Even if she could never tell him. He was the enemy. He was working for the French. She still hadn’t reconciled why a man like him would resort to such treachery. She didn’t dare ask. For all that she had enjoyed herself in his company this afternoon, their time together would soon end. They weren’t companions, they weren’t friends. They were enemies.
Her steps slowed as she turned the corner into the guest wing. The bedchamber she shared with Charlie resided near the end. Candles rested on pedestals along the long corridor, reflecting off round mirrors. It looked nothing like home.
Home didn’t conjure thoughts of Harker’s townhouse in London, but rather of the tidy little home in which Freddie had grown up. Less lofty than that of the peerage, the little two-story townhouse had been squished next to their neighbors. From the outside, it had looked a little lopsided, as though leaning for support against the house next to it. Memories surged, of her and Charlie running through the house in a game, shrieking and laughing. Of Mama’s gentle gaze as she did needlework in the evenings. Of Papa’s ready grin as he concocted mad, fantastical stories and acted them out during the telling.
Tears clung to Freddie’s eyelashes. She’d hardened herself for so long to Papa, clinging to his misdeeds as a means of holding the pain at bay. Anger was easier to weather. These days, she often forgot that she loved him. When she remembered, like now, the wound in her chest ripped open, once again raw.
“Freddie, darling?”
Freddie thrust her shoulders back and wiped at her eyes. She forced a smile as she turned. “Hello, Mama.”
Her mother looked worried. The glow from the candles cast shadows across Mama’s face, making her look older. She stepped closer, as serene and poised as Freddie often tried to be. She reached out to clasp Freddie’s hand.
“Why aren’t you down at the party?”
“I don’t feel well,” Freddie lied. “I thought I might lie down for a spell.”
“Oh?” Mama squeezed her hand. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself earlier. You’ve caught the attention of one of the Graylocke brothers. That’s something worth encouraging.”
Freddie glanced sidelong at her mother. Mama’s voice was gentle, but filled with earnestness. She truly believed that Freddie catching Tristan’s interest was a good thing. Maybe, if Harker hadn’t pitted them against one another, it might have been. But Tristan was a French spy. If Mama had known, she wouldn’t have been so encouraging.
“I’m afraid that’s his sister’s doing. She and Charlie have been playing the matchmaker this afternoon.”
Did Mama look disappointed? If she did, the expression soon smoothed from her face. “I see. Are you sure there isn’t something more between you?”
“I’m sure.” Freddie was proud of the strength in her voice. Even now, far away from the orangery, she could feel the pressure of Tristan’s lips against hers, of his body nestled against her. Had his reaction been feigned? She hadn’t been able to hide hers, not even when she’d recalled herself enough to search his pockets.
Mama tugged at her hand, drawing her down the hall. “Come. Why don’t we sit for a moment and have a chat?”
Freddie hadn’t found more than a few minutes to speak with her mother since arriving at Tenwick Abbey. She tightened her hold on Mama’s hand and followed, grateful to be spared the need to be alone. If she was alone, her thoughts would return to Tristan, and she couldn’t have that.
Mama led her into her chamber. Like the one Freddie and Charlie shared, it was richly decorated, in emerald green to their royal blue. She tugged Freddie toward a narrow settee at the foot of the large bed. They sat side by side, their hips touching.
Freddie stared at the vanity on the wall directly across from her. Even that piece of furniture, nestled against the white and green toile wallpaper, screamed of luxury. When they’d been a family, Mama had kept a worn writing desk in the corner of her room that she had also used as a vanity.
“Do you ever miss Papa?” Freddie’s voice was so weak, she barely heard herself speak.
Mama tightened her hand. “Every day.” Her voice was soft, but vehement.
Freddie’s lips parted. “Even after he—”
Ruined us.
Left us.
Died.
Canting her face away, Mama brushed at her eyes. “Your father wasn’t perfect, Freddie. Nobody is. I love and miss him more every day.” Her voice lowered to the barest whisper. “Maybe someday soon we’ll be together again.”
Her voice was filled with such longing that for a moment, Freddie wasn’t able to speak. Was Mama talking about dying? She clutched her mother’s hand, a reflexive reaction. “You’re young yet, Mama. You’ll be with us a long time.”
Mama didn’t say a word. She didn’t look at Freddie, either. The silence drew on between them, strained and painful. Freddie swallowed around the lump building in her throat.
“If you love Papa so well, why do you let Harker—” She couldn’t finish that sentence. She couldn’t even think it.
“I do what I must for those I love.”
She’d never heard Mama speak so fiercely. When she glanced at Mama, her pale hair hid her face. Freddie tightened her hand.
“You don’t have to. At least, not for much longer. Charlie will marry and…”
Freddie didn’t dare speak another word. If she did, she might confess about her arrangement with Harker. Mama would only try to complete the task for her. Freddie had already exposed herself to the Graylocke brothers as Harker’s agent. She didn’t want her mother to be put in the same danger.
So she didn’t speak a word. Instead, she laid her head on Mama’s shoulder. “Everything will be better soon,” she murmured.
It had to be. Somehow, even though she hadn’t found the book in the last four days of residence, she had to find it soon. What would she—and Harker—do if she failed?
She couldn’t afford to find out.
Tristan paced the library. He’d rejoined the guests for an hour after leaving Freddie, but his surly mood had soon soured the evening to the point that Mother had made a thinly veiled suggestion that he should retire for the evening.
He couldn’t sleep. Not with the feel and taste of Freddie’s body still fresh in his mind—or the memory of her betrayal. He’d thought…
He should have known better than to think she saw him as anything other than an obstacle. He clenched his fists.
A fire roared in the grate, lighting up the vacuous room. His muffled footsteps on the rug were the only sounds aside from the chuckling fire. Tension coiled in his shoulders, his instincts clamoring that he couldn’t wait for Morgan any longer. Freddie was the enemy and he had to do something about her. Anything.
Even if she was an innocent, even if she didn’t deserve to get caught up in this. She had made her choice.
The memory of her sobbing into his shirt in the abandoned chapel as she confessed to Harker’s coercion rose unbidden to his mind. His knuckles cracked as he flexed his fists. The person he truly wanted to punish wasn’t Freddie. It was Harker.
Not for the first time, Tristan cursed the command he’d received not to touch the known enemy spy. Tristan wanted blood, and tonight he was destined to be denied.
When the door to the library opened, he whirled to face the intruder. Morgan stepped through the door, his expression tight and a bit weary. He shut the door behind him.
“Good, you’re still here.”
Tristan opened his mouth, but he didn’t know what to report. He had spent the day with Freddie, he’d done his best to woo her and he hadn’t made a dent in her resolve to oppose them. The knowledge brought bile to the back of his throat. He couldn’t confess to Morgan that he’d failed, that Morgan had been right all along.
Fortunately, Morgan didn’t seem to be waiting for a report. He ran his hand through his hair as he stepped forward, a habit that he indulged in only when he was at his wit’s end. It wasn’t something that Tristan saw from him very often.
&nb
sp; Tristan stiffened. “What is it? What’s the matter?”
Morgan stopped abreast of his brother. His eyes were as piercing as cold steel. He confessed, “The moment the Vales arrived at Tenwick Abbey with Harker, I franked an inquiry to our contacts in London about their father.”
Their father? Tristan should have thought of that. He should have asked Freddie about him. Why were the Vales in Harker’s company? Tristan would have preferred to keep company with a snake.
But…what good would it have done to learn about a dead man?
“Did you hear back?”
“I did. Today.”
Tristan braced himself. For what, he didn’t know, but Morgan’s expression and his tone of voice didn’t bode well.
“He’s dead, isn’t he?”
Morgan raised his shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “I thought it might be worthwhile to know what sort of man their father was. What traits he might have passed on.”
Reluctantly, Tristan nodded. “And? What did our contacts have to say?”
Gravity befell Morgan’s features. He stood straighter. A muscle in his jaw twitched, a sign of frustration. “I’ve been ordered to stop looking into the matter.”
Tristan frowned. “What do you mean?”
Morgan’s mouth thinned. “I can’t know for sure because no one will say so outright, but…I think he was a spy. Tristan, I think he was on our side.”
Tristan’s mouth dropped open. He tried to speak, but couldn’t find the words. Could it be true?
No. Impossible. Freddie was working for the enemy now. The apple couldn’t possibly have fallen so far from the tree.
Chapter Nineteen
The day dawned gray and drizzly, but unlike the previous day, Tristan didn’t have anything to look forward to when he rose from bed. He dressed sluggishly, wishing that his valet hadn’t been occupied with Harker, so at least he would have had a bit of company. He tried to avoid thinking of the company he would have liked to have had.
It was bad enough that he would have to see her this morning. And keep a close eye on her, at that. He scrubbed a hand over his chin, feeling stubble but mustering no desire to shave it clean again. With a sigh, he left his room and trudged down to the breakfast room. At least Lucy wasn’t waiting to pepper him with questions about Freddie, this time.
As he reached the threshold of the breakfast room, he gathered himself, threw back his shoulders, and strode in.
Freddie was waiting for him. She perched on the edge of her seat, an empty teacup resting in its saucer, the last remnants of her breakfast. The moment he stepped into the room, she raised her gaze and met his. She smiled.
She might as well have gutted him. It felt the same.
Launching to her feet, she lifted a mug and napkin. She held it out to him.
He eyed the offering warily. “What’s this?”
“Think of it as self-preservation. You’re always a beast in the morning, and I know you plan on dogging my heels all day. I might as well do what I can to put you in a sweeter mood.”
Cautiously, he accepted the bundle. He took a seat across from her at the end of the table. When he unfolded the napkin, he found a single piece of warm bread smothered with butter from corner to corner, just the way he liked it. His coffee was strong and bitter—not as hot as he might have liked, but he had obviously made her wait.
When he met her gaze again, she gave him an eager smile. “Does it meet your approval?” Her voice was chipper, cheerful.
He nodded. His murky head started to fade as he gulped the coffee, alternating with bites of bread. She’d remembered his chosen breakfast, even though they hadn’t known each other for more than four days.
Could it be that she noticed him, after all? Not Tristan the spy or Tristan the duke’s brother, but Tristan Graylocke. The man he was when no one was watching.
Something warm unfolded in his chest, but he tried not to look at it too deeply. Freddie was still his enemy…wasn’t she? He didn’t know what to believe—or what he wanted to believe.
He busied himself finishing his breakfast as she tapped out a cheerful beat on the tabletop. Suddenly, the day’s events seemed much sunnier.
Tristan barely spoke two words to Freddie while he ate. She tried not to take his churlishness to heart. After all, as she’d said, he always acted a beast in the morning. If he treated her no differently than he had the day before, did that mean that he’d forgiven her for her transgression last night?
She gritted her teeth. The beat she drummed onto the table faltered. It is not a transgression. After all, he’d known when he’d started to romance her that they were on opposite sides.
She battled the urge to lower her head into her hands. Whatever Tristan was interested in, it couldn’t be romance. Not with her. No, if anything, he was trying to trick her to give up the mission Harker had set her. She resumed the beat of her fingers against the wood table, slower this time. If Tristan thought he could trick her, she should be proud to have proven him wrong.
Instead, she felt guilty for fighting the pull of his kiss, even for a moment. His gaze lingered on her face. She averted her eyes.
The moment he finished his breakfast, she jumped to her feet. “Are you ready to seize the day?”
The noise of derision he made drew her attention. He raised his eyebrows as he slowly straightened. “It’s raining out. The day is shaping up to be miserable.”
A sly smile curved her lips. “The day is whatever you make of it.”
He stepped around the table, falling in line with her. “Given the look on your face, I gather you have an idea of what you’d like to make of today?”
Her smile widened. “I hear you’re a formidable chess player. I thought I’d trounce you a time or three and teach you some manners.”
A wicked glint entered his gaze as he grinned. Her heart skipped a beat under the full force of that smile. It was a formidable weapon. She swallowed, trying not to show how effective it was.
He is the enemy, she told herself. Unfortunately, that argument was getting weaker and weaker with each repetition.
He leaned closer, so close her senses hummed with the spicy scent of his cologne. “You can try, but don’t think I’m going to let you win.”
“I like a challenge.” Her voice was a bit breathy. She glanced away before his nearness conjured memories of his kiss.
Too late. Her body tightened with an ache she hadn’t been able to appease since last night. All she wanted was to turn back time and lose herself in that kiss once more.
Tristan offered his arm to her. “In that case, shall we adjourn to the library?”
“Of course.” She tried to act confident but that mien vanished the moment she laid her hand on his sleeve. The muscular flesh of his forearm only served to remind her of a time not too long ago when he’d encircled her with that arm.
He didn’t appear to be afflicted by the same wayward thoughts. Had it been a calculated seduction? If so, he was certainly an asset to the French. Even knowing that they were on opposite sides didn’t stop her from wanting to kiss him again.
The moment he led her into the hall, Freddie stiffened. Harker stood in the doorway to a sitting room diagonally from the breakfast room. His beady eyes narrowed as he beheld Freddie on Tristan’s arm. Had he been waiting for her?
When he smiled, the expression did not meet his eyes. “Frederica, may I have a moment?”
No. Every bone in her body rebelled at the idea, even as she knew she had to accept. She clenched her teeth and started to withdraw her hand from Tristan’s sleeve.
He pinned it beneath his. The glare he leveled at Harker could be considered nothing less than lethal. “I’m afraid we have an engagement elsewhere.” He half-turned, shielding her with his body as he urged her in the opposite direction. He didn’t once look at her, but the fierceness in his tone and stance left no doubt that he was protecting her.
From Harker, the man everyone accepted as her relation, and therefore a man
she could trust.
At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to melt into Tristan’s embrace, to let him hold her up for just a moment while she caught her breath. She was always the shield, the barrier keeping Harker from her family. Mama played her part—Freddie couldn’t prevent that—but she did what she could to mitigate it. No one stood up to place themselves between her and Harker, not the way Tristan did.
It felt good to be protected, even if she couldn’t let herself get used to it.
“I won’t take more than a moment of her time.”
Harker’s voice was cutting. When Freddie shut her eyes for a moment, gathering herself, she saw her sister’s bright, smiling face. Freddie laid her free hand on Tristan’s arm. The bunch of his muscles beneath her palm was an ominous sign.
“This won’t take long, I promise.” Her voice was faint. She didn’t look him in the eye. Instead, she fixed her gaze on the tight muscle in his jaw. It twitched.
His hand loosened over hers as he nodded curtly. She retracted her arm and he took a step back, but he didn’t move far. She hoped her voice wouldn’t carry.
She pinned Harker beneath her stare. At that moment, she’d never disliked him more.
No, dislike was too tame a word. She loathed him. She didn’t understand why the British government would employ such a snake. Could it be they didn’t know his character?
Perhaps they didn’t care, so long as he served their purposes. Right now, Freddie was the one putting herself in harm’s way while Harker looked on disapprovingly.
“What do you want?” she asked, her voice blunt. She didn’t care if she displayed coarse manners. Harker had…
What? His only crime this morning was in approaching her and Tristan when she’d rather not be gifted with the ugly sight of his face. She and Tristan were supposed to be enemies. In fact, they were, they must be, despite the protective way he’d tried to keep her from Harker. Perhaps it was yet another ploy to draw her onto his side.
It won’t work. Her family’s future was at stake—and her future, too.
Kissing The Enemy (Scandals and Spies Book 1) Page 16
