Laughter bubbled to his throat and slipped out. The sound drew the eye of several people nearby, including his mother. Freddie didn’t appear to notice. Her smile widened, and his chest warmed. He no longer cared whether someone noticed their conversation.
“Do you doubt me?” she asked, her voice low and teasing.
“I think you are a master at scheming. You taught her everything you know.”
She worried her lower lip between her teeth. The dimple her teeth made in the plump flesh drove him mad. He would give anything to be able to lean over at that moment and taste her lips.
“Not everything,” she whispered, her voice so low it barely carried to his ears.
He smiled. “Good. We’ll need all your expertise if we’re to emerge victorious.”
Her eyes glinted as she met his gaze. “I don’t care to lose, if you recall?”
She had forfeited during their battledore match in the end, if only to escape his company. Today, she didn’t seem as adamant to part from him as before. Could his design to woo her be working?
For some reason, the thought left his chest flat. After he convinced her to give up her alliance with Harker, then what? He couldn’t marry her. Their keeping company was for show, nothing more.
He swallowed, trying not to think of it. He had become a spy to make a difference. That didn’t change because of one alluring woman. Even one who underestimated her charm.
He offered the slip of paper to his mother as she passed. She continued around the circle until she returned to her place, a bundle of folded pages in her hands. She sat and chose one to begin reading out.
The following half hour was filled with laughter over bizarre gifts, ludicrous declarations, and unlikely pairings. The duke was featured in more than one tale; Tristan’s name emerged twice, from Lucy and Miss Charlotte, he was willing to bet. He had put his sister into one tale, as had several others, likely gentlemen. Miss Charlotte was even mentioned once or twice, but not her sister. Freddie didn’t seem to mind.
He pressed his lips together, pretending to hold back a laugh when he covered another emotion instead. How could they overlook her?
His mother’s voice penetrated the warm haze of anger as she read the last line from the sheet in her hand. “…and the consequence was that he fell under her spell!”
The group laughed, but Tristan’s chest tightened. Had he written that? He needed to pay more attention when he committed words to the page. Or else, his head was still muddled from the drink he’d nurtured last night after Freddie had fled.
That sheet marked the last to read aloud and the circle of guests disbanded to seek other amusements. Footmen filed into the room to collect the chairs and return the furniture to its natural order. Tristan stood and offered Freddie his hand. She slid her delicate palm into his and he helped her to her feet.
“Are you ready?” Tristan murmured as he guided Freddie’s hand onto his sleeve. His sister and hers had risen and made their way to him with impish looks on their faces.
Freddie cast him a sly sidelong glance. “Let’s make them regret this mad plot of theirs.”
He couldn’t help but match her smile.
In a deft movement, he drew Freddie to the left, hiding them both behind a cluster of gentlemen. He tapped the nearest one on the shoulder. Freddie’s hand slipped from his arm as she rounded to the fellow’s other side.
The man who turned to him, a weak-chinned young man with a broad nose and beady eyes, looked suspicious as Tristan smiled. He slung his arm over Digby’s shoulders, pulling him close.
“I think my sister’s been eyeing you.”
Digby perked up immediately. “She has? Are—are you certain?” He spoke rapidly, stumbling over his words with mixed excitement and disbelief.
Tristan infused his stance with confidence. Digby often joined in the late-night card games at the gaming hells. He was the easiest to read, a bit frightened of the women who joined the table, and he always treated them with respect. A harmless sort of fellow to throw in his sister’s path.
“Didn’t you notice, man? She kept casting glances your way during the game.”
“She…she did? I thought she looked at you.”
Tristan rolled his eyes. “I’m her brother. Why on Earth would she care to look at me when there are other gentlemen present?”
At this, Digby straightened. He fiddled with his cravat. “Do you think I should t-talk to her?”
“Absolutely. If you have honorable intentions, it’s best to capitalize on her interest now before someone else catches her eye.”
“Oh. Oh, of course.” Digby held up his hands. “My intentions are pure, I assure you. I would never disrespect her, not your sister.”
Tristan frowned at the odd way he emphasized the relation. He decided not to examine the slip of the tone too closely. Digby often had an odd manner of speaking. Slapping the man on the back, Tristan said, “Then I wish you luck.”
When he stepped back, Digby took off like a racehorse.
Tristan bit back a grin. He turned his attentions to how Freddie was doing with her mark. She smiled up at a tall man, batting her eyelashes.
The urge to smile evaporated. Something disapproving and primal took hold of him. He clenched his fists, battling it down.
Freddie didn’t seem to notice his unease. She tapped the man on the arm, a light brush of her fingertips. “Why, Lord Harington, my sister adores horses! She can’t hear enough of them.”
The man had a long face, rather reminiscent of a horse himself. His eyes brightened and he turned, craning his neck to see above the crowd.
“Have you been introduced?” Freddie asked, her voice light and encouraging.
Like a punch to the gut, Tristan realized that this was likely the way she would behave as a mother. Bright, gentle, encouraging. Everything a son or daughter could ask for.
Tristan shoved the thought away. He’d never thought much about children, and he didn’t care to start now. No one cared whether he sired an heir and a spare.
Lord Harington nodded, but the movement was hesitant. “I have, while she was in the company of Lady Lucy.”
“Well, it appears as though Lucy is otherwise engaged. This might be your chance to engage my sister in conversation.”
“Yes.” He straightened his cuffs and threw back his shoulders. “Good day, Miss Vale.” He didn’t look at her as he prepared to stride away.
A slim smile stretched her lips. “Good luck, my lord.”
The moment Freddie stepped away from the other members of the group, Tristan installed himself at her side. She didn’t look triumphant. In fact, if anything, she looked worried.
“What ails you?” he asked, his voice a whisper.
When she turned her head, her mouth skimmed so close to his chin that she nearly brushed his skin. He pulled away marginally.
She raised her gaze to his. In the strong light of the sitting room, her eyes glowed like embers. “I feel bad for lying to him.”
Tristan raised an eyebrow. “You wanted him to engage her in conversation, did you not?”
“Yes, but I gave him the wrong impression. What if they might have made a good match, had I not given him to believe that she was horse-mad?”
She looked so genuinely distraught over the idea that he nearly pulled her into his embrace to offer comfort. He fisted his hands at his sides instead.
Before they’d launched this plan of revenge, he hadn’t considered that she might be interested in matchmaking. Tristan didn’t tend to think of such things. But, then, he wasn’t a woman.
“If you hadn’t told him such a thing, he would never have sought out her company. Any match that comes to fruit between them will be because of you.”
“I suppose so…” She still sounded concerned.
If Freddie considered marriage for her sister, did she also seek a match for herself? It was a maddening question, and one he didn’t care to dwell on for long. Whatever her intentions for marriage, she’d
clearly set them aside during the interim of this house party.
She had, after all, set herself squarely in his path. As his enemy.
He tried for a charming smile. He practiced it often enough in the gaming hells and other suspect locations in London. But, in this case, he felt as though Freddie could see through the pretense.
Impossible. No one sees you. Not even when he was in plain sight, drawing attention to himself. Other people only saw Morgan’s younger brother and temporary heir.
Freddie let out a yelp as she suddenly pitched forward. Tristan caught her, his arms wrapping around her as her soft body pressed against his. The feel of her was like a conflagration. He battled his reaction as he set her on her feet and took a healthy step back. What had prompted that?
With a pugnacious glare, Freddie turned. Several feet behind her stood Lucy, wearing a smug smile. She must have shaken Digby off her tail. She cocked one brow in challenge.
Tristan exchanged a glance with Freddie. Her gaze simmered with mischievous intent. He grinned. “Are you ready to go to war?”
She matched his smile. “Let’s do this.”
The afternoon’s battle wore thin quickly. Lucy, realizing what Tristan and Freddie were about, soon sought to thwart his efforts by being inseparable from Miss Charlotte. He and Freddie had to concoct elaborate schemes to convince young men to approach the formidable young women in pairs. Lucy must have gotten to Mother as well, for the indoor games took a decidedly romantic bent. How else would he have pulled the word ‘kiss’ from the hat during Pantomime? Through every game, he was paired with Freddie, which would have been more pleasurable if not for the knowing stares of his sister and his mother.
Even the respite of the dinner table was thwarted by his mother announcing that the family would mingle with the guests tonight. Somehow, Tristan found himself seated beside Freddie. Not that she wasn’t an adequate dinner partner—they kept up a lively conversation, mostly about their sisters—but he was starting to feel the stares of the others in his family.
Particularly Morgan. Even though Tristan tried to reassure his brother with a look that he knew what he was doing, Morgan looked disapproving. That, if nothing else, made Tristan determined to continue. For the remainder of dinner, he applied himself to making Freddie smile and laugh. Each one was a reward in itself.
As the gentlemen and ladies rose to depart the room and go their separate ways, Tristan laced his fingers through Freddie’s and tugged her toward the door. She stumbled, but soon caught her balance and the delicate pink skirt of her evening dress. This dress, like her walking dress, had a lower cut neckline than most of her other dresses. A pearl necklace drew attention to her creamy skin.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“We’ve been under their scrutiny all day. Don’t you want a moment away from your sister to breathe?”
Hesitation crossed her face and burdened her footsteps.
His hand slipped on hers. He hadn’t worn gloves this evening, hoping to better feel the heat of her skin. She wore gloves, dainty little things that felt like sliding into a cool pond on a hot summer’s day. Her hand tightened on his, keeping him from moving away.
Was his plan successful? Had he seduced her onto his side? The only way to be sure would be to take her back to his room.
No. He couldn’t do that. She was an innocent. He’d done many things he’d later regretted in the name of spying, but he’d never defiled a virgin. As much as Freddie tempted him, his conscience wouldn’t let him start now. There were other ways to test whether or not she had fallen for his charm.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Unless you’d rather subject yourself to Lucy and your sister.”
She made a face. “You have a point.”
Triumph surged through him, at least until he glanced past her and spotted his sister bounding toward them. From her determined expression, she fully intended to take him to task—or worse. Adjusting his grip on Freddie’s hand, he intercepted the path of Mr. Catterson.
“Catt!” Tristan greeted him with a grin.
The young man narrowed his eyes as he peeked past Tristan toward Freddie.
“Just the man I was talking about earlier with Lucy.”
If anything, that made him even more suspicious. His eyebrows, so pale they were difficult to discern in the light cast by the chandelier, knit together.
“You and Lucy were talking about me.”
“Yes, and Rocky, too. In fact, Lucy was telling me how much she admires Rocky.”
Catt’s expression darkened. “Indeed?”
Tristan pretended not to notice the change in his demeanor. “Oh, yes. She told me how Rocky is able to cultivate so much more with so little to work with, unlike you and Gideon.”
The young man scowled. His reddish-blond hair flopped into his eyes as he twisted to scan the throng. “She’d best not be repeating that to anyone else.” Darkly, he stormed off toward Lucy.
Tristan bit his tongue to hide a laugh. He towed Freddie through the door and into the cooler corridor. The servants had set out candles during dinner and the corridor twinkled as if imbued with starlight.
“Who is Rocky?” she asked.
“Our gardener,” he said over his shoulder. “She and Catt are always arguing about botany.”
The glance over his shoulder was just enough to espy the glimmer of a smile chasing across her lips. “You employ a female gardener?”
“We do. She’s the best. Perhaps even better than Gideon—but don’t tell him I said that.”
The low tinkle of her laughter swirled around him. A happy, innocent sound. “I wouldn’t dare.”
Something dark and mischievous lit her voice. He didn’t dwell on it, but quickly guided her down another corridor. “With Catt and Gideon occupied, the orangery should be free.” Within moments, they stepped through the door leading to the wide corridor. The sun hid below the horizon, casting a purple-orange glow along the horizon line, with the deeper canopy of stars opening overhead. The corridor was unlit, though a light from the orangery drew him onward.
The moment he opened the door, the steam curled around him like a warm, wet blanket. He pulled Freddie inside and shut the door. The floral aroma made him a bit lightheaded. It reminded him of Freddie’s scent, though hers was a muted version.
A half-shuttered lantern on the work table illuminated the space. The light blotted out the stars through the glass overhead and cast long shadows over the various leafy plants gathered. Most had furled their petals for the night, but a few lifted their heads to the sliver of moon overhead, their petals washed golden in the orange light.
Tristan sighed, happy to be alone at last. Freddie’s hand shifted in his and he recalled that he wasn’t alone. He was with the enemy.
At that moment, with shadows swathing them and sheltering them from the censorship of others, she didn’t feel like an enemy. In fact, he felt as comfortable with her as he did when he was alone.
The lamplight glinted off her irises. It cast a golden glow on her cheeks, hiding her freckles. He found himself wishing to see them. Although Society disparaged freckles as a sign of homeliness, on Freddie he found them charming.
Her lips parted. “Tristan, what are we doing?”
He couldn’t look away from her mouth. “Do you ever get the feeling that you’re about to do something horribly wrong, but you can’t bring yourself to stop?”
She stiffened. She tried to tug her hand away, but he tightened his hold.
He swallowed hard. His voice went hoarse. “Because that’s the way I feel right now.”
Unable to resist any longer, he dipped his head to capture her lips. They slackened beneath his for a moment with shock. Panic overwhelmed him. Did she not feel the same about him? He started to pull away.
Freddie twined her arms around his neck, threading her fingers through his hair as she kissed him back. He took full advantage, sliding his hand down to the small of her back and pressing her luscious curves against
him. His head spun, that enticing feeling of falling while he still had both feet firmly planted on the ground. He clutched her tightly as he surrendered himself to the moment. Her hands drifted down his torso in a slow slide toward his waist. He burned in the wake of her touch.
A man cleared his throat. Tristan broke the kiss to swivel his face toward the door. Gideon stood there, his eyebrows raised in disapproval.
Tristan met Freddie’s gaze—except she wouldn’t look at him. She removed her hands from his jacket, her gaze averted. The expression fell over him like a dip in icy water.
She’d removed her hands from over his jacket pockets. Where she’d been searching his clothing for the code book. He thought she’d been falling under his spell as much as he had under hers. He’d been wrong. The only person enthralled was him.
He stared at Freddie, at his brother, and then stormed from the room. He was a damn, bloody fool to ever think she saw him as anything other than an enemy.
Chapter Eighteen
The condemnation in Tristan’s eyes chased Freddie all the way to the east wing of the house. She couldn’t bring herself to step into the sitting room and face her sister and Lucy’s interrogation. Perhaps, once she gathered herself, she would be able to go down. If Tristan was there…
I did what I had to. Even if she’d lost herself to Tristan’s wit and charm this afternoon, finding herself beneath Harker’s livid stare at dinner reminded Freddie why she was here at this party. They would never have garnered the invitation without Harker. She had to find that book. If it wasn’t in Tristan’s room or in the library, the next logical conclusion had been that he carried it on his person.
She’d felt no lumps in his pockets of the telltale shape of a book. Worse, now that he’d caught her searching for it, she’d caused a rift between them.
That isn’t worse. It’s what must be. He was a very good spy, because he had her doubting whether or not she should continue with this mission. She had to, even if Tristan was the enemy against whom Harker had pitted her. Her family’s future was at stake. As someone who loved his family so well, Tristan would understand that.
Kissing The Enemy (Scandals and Spies Book 1) Page 15
