few weeks ago, while Miss Gammon is new to us today.”

  The countess sniffed. “Miss Gammon is my new companion. I wish for her to be a member of the society as well.”

  “The more the merrier as far as I’m concerned,” Bills mimicked with a smile.

  Miss Gammon nodded. “Male or female. Why should the society exclude anyone based upon unreasonable grounds? Isn’t that a founding principle of the place? These men could hardly help the sex to which they were born.”

  “And who wouldn’t wish to be the fairer and sweeter.” Tess raised a brow; her eyes fixed on Heath were filled with that irresistible challenge.

  Heath smiled, ready to give it right back to her. “You’re about as sweet as sour lemon drops.”

  Shaking her head, Tess set a hand to her shapely hip. “You really know how to charm the chairwoman of the membership committee.”

  He stepped forward. “I’d sooner charm the scales off a dragon.”

  Beaming falsely, she moved closer, and he got a whiff of lavender bouquet. “Are you sure you don’t wish to give me my two hundred pounds right now and save us some wasted time?”

  He beamed just as falsely back. “And miss your jovial company? Never.”

  Tess sighed deeply as if greatly put out, her lush breasts rising and falling. Heath’s gaze strayed to those milky white mounds, and he had to wonder what it would be like to see more than just the hint of her wiles that her gown permitted. He imagined that her nipples were peach-colored to match her lips, and that the lush flesh of her breasts would mold perfectly into his hands.

  “Very well, then. I suppose we must allow you to complete the process.” Tess turned to Lady Blankett. “Janelle, if you would?”

  Heath blinked, brought back to the conversation by Tess’s self-satisfied tone. He coughed into his hand, forcibly leashing his wayward thoughts.

  Lady Blankett nodded, a mischievous gleam in her catlike eyes. “It would be my pleasure.”

  Heath exchanged a glance with Bills, who was quick to inquire, “And what is it that would be your pleasure, Lady Blankett?”

  “I’m going to show you firsthand the reform program the society manages.” The matron beamed proudly. “Marks-Cross Street Prison.”


  Heath glared at Tess, knowing that she was behind this little stunt. “You’re sending us to prison?” He would do what he needed to, but couldn’t help but needle Tess. To not do so would be as unnatural as not petting a cute pup when it jumped at your leg.

  Tess smiled. “Don’t worry, it’s only for the afternoon…this time.”

  “Criminal defense is not my specialty.” Bills clasped his hands over his protruding belly. “And my friend Heath here cannot defend anyone as he is an adviser only to the Crown.”

  “This is not in your capacities as members of the bar, but as potential members of the Society for the Enrichment and Learning of”—Tess’s smile broadened.—“Females. And given that this is a prison for females, and where we perform some of our good works, acquainting yourselves with it is an important component of the application process.”

  Though he knew he was going, Heath had to ask, “What, pray tell, could we possibly hope to accomplish visiting Marks-Cross Street Prison?”

  Lady Blankett adjusted the lacy shawl on her shoulders. “You will witness firsthand how we select the women who truly wish to improve their lot, and then we will watch my maid Margo teach some of the women how to darn clothing. This shawl was knitted by one of our reformed women, a Mrs. Kent whose husband had gambled the family into debt and then quite considerately up and died. Now she makes garments for the extraordinary modiste Madame Clavelle.”

  Heath’s eyes narrowed, fixing on Tess. “And where will you be while we’re getting educated?”

  “I am taking Countess di Notari and Miss Gammon to my home where they can meet some of the women who have successfully completed the program and reentered society as productive workers.”

  “That sounds very interesting.” Heath scratched his chin, curious about where Tess lived. Was her bedchamber painted crimson, her bedcovering scarlet and designed to entice? “We would–—”