Jenna Petersen - [Lady Spies] (7 page)

“You can tell me,” she whispered.

He opened his mouth as if he wanted to do just that, but before he said a word, the tension in her kite string vanished and she took a step back to right herself. She turned in time to see her kite blowing away on the wind as the string that had once been attached to it fluttered to the ground.

“Bollocks,” she muttered under her breath.

Tristan’s eyes went wide. “I beg your pardon?”

With blood heating her cheeks, Meredith turned away. She
never
did anything so unladylike as curse in front of people she wasn’t utterly comfortable with. Which meant only Emily and Anastasia had ever heard her say such a thing.

“Nothing,” she lied. “I’d best go search for it.”

Without looking back, she hurried toward a thickly wooded area where her kite lost altitude. At least her investigative skills would come in handy finding the lost toy.

Because she certainly wasn’t putting them to good use when it came to Tristan.

T
oo shocked to do anything else, Tristan watched Meredith walk away. Though she denied it, he was sure he had heard her mutter a rather salty curse when her kite broke free. Certainly not a word any lady in his acquaintance normally said. But instead of being offended, he found himself wanting to laugh.
Really
laugh. Something he hadn’t indulged in for a long time.

“What are you waiting for?”

He turned with a start to find his mother staring at him, arms folded. She cocked her head.

“Go help the lady, for heaven’s sake.”

“Of course,” he said, remembering his manners.
Something about Meredith made him forget…well, forget just about everything but her.

He hurried toward the spot he’d last seen her, disappearing into the copse of trees on the other side of the lake.

“Lady Northam?” he called out. There was no reply as he moved farther into the grove. “My lady?”

Silence continued to greet him until, in the distance, he heard a distinct grunt and what could have been another muttered curse. With a smile he couldn’t control, Tristan called out, “Meredith?”

“I’m right…here,” came the strained reply.

He followed her voice, trailing around tangled brush and wide tree trunks. He found her standing on a wide log that had fallen some time ago, reaching up, up, up toward a branch of another tree where her kite was caught amidst the leafy limbs. She was on her tiptoes in the most precarious position, yet somehow maintained her balance.

“Good Lord, Meredith,” he snapped, rushing toward her. “You’ll kill yourself. Come down from there and let me fetch it!”

She shook her head. “No, thank you, I’ve almost got—” She strained up to catch the tail of the kite. A triumphant grin lit her face. “—it!” she crowed as she gave the kite a yank.

The toy fluttered free. Unfortunately, her sharp tug and the attempt to dodge the falling kite threw Meredith off balance. She flailed her arms to right
herself, but it was too late. She pitched off the rotting log.

Tristan’s life moved in horrible slow motion as he bounded forward and she keeled back. He held out his arms to catch her. She hit his chest as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Her fragrance filled his nostrils, and her warmth coursed through him as he stumbled and ended up flat on his back in an open spot amidst the brambles and felled tree branches.

For a moment, the woods around them were totally silent. Meredith lay perfectly still on top of him. With the air knocked from his lungs, he wasn’t capable of doing anything but lying there, as well.

And then she began to tremble. Quiver. Before Tristan could sit up to ascertain how badly she’d been hurt, a giggle escaped her lips. She covered her mouth, but couldn’t contain her laughter.

It took him a moment to realize he was laughing with her. It felt odd and wonderful at the same time.

With a grunt, she rolled off his chest onto the grassy area beside him. Where she had lain, he now felt cold.

“Well, that was ridiculous,” she giggled. “Are you injured?”

He drew in a few panting breaths. Nothing felt broken. In fact, he felt better than he had for a while. “Only my pride. I wasn’t much of a knight in shining armor, was I?”

“Well, you did catch me,” she pointed out with a laugh.

Her eyes were bright and her cheeks flushed from mirth, and his stomach clenched. They were treading into dangerous waters. Ones he had vowed never to enter again with this woman who twisted his emotions so easily. But he desperately wanted to kiss her. Worse, she was staring at his lips as if she remembered the feel of them against her own.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, laughter gone from his voice.

She slowly shook her head though her gaze never left his. “No.”

He smiled as he noticed a twig stuck in her tangled hair. Without thinking, he reached out to slide it away. Her breath hitched when the back of his hand brushed her cheek.

“Tristan…” she began softly.

There was his name again, coming from her lips to arouse him. Just that whisper made him forget his position, both in society and his current situation. Nothing mattered except touching his lips to hers. So he did.

Her reply was a little groan. Her lips parted, and he took what she offered, plundering her mouth, tasting her sweet breath as their tongues collided. His desire threatened to overflow with each touch, and the passion she returned was so pure, so right, he could hardly recall what it was like to resist this temptation.

He hauled her closer, dragging her across his chest, cupping the nape of her neck with one hand, as he cradled the small of her back with the other. She gripped his shoulders, kneading his jacket absently as she kissed him with the same desperate abandon that churned inside him.

Tristan had been forced to become a man of utter control and propriety at a young age. He’d missed out on the carefree irresponsibility he saw many of his contemporaries pursue in their twenties. He had never found a temptation worth throwing caution to the wind to pursue. In fact, he’d avoided such things.

Until now.

Almost as if his body was out of his control, he slowly cupped Meredith’s backside and brought her closer, rocking her against his already straining erection. She shivered, but never broke contact from his lips. If anything, her kisses grew deeper. Suddenly the airy woods were hot and close.

He was going to surrender to the desire that heated his blood. It was inevitable. Like a moth to the flame, he couldn’t resist Meredith. And he didn’t want to. Not now. Later, he was sure he would lament his choice, but not now.

“My lord?” There was a distinct clearing of a throat before the voice that intruded into Tristan’s erotic haze came a second time. “My lord? Are you here?”

Awareness returned with stunning, guilt-ridden clarity, jolting him. Meredith rolled away as he struggled to a seated, upright position. Looking around, he saw Philip standing a few feet away, examining an old oak tree as if it were the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. Though he was pretending not to see them, it was plain he did.

Tristan’s gaze flitted to Meredith. She, too, was now seated, rearranging her wrinkled gown and running her hands over her hair in an attempt to repair the damage done by his seeking fingers. There wasn’t a hint of a blush on her cheeks. He wouldn’t have known she was embarrassed by their discovery if not for the slight trembling of her hands.

“I—” he stammered, trying to meet her eyes with no success. She kept her stare pointedly away from his. “I’m sorry.”

“’Twas nothing,” she murmured. “A slip for us both, one we should forget.”

A sudden, sharp sting worked through Tristan’s body. Was it that easy for her to forget such an intense, unexpected encounter? He certainly wouldn’t for a long time.

“Of course,” he lied, reaching over to remove yet another twig from her hair.

She pulled back from his touch, and this time her gaze locked with his. “This is how we started, Tristan.”

For a moment she couldn’t hide her emotions. Tension. Fear. Anger…At herself or at him? Confusion. The same things boiling in his chest.

“You’d best attend to your friend,” she whispered. “He’s being polite enough to pretend he doesn’t see, but he can only keep up the charade a few moments longer.”

Tristan nodded wordlessly as he clamored to his feet. Turning toward Philip, he called out, “Here!”

His friend feigned surprise and took a few steps in his direction. “Ah, there you are. Your mother said there was an incident with a wayward kite and that you went this way.”

Tristan nodded, trying to keep his face as free of emotions as Meredith seemed to be able to do. Difficult when he wanted to punch his best friend squarely in the nose. As wrong as it was, he wished Philip hadn’t found them. If he hadn’t…

He erased the heated thoughts from his mind and forced himself to focus. What he
wanted
was not important.

“Yes, luckily we found it.” He half turned to help Meredith to her feet, but found she was already standing. She looked remarkably unruffled, considering. He might not have guessed she’d been thoroughly kissed if her mouth wasn’t swollen. “Have you met Lady Northam?”

Philip arched a brow, but shook his head. “No, I haven’t had the pleasure.”

Tristan nodded. “Lady Northam, may I present Mr. Philip Barclay, my man of affairs and an old friend.”

Without a hint of embarrassment, Meredith stepped forward, hand extended. As Philip took it, she said, “Actually, we have met, Mr. Barclay. At a ball before your father’s death.”

Philip drew back, and Tristan couldn’t help but do the same. His friend hadn’t been in society for many years. Most people wouldn’t recall his former position, especially after hearing of his present vocation as man of affairs.

Philip nodded. “Yes, my lady. You have a good memory. That was a long time ago.”

She smiled, her expression open and genuine, and it hit Tristan in the gut. That light she carried with her made him so much more aware of the darkness that had slowly surrounded him over the years. How he wished he could shed it and let himself be free to…Well, he wasn’t sure what. But it involved Meredith, satin sheets, and no interruptions.

Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Tristan croaked, “Was there something you needed, Philip?”

His friend shook his head as if he, too, had been under Meredith’s spell. “Yes, I’m sorry. That message you were awaiting has arrived, my lord.”

Any remnants of desire were washed away as if he’d been doused by icy water. He’d been waiting
for word from an investigator in London about the trail some money he provided to Devlin had taken.

“In my private office?” he asked as tension coursed through his body, filled his every word.

Philip nodded once. “Yes. I’d be pleased to escort Lady Northam back to the party and make your explanations. I believe the group is almost ready to return to the house.”

Tristan shot a glance in Meredith’s direction. She was watching him from the corner of her eye, taking in every expression, listening to every word.

“Would you mind?” he asked.

Her eyebrow arched, but she shook her head. “Of course not.” She stooped to collect the long forgotten kite. “If you have business to attend to, I wouldn’t keep you from it.”

With a short bow, Tristan turned and headed for the shortest route back to the house. But as he walked away, he felt Meredith’s eyes on his retreating back. The heat of her unseen stare warmed his blood and made the answers he sought seem less important than the chance to take her in his arms again.

Even though that wasn’t possible.

“My lady?”

Meredith forced her stare away from Tristan’s flexing shoulder muscles as he walked toward the
house and…what? A cryptic message of some kind, but did it involve her case?

Her case. The same one she couldn’t seem to concentrate on for more than five minutes at a stretch. Not when Tristan touched her.

She focused on the man standing a few feet away, and quickly reviewed what she knew about him. Philip Barclay had been Tristan’s schoolmate, one of the few he kept in his confidence after his brother’s death. Philip fell on hard times after his father’s passing, but had taken to the position of man of affairs with great success, evidenced by how well the Carmichael holdings did each year.

“Shall we return to the others?” he asked with a smile. He offered her an arm to guide her out of the tangled forest, which she took for appearance’s sake. Her extensive training in physical combat had given her perfect balance. She winced as she recalled how she had pitched off the rotted tree stump earlier.

Nearly perfect balance.

“Yes, of course, thank you.” She watched him as he guided her through the woods. “Actually, I’m pleased we have a chance to speak privately, Mr. Barclay.”

“You are? What can I assist you with, my lady?”

She smiled. “Last night, Lord Carmichael and I were speaking with Mr. Devlin—”

“With Mr. Devlin.” His tone was flat and non
committal, but his face tightened at the name. Plainly, the man beside her knew about Devlin’s reputation and didn’t like him any more than Tristan did.

“Yes. I was inquiring about the nature of their business together, as I’m always looking for new ventures in which to invest my inheritance,” she pressed on, marking every expression that crossed Barclay’s face. For now, it was frustratingly blank.

He nodded. “I see.”

“Mr. Devlin mentioned he and Lord Carmichael are involved in some kind of art venture together. I wasn’t able to garner much more information from his lordship—” She hesitated as she remembered why her interrogation had come to an end. The same reason why her mouth was hot right now. “—but I hoped you could tell me more. I’m very interested in the arts, you see.”

Barclay’s gaze slid to her with unexpected sharpness. “Devlin and Carmichael mentioned their association when it came to art?”

She nodded, her intuition pricking with the flash of anger in her companion’s eyes. “Yes, very briefly.”

His lips pursed as he looked straight ahead. “I’m surprised to hear that.”

“Why?”

He released her arm as they exited the brambled woods and set their feet on even ground.
“Because Tristan rarely speaks about his connection to the…arts.” His mouth tightened. “Can you make your way back to the party?”

She nodded, eyes all innocence even as her heart throbbed with the excitement of the chase. “Of course. The group is only a few steps away. You’re going back to the house, then?”

He nodded. “Yes. Good afternoon, my lady.”

Without another word, Barclay spun on his heel and headed for the house. Meredith watched him until he vanished over a hill, then she headed toward the guests.

The pieces of her case were slowly clicking into place one by one. First Devlin’s sardonic mention of art, then Tristan’s strong reaction to her interest in his dealings with Devlin. Now his man of affairs had reacted just as strongly to the same type of query. These things pointed to Tristan’s involvement in the missing painting all the more.

She glanced over her shoulder, but Philip Barclay was long gone. He’d been
angry
when she spoke to him. An unexpected reaction. Why?