Jenna Petersen - [Lady Spies] (10 page)

His jaw slowly relaxed as if he were forcing calm. “You understand feelings of loss. After all, your parents were taken from you.”

Meredith was jolted by his observation. Her status as an orphan was common knowledge, but few people understood the pain and emptiness that loss had caused her. Tristan did. He’d witnessed it firsthand. For the first time in years she felt vulnerable.

“I—” she stammered. “I was very young then.”

He slowed his horse as they left a wooded path and emerged onto an open, hilly area. She hardly
noticed its green beauty and was not calmed by its serene warmth.

“But I think experiencing death so early must be worse. Especially since you were forced to go to your aunt and uncle’s estate. I was little more than a boy, but I recognized how unhappy you were there.”

Her lip quivered and she fought to remain in control by keeping her gaze straight ahead. “They took care of me.”

He shrugged, but she felt him watching her. Why was he scrutinizing her reaction? “I remember you as very…sober. Lonely.”

She sucked in her breath. With a few observations Tristan had drawn her back to a time she’d buried long ago. When she was an outsider in the only remaining family she had. When she ached for affection, longed for love.

She shook her head. This conversation would go no further into topics best left unexplored. She didn’t speak of the pains of her past. Not to anyone. Even Emily and Ana only knew the most skeletal details. She certainly wasn’t about to bear her soul to this man, this potential traitor.

With a brittle laugh she urged Lily to quicken her pace over the gently rolling hills and long stretches of open meadow. “I hardly remember that time, my lord. I’m surprised your recollections are so clear.”

He nudged Winterborne and easily matched
Lily’s canter. “Your aunt and uncle showed you little warmth. My mother often commented on that fact. And you do not seem to have contact with them now.”

Meredith winced. It was as if she was being stripped down, laid bare to memory. “We are not close,” she admitted, trying to remember the last time her aunt had sent her a message of any kind. “But I don’t blame them. I wasn’t their child. Indeed I was thrust upon them by the deaths of my mother and father. My aunt was only my mother’s stepsister, you know.”

Why was she talking? Why was she explaining this? But she couldn’t stop.

“They weren’t ever close. Who could blame her for not seeing me as flesh and blood? Yet, despite that, she and my uncle provided me with a roof, food, a Season—”

Tristan’s lips pursed. “Yes. A successful Season, for you found a husband.” He paused, as if considering that. “But then he died as well. In reality, you’ve experienced far more tragedy in your life than I.”

A bitter laugh bubbled from her lips as she allowed Lily to walk. “The difference is, you loved your brother.”

Again, it was as if some other woman had spoken those words and she only heard them. Except they were in her voice. They were her private thoughts.

Pulling Lily to a halt, she clamored down and paced away from Tristan. She walked up a hill and stood on its peak, gazing down over the little valley below as she cursed her stupidity.

Why had she confided in him?

The gentle touch of his hand on her elbow startled her, and she realized just how completely she had abandoned her training yet again. Never turn away from a suspect. What a laugh. She was constantly turning from Tristan, from the heat he caused in her and the emotions he excavated.

With a sigh, she looked at him. He said nothing, just watched. Waited.

She licked her dry lips. “I…It wasn’t as if I hated Daniel,” she said, though she didn’t know why. This wasn’t the purpose of their ride, yet she somehow felt compelled to explain herself. Explain why she felt no love for her husband. Say things she had never said before.

Tristan didn’t answer, but continued to watch with an intense focus that shocked her from her comfort zone and pulled her into places she couldn’t go. Was he judging her? And why did she care?

“It was not a love match,” she continued. “We had very little in common, just like many other couples. But when I produced no children, the distance increased.”

“And when he died…”

“I didn’t feel much loss.” She shrugged. “You
must think very little of me for admitting such a thing.”

Smiling, he trailed his fingers up and brushed her cheek. Lightning flashed from the point of contact, sending shivers of awareness and feeling to every sensitive part of her body.

“No. Actually, I’m cursing myself for not seeking you out before you married instead of after.”

The heated lightning flashes were replaced by colder shock as his confession sunk in. “Y-You sought me out?” she croaked.

For a moment Tristan only stared at her, then he seemed to realize the utter impropriety of the situation. Yanking his fingers from her cheek, he took a step back.

Without meeting her stare, he said, “You were married by then.”

Meredith’s breath came in sharp bursts as she pondered his statement. She had always believed he had forgotten about her entirely after the night he saved her. His coldness toward her, his avoidance, had stolen away any warm emotions she held in her heart when it came to him. But to hear now, all these years later, that he had sought her out…

How different would things have been if he had, indeed, approached her before she married Daniel Sinclair? If he pursued her before she was the woman she was today. Before he was the man he was now.

The thoughts, unwanted, unasked for, shocked her already shaken system. “Remember your duty,” she muttered under her breath before she turned to Tristan with a false smile. “I think your mother’s ailment is catching.”

“Your head?” he asked in a strangely monotone voice.

She nodded.

“Perhaps we should return to the house.”

With a sigh, Meredith headed back to Lily. But when Tristan helped her into her seat, she couldn’t help but notice how his hands lingered on her waist a moment too long and how her body reacted too powerfully to that touch, no matter how much she reminded herself that Tristan, the man she had secretly wanted, was now one man she could never have.

M
eredith stared out her chamber window, watching the breeze flutter through the tree leaves, but her thoughts weren’t on nature. Instead, they drifted, turning always to Tristan, to the way she was betraying the fragile bond they were forming. To the way he might be betraying their country, their King.

“Why am I tormenting myself?” she muttered as she snapped the window shut.

Her excuse of a headache had served her well the previous afternoon when her ride with Tristan turned too personal. Today it served her again, as she used it to escape going with the rest of the party to the annual bazaar being held in
Carmichael’s main village a few miles away. Now she had only the servants to contend with as she searched for more evidence.

So why hadn’t she started that search?

She sighed. Because with every piece of proof, every observation that led her to believe Tristan was a traitor willing to barter military secrets, some emotion in her interfered. Her intuition insisted he wasn’t capable of such treachery, and she had come to trust her instincts as much as she trusted the facts. But the two had never been at odds before. Until now her heart hadn’t included itself in debates over guilt and innocence.

“My lady?”

With a start, she turned to see a housemaid standing at the door. She motioned the girl in and took the letter she carried on a silver tray. Immediately, she recognized Ana’s steady hand, and her excitement grew. Perhaps her friend had deciphered something from the evidence she’d already collected. Something to clear Tristan.

“Will there be anything else?” the girl asked.

Meredith barely spared her a glance. “No, thank you. I’ll be lying down once I read my letter, so please tell the staff that I don’t wish to be disturbed.”

The girl bobbed out a curtsey, then left. No sooner had the door closed, then Meredith tore into the missive from her friend. It was encoded, of course, but after so many years of exposure to
Ana’s ingenious system, Meredith read it like it was written plainly.

She frowned as she sank into the nearest chair. No evidence had been found to implicate Philip Barclay. In fact, Barclay’s only dealings with Devlin coincided with meetings the man took with Tristan. There were many more times the two met when Barclay wasn’t present at all.

Disappointment raced through her. She had so hoped Barclay was the key to absolving Tristan. But he wasn’t. And her lack of impartiality slapped her in the face.

Her mouth thinned as she moved to the section regarding Edmund Archer. Tristan’s younger brother joined the military against Tristan’s wishes, but that wasn’t so very uncommon. Most men of position or rank could buy their way out of military service, but some felt it their duty to defend their country. In Edmund’s case, he had paid the ultimate price.

Her eyes widened as she read the final paragraphs. Edmund Archer had been killed in an attack thought to have been caused when secret information fell into the hands of enemy soldiers.

She let the letter drop at her side. If Tristan’s beloved brother was killed because of traitorous activities, why would he involve himself with a group responsible for the same thing?

Her thoughts drifted to the anger in his eyes, the rage that pulsed beneath the surface, especially
when the subject of Edmund’s death arose. Could he have turned that anger toward the government?

She shivered at the thought before she glanced at the note one final time. To her surprise, Ana had scribbled a message, unencoded, at the bottom of the letter. “Are you well? We are worried.”

Meredith pursed her lips as she tossed the letter into the fire. Her turmoil had been plain, even in her hastily jotted notes asking for information from home. She had to work harder to mask it or she might find Emily and Ana on the doorstep offering to help with her case.

Or worse, she might not be able to keep others from seeing her heart. Like Devlin. Like Tristan.

Thrusting her shoulders back with determination, she slipped into the hallway. Quietly, she crept through the house, hiding in doorways and ducking behind furniture to avoid the occasional bustling servant.

With little difficulty, she reached Tristan’s private office. She entered and shut the door behind her, leaning back as she let out her breath in relief. Even after years of training in the fine art of stealth, she hadn’t rid herself of the absolute terror that she would be caught while sneaking into a place she didn’t belong.

She didn’t have much time. She might be interrupted by a servant at any moment, or Tristan could return home. She would be forced to hurry.

Men under suspicion often hid the evidence of their crimes in plain sight. Some even flaunted their deeds by putting them in the open where only a trained eye would detect what they meant. She glanced around the room in one sweep, taking care to examine each portrait on the walls, as well as the various knickknacks and books on Tristan’s shelves.

Her attention was drawn to the far wall above the mantel, and a large portrait of a young man in military dress. She guessed he was Edmund Archer by the setting and style of the piece and her memories of the boy as a child.

Edmund had his brother’s dark hair and sensual mouth, but his eyes were different. Instead of the haunting, dark green, they were a rich brown. He had been a handsome young man, and she momentarily mourned the loss this family had endured.

Searching her memory, she tried to remember what he’d been like the few times he joined his mother and Tristan on their visits to her aunt and uncle’s estate. Wild, she recalled, but friendly. In trouble more often than not. Meredith could only imagine that the mischievous boy had been more troublesome as a willful young man who refused to accept his elder brother’s new role as father figure.

Turning away from the portrait, she refocused her attention on her search for clues. Tristan’s desk
attracted her eye. For a man so cool and collected, it appeared quite messy. Papers were strewn across the top with no clear order. That could be because Tristan had been busy lately with his guests…or it might be a tactic to keep servants from stumbling upon incriminating information. If his desk was sloppy, his house staff wouldn’t move his papers, fearing they would disturb the order.

She tapped her fingers along the desktop. Some of the items related to Tristan’s business on the estate. Ledgers regarding his tenants, notes on improving the agriculture of the area, and a maintenance list for the grounds caught her eye.

Taking care to note the basic arrangement of the papers, she moved a few aside to view what was beneath. The blood drained from her face.

Letters. Written from Augustine Devlin and others of his ilk who had long been suspects in various crimes.

She picked one up and pulled the missive from the envelope.

“Damn,” she muttered. Like Ana’s letter to her, the note was encoded. Her heart clenched. If Tristan was trusted enough to have been taught Devlin’s code for delicate information, that meant he was more involved with the other man’s organization than she hoped.

She scanned each word. The code didn’t seem complex, but it was Ana who was the genius when
it came to that part of their duties. She was sure her friend would be able to break it with little trouble, but Meredith knew there was no way she could remove a letter without risking Tristan’s notice. With a sigh, she read the note a few times. She could only hope her memory would serve her well, at least until she could transcribe what she’d seen.

She put the correspondence back in its original position and slipped around the other side of the desk to open the top drawer. There, right in front, where she could not pretend not to notice, was an advertisement from the Genevieve Art House, describing in detail the auction that was approaching when the painting was stolen.

Her breath left her in a gust and she sank into Tristan’s chair. Tears stung her eyes as she glanced over the descriptions and found the one for the painting at the center of her case. Her only consolation was that it hadn’t been marked in any way to indicate Tristan’s interest.

“Still,” she murmured, unable to take her eyes from the page, “why would he have it here, so far from London? Even if it was brought here by accident, wouldn’t he simply discard it rather than put it in his desk drawer for safekeeping?

She had no answers to those questions. At least none she wished to entertain at present. She covered her eyes and forced tears not to fall. She wasn’t going to cry over a suspect.

As she dropped her hands, she heard footsteps
in the hallway. When they passed, she got to her feet. She’d stayed too long, distracted by emotions. It was time to go.

Moving to the doorway, she placed her ear against the solid wood and listened for sounds outside. She heard none. Creaking the door open slowly, she peered around. The hallway was empty. She took a few steps out, shut the door behind her, and was three paces down the hall when she heard another door open. Without pausing to look at who was behind her, she ducked into the first room where she could easily explain her presence.

The library.

Inside, she rushed to one of the bookcases and grabbed the first tome in easy reach. The door opened before she could look at the title.

She turned with what she hoped was a friendly smile and found herself meeting the stare of Philip Barclay.

“Hello,” she said, pulling the book she had torn from the shelf against her breast.

Suspicion lit in Barclay’s stare. “Good afternoon, my lady.” He folded his arms as he glanced around the room. “I did not realize you were up and about. I was told you’d taken ill and were lying down while the others explored the bazaar.”

She shrugged. “My ailment was merely a headache that happily passed. I thought I’d find a book to read until the others return.” She smiled sweetly. “I hope you don’t think me too terribly rude.”

To her surprise, Philip didn’t automatically respond in the negative as would be polite. Instead, he glanced at the book she held in her arms.

“Well, at least you’ll find more interesting choices here.”

She cocked her head. “Yes?”

“As opposed to Tristan’s office.” He met her stare with an arched brow.

She held back a curse. She had been seen. Well, there was nothing to do about it now but try to come up with a good lie. “You know how it is at these events, Mr. Barclay. It’s so easy to get lost in someone else’s home.”

For a moment they only stared, sizing each other up. She did her best to keep her gaze innocent, but when he looked at her with such unguarded doubt, it was hard not to return the favor.

“Well, I have now found an interesting diversion.” She held up the book in her hand and prayed it wasn’t some tome on agriculture or worse. “And I think I shall return to my room.”

As she moved past him toward the open door, Barclay’s voice called her back.

“My lady?”

She turned with her best blank smile. Passive, empty. Totally against character. “Yes?”

“Do you know if any ladies in the party have lost a dancing slipper?” He looked at her evenly.

Her heart sank. After her narrow escape from Devlin’s quarters, Meredith had returned to the
garden in the wee hours of the morning to find her slippers, but had only been able to find one. She intended to search again when she had more light and time. Now it was clear she was too late.

“A dancing slipper? Like in the fairy tale?” she said with a laugh.

He didn’t join her. “Yes. I made a check of the estate after the ball and discovered a lady’s slipper tangled in a bush.”

“What a mystery.” She clenched the book in a sweaty palm. “I wonder how it ever came to be there?”

“I really don’t know.”

“Perhaps some of Lord Carmichael’s guests became—” She forced a blush. “—amorous during the ball. Certainly a lady could lose a slipper during such an activity.”

Barclay’s nostrils flared. “Perhaps. I only ask because the shoe put me to mind of your very lovely gown that evening and the beautiful diamonds you had in your hair.”

Blast! Her slippers
did
have little costume diamonds sewn along the top. She blinked. “My, how nice of you to compliment my attire. It is a favorite gown of mine, I admit.”

He folded his arms. “But the slipper is not yours.”

With a shake of her head, she placed a hand on her breast. “Oh my, no.”

His lips thinned. “Well, if you hear from any of the ladies that they lost the item, they can send their maid to fetch it from our housekeeper, Mrs. Landon. She has it in safekeeping.”

Meredith barely held back a snort. Obviously, Barclay suspected the owner of the shoe of some kind of nefarious doings. Anyone who fetched the item would be watched.

“I will do so, of course,” she said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll return to my chambers. Good afternoon.”

He nodded as she left. Heading down the hall, Meredith scowled.

“And I really loved those slippers too.”

Tristan smiled blankly at the young woman he was assisting from one of the many carriages that lined the drive. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew her name, but for the life of him he couldn’t recall it, even when she turned her pretty face up and blinked long, thick lashes at him.

His distraction wasn’t a new affliction. Actually, it had dogged him all afternoon, ever since he was informed that Meredith wouldn’t accompany the group to the village.

He had not been close to her in nearly twenty-four hours. Not since their awkward parting after their ride the morning before. Oh, she had been at luncheon and supper. He’d been but a stone’s
throw from her side all evening as his guests played whist, gossiped about society, and even entertained each other by playing the pianoforte. He had been aware of her every breath, her every smile, her every side glance.

But he hadn’t spoken to her. Hadn’t been close enough to breathe the intoxicating scent that hung so dark and sensual around her. He hadn’t touched her since he helped her take her seat on her mount when they rode together.

He missed her.

The forgotten young woman at his side slipped a hand into the crook of his arm as he led her back into the foyer, but he barely felt the touch. He could not keep his mind from straying to altogether inappropriate thoughts of Meredith.