Jenna Petersen - [Lady Spies] (17 page)

She moved closer, gliding toward him slowly, evenly. Her gaze never left his, even when she brushed against him. Even when the floral heaven of her scent surrounded him. When her light filled him. Her warmth made him whole.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice hoarse from desire and emotion.

“One last kiss.” Her voice broke and tears began to glitter at the corners of her eyes. “Just kiss me one more time. Before—Before it’s too late.”

He didn’t understand the ominous nature of her request. Perhaps she intended to leave without seeing him again. Perhaps she thought her refusal had done irreparable harm to their fragile bond. Or perhaps the thing that made her hands tremble was even more dire than anything he could guess.

But he didn’t care. She offered him heaven, and even though it cost him another piece of his heart,
he took it. But he took his time to savor it. If this was to be their last kiss, as she claimed, he would make sure neither one of them ever forgot it.

Slowly, he let his fingers brush through her hair. With one hand, he cupped her cheek, while he let the other drift lower. He glided along her arm until she shivered, then cupped her hip and drew her closer than she already was.

She sighed, but her breath shivered out like a sob. She tilted her chin, offering her mouth, but he ignored that for the moment. He brushed one soft kiss at the corner of her eye, tasting the saltiness of tears she had already shed, of others she held back. He kissed her cheek, brushed his lips against her ear. He pressed a kiss on the tip of her nose.

It seemed the moment hung between them, stretching forever as he finally let his lips touch the corner of hers. Then he moved in and pressed them firmly against her. Her second sigh was just as ragged, if more relieved. Arching, she opened her mouth and deepened the kiss.

He tasted her as he had the first time. Learning her flavor, testing her responsiveness. In some ways this “last” kiss was like the first. Unknown. Unexpected. And something he feared he was imagining. But her warmth assured him it was no addle-minded dream.

The desperation Meredith had been masking came through again. She clung to him, hands clenching, grasping handfuls of his tailored jacket.
She tangled her tongue with his, begging for more, demanding more.

He gave her what she wanted. The kiss deepened, but this time it danced on the edge of losing control. His body could only take so much before he wouldn’t be able to keep himself from claiming her in the most elemental way.

He might have given in to that desire, except he felt her hold back a piece of herself. If he asked to make love to her, he knew that she would pull away. He didn’t want to lose her now, so he tried to rein in the out-of-control passion she inspired.

Noise echoed from the hallway, disturbing the pleasant oblivion he found in her touch, but he pushed the sound aside to continue to explore her lips. She, too, allowed one more kiss, then moved away. Away from his lips, out of his arms. Somehow he didn’t want to let her go. Some part of him cried out that if he released her, he might never hold her again.

But she insisted and they broke apart. Her eyes were glazed with need and more unshed tears.

“Tristan,” she whispered on a soft breath. “I hope you’ll understand.”

“Understand?” Now he was distracted by the noise in the hallway. Closer. Footsteps, voices.

“Yes.”

As she said the word, the door to his office flew open and several men stepped inside, followed by his butler and two footmen. Tristan stiffened at
the way the men simply interrupted without a proper announcement.

There were three intruders. All were dressed well, if a bit wrinkled from travel, but they were clearly part of the upper middle class. Not of his rank. Not of the rank required to barge into a man’s home without leave. He didn’t recognize any of them. One was a portly man, starting to bald. He appeared to be the leader of the three, as the other two men simply stayed at his side, watching the servants and Tristan.

“I’m sorry, sir.” His butler pushed in front of the men. “They forced their way in, I couldn’t stop them.”

“It’s all right, Jensen,” Tristan assured his servant. “These men look like they have business here. Or at least, they believe they do.”

The butler folded his arms and stood in place, ready to escort them out by their ears if it were required. Tristan smiled at his servant’s loyalty, but then his smile fell as he caught sight of Meredith. She stood near the door, but she looked anything but shocked or frightened by the sudden interruption. In fact, she seemed resigned.

Stepping forward, she spoke softly to the servants. To his surprise, they stepped from the room. Meredith closed the door behind them, then turned to face him. His eyes met hers and he saw…
guilt
flash in them.

She knew these men. And she knew their purpose.

“Who are you?” Tristan asked, straightening to his full height.

“My name is Charles Isley, Lord Carmichael,” the balding man said, coming forward.

Tristan shook his head. The name meant nothing to him. “And why have you barged into my home and interrupted my private gathering at this late hour?”

Isley frowned. “My lord, I am an agent of the War Department, working for the Crown. I’ve been given the duty of taking you into custody. You must return to London with me right away.”

Tristan’s world collapsed. Custody? That meant he was being charged with some crime. The blood began to drain from his cheeks, though he forced himself to straighten up with a smirk of confidence. He could not let them see that he’d dreaded this very moment for over a year.

“Take me into custody?” he asked, and was pleased his voice didn’t waver. “Am I to understand I’m being charged with some kind of crime?”

“Yes, my lord.” Isley nodded once, curt and with only the slightest hint of civility. “You have been charged with treason against the Crown.”

T
he word “treason” cut through Meredith. It wasn’t a surprise to hear it. She’d expected it, known it,
proven
it…but when Charlie said the word, she couldn’t help but flinch away from what it meant for Tristan…for herself.

Tristan flinched too, almost at the same moment she did. But like her, his face registered no shock at the charge. There was anger in his eyes, yes. Frustration. But something else.

Resignation.

On some level, in some dark place in his heart, he had expected this moment to come, even if he’d dreaded it. And that confirmed the evidence more than anything except an outright confession.

She watched Charlie explain the situation to Tristan, watched Tristan argue, but the words were like some foreign language. She didn’t comprehend what they said because she was assailed by images.

Of Tristan as a boy, playing at her aunt and uncle’s home. Later, of the night she ran away and he found her in that dirty pub. She thought of his face when he realized the identity of the girl he had saved from rape or worse. And the fury with which he had attacked her assailant. Her protection had been his main concern, both from the man who would have attacked her and from the ramifications of running away from her aunt and uncle. He’d never told anyone the truth about where she had been and why, even when he turned away from her.

What had changed since then? What had turned him from her noble knight to a vile traitor against all she held dear?

And why could she not keep herself from giving a damn what had changed Tristan? Pain ripped through her and she loathed it. She cursed herself for the weakness of emotion and the tingling of tears at the back of her eyes. She wanted to dismiss him and move on.

She couldn’t.

Because there were new memories now. Memories of the tenderness of his touch when he kissed her. Of the pleasure when they made love. And
also of the time they spent together when he made her believe he was still decent, still good.

Charlie’s voice pierced her emotional haze. “I’ll need to bind your hands while we escort you to the carriage, my lord.”

Tristan’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “No. My mother is down the hallway, along with a roomful of guests. I couldn’t hide that I was being led away in shackles!”

The two agents with Charlie stepped forward. Each one grabbed Tristan’s shoulders. Of course he fought. She knew he would. He twisted in their grip, sending elbows backward as a defense against them.

Her heart lurched. If he didn’t stop, he could be killed.

Stepping forward, she held up her hands. “Wait, Charlie!”

At the sound of her voice, everyone in the room stopped and turned to look at her. Tristan’s face was filled with her betrayal. Charlie arched an eyebrow. She had never interfered with an arrest before. In fact, she normally didn’t attend them, in order to protect the secrecy of her identity.

But there was nothing
normal
about this arrest.

“Meredith, what is it?”

She slipped between Charlie and Tristan, keeping her back to the man she had betrayed because she could not bear to face him. “Lord Carmichael
is correct. If you bind him, everyone here will notice his arrest.”

Charlie shook his head. “And why does that matter?”

“Because Devlin slipped away. If we hope to catch him, it might be best if he doesn’t know his newest partner has been arrested for crimes against the Crown.” She allowed herself a glimpse over her shoulder. Tristan’s arms were folded as he glowered at her. “Take Lord Carmichael quietly, let him tell his family he’s been called away on business to protect them from the truth. We could determine what kind of information he has about Devlin and his group without letting the world know about his arrest.”

“And why would a traitor like him give us information about other criminals?” Charlie asked with a glare at Tristan. “At any rate, Meredith, the truth will come out. Whether tonight or next week or next month. We can’t keep it a secret forever.”

She touched Charlie’s forearm. “Please, I have never asked anything like this of you.
Please.
”

He drew back in surprise. Then he looked at Tristan again, but this time with a more appraising stare. Probably he wondered what kind of spell his suspect had cast on his spy.

Meredith wondered that too.

“You’re involved with these men?” Tristan asked
from behind her, his voice filled with horrified disbelief. “You did this?”

Meredith turned. His eyes bore into hers, piercing her soul and demanding nothing less than the truth. He reached for her, but the two agents behind him grabbed his elbows to keep him away. She found herself aching for the touch they withheld, even as she snapped, “No,
you
did this!”

Tristan recoiled, no longer leaning against the men who held him from being nearer to her.

Charlie touched her elbow. “Very well, perhaps you’re right. I will do what you ask and keep the arrest secret as long as I can.” His voice grew harder. “I assume that is what you wish, Lord Carmichael. For secrecy?”

For a moment Tristan only stared at Meredith, then he broke his gaze. “Why would I wish secrecy when I don’t understand why I’m being arrested?”

Meredith winced. How could he deny the truth? Well, she wouldn’t allow it any longer. Slowly, she walked across the room to the portrait of Edmund Archer. Reaching up, she found the releases hidden along the picture’s frame. With a snap, she slid it out of the way and revealed the stolen landscape.

Turning back, she motioned to the hated painting with one hand. “This, Tristan. It’s all about this.”

His face paled, and the denials it seemed he was preparing fell away. A breath passed before he murmured, “Yes. I would appreciate discretion in this matter.”

Charlie nodded and stepped aside to talk for a moment with his men. Meredith came forward, moving toward the door in case Tristan made a dash for it. Instead, he looked at her. Evenly.

“Tristan,” she murmured, somehow wanting to explain herself, as though she had been wrong when all she’d done was perform her duty.

He shook his head. “There is nothing to say, is there? You’ve already decided what is true and what’s not.”

She clenched her fists at her sides. “The evidence is in front of me.” She motioned to the painting, but he did not look at it. “What am I to believe?”

He shrugged. “That not everything is what it seems.”

Before she could reply, Charlie returned. “We must leave quickly and try to arouse as little suspicion as possible. If we’re able to take leave of the house without questions, I’ll allow you to send a message to your family explaining you were called away on sudden and urgent business. Will that keep them at bay?”

Tristan looked away from her. “Yes. My mother will have questions, but she won’t neglect her guests in order to pursue me, if that’s what you
mean. She’s scheduled to visit my sister and her family in Bath after this event. She wouldn’t cancel that trip. My sister recently had a child.”

“Good.” Charlie motioned to the door. “If your guests interfere, you’ll say the same. That you’ve been called to London on urgent business. If you make any move that implies you intend to escape or send some kind of secret message, I will put you in shackles and drag you out. Is that clear?”

Tristan’s eyes narrowed. As she had when they made love, Meredith saw the imprisoned rake within him come out. A man not used to being ordered around. Not by anyone.

His lips thinned. “I have no choice.”

“No, you don’t. Meredith has given you a respite from public censure, which is more than I would have done.” Charlie motioned toward the door. “Once we reach London, we’ll keep you somewhere that won’t receive excessive attention.”

“Thank you,” Tristan managed to grind out between clenched teeth.

He allowed the guards to escort him to the door. Meredith watched them and was surprised when he turned back to pin her with a stare. He wasn’t the man who had wooed her, made love to her, proposed to her any longer. The hard glint in his eyes made it clear any feelings he may have had for her had been crushed.

“Don’t forget what I said, Meredith. Everything is not what it seems.” He looked her up and down.
One last acknowledgment of betrayal and utter contempt. “You are proof of that.”

“You must eat something.”

With a start, Meredith looked away from the rain-streaked window at Emily’s London home. She was so tangled in her thoughts, she’d all but forgotten that Emily and Ana were present.

Her two friends sat having their tea, but they looked at her with concern plain in their eyes. As plain, she feared, as her own twisted emotions. It seemed she had lost her ability to hide her feelings. That could be a fatal flaw in a spy.

“No,” she said. “I’m not hungry. Thank you.”

Emily pushed away from the table and came to the window. She grasped Meredith’s shoulders and physically guided her to the table, where she “helped” her into a seat. Ana placed a steaming cup of fragrant tea and a scone before her.

“You have been moping since your return to London two days ago,” Emily said, sitting down and folding her arms. Meredith guessed that sharp look in her friend’s eyes was much the same as the one she gave suspects in interrogation. No wonder Emily was so successful in obtaining secrets.

“Yes,” Ana agreed. “We’re worried about you.”

Meredith shook her head. She didn’t want to discuss what made her heart hurt, not with them. Not with anyone. She just wanted to forget what
had happened in Carmichael. She had tried, but memories continued to haunt her. As well as Tristan’s final volley as he was led away to imprisonment.

“Don’t be silly,” she managed on a shaky breath. “I’m right as rain. Just a bit low after the end of a case. You know how it is. A month or so of excitement makes it difficult to return to normal until we’re assigned something new. London is…” She hesitated. “It’s not the same.”

Nothing was.

Ana pursed her lips as she shoved little wire-rimmed spectacles up her nose. They were the ones she wore while she worked in her area downstairs. She had forgotten to take them off, a common problem.

“It’s more than that,” Ana insisted. “Even in the field something was off about you. You’ve been distracted and troubled ever since you were told you would be investigating Tristan Archer. It has only been worse since your return. You’ve been so quiet.”

“Not yourself,” Emily agreed with a nod of her head. “You’ve hardly told us anything about your case. And you don’t seem pleased with its resolution.”

Meredith picked at the scone in front of her. “What is there to be happy about?”

She sighed as she thought about the report that had been waiting for her in London when she
managed to break away from Lady Carmichael’s party.

“Whatever evidence might have been hidden in the painting had already been removed before we retrieved it. Now we cannot find it. For all we know, it was handed over to Devlin before he left Carmichael.”

“Yes, but—” Ana began.

Meredith waved her off. “Because of
my
stupidity, my distraction, we don’t know where Devlin is now either. And Tristan—”

She stopped herself. There was no need to rehash that portion of her regret. She did that enough in her empty bed when she lived and relived every stolen moment they had spent together.

Emily stood up and came beside her. She reached out a hand and stroked it over Meredith’s hair. Meredith glanced up at her friend in surprise at the tender gesture. Normally Ana was the nurturer and Emily was stern, tough. She’d had to be.

“What happened?” Emily whispered. “What are you keeping from us?”

Meredith sighed. It was such a heavy burden to bear. She wanted to tell her two closest friends, her sisters in spirit, so much.

Ana’s smile was soft and genuine. “It might help if you told us.”

She nodded. There was no denying them when they worked together. She drew in a few breaths as she gathered herself.

“I—I—” she stammered, searching for a way to say the words. To reveal the truth. But there was only one. “I fell in love with him.” Hearing the statement for the first time brought tears to her eyes. Ones she had been hiding, denying herself. Now they fell freely. “I fell in love with a traitor.”

The corner of Emily’s lip tilted. She lifted her eyes to Ana. “You owe me a pound.”

Meredith snapped her gaze to Emily with a frown. “A pound? Wait, did you place a
wager
on my feelings for Tristan?” She shook off Emily’s comforting hands and got to her feet. Stomping over to the fire, she folded her arms. “No wonder you wanted me to tell you the truth so badly.”

“Come now,” Emily insisted. “You know that isn’t the reason.”

“Yes, we really are worried about you!” Ana said as she hurried to Meredith’s side to put her arms around her waist. “We guessed you had deeper feelings for the man, especially given the tone of your missives home while you were in the field. But we take no pleasure in your pain. You know that, don’t you?”

Meredith looked at Ana, but she couldn’t hold her scowl for long. Not when her friend was looking at her with such genuine concern. “I know you don’t.”

“Now, tell us everything,” Emily said with a sigh.

Meredith rubbed her eyes with her fingertips.
How could she explain what she, herself, didn’t understand?

“I don’t know how it happened,” she began. “I had feelings for Tristan as a child. Feelings that ran deeper than the mere friendship he showed me. But I never thought those things would return. Not with my training, not with the knowledge of what he might have done.”

“But they did,” Ana supplied with a little sigh.

Romantic that Ana was, Meredith could see she appreciated the passion of the situation, if not the pain. “Yes,” she admitted. “They did. Almost immediately, there was a deep attraction between us. But it went beyond a spark of desire. I—I still
liked
Tristan. I liked talking to him, I found myself sharing things with him, things I hadn’t told anyone.”

“Even us?” Emily asked, both her eyebrows arching.