Jenna Petersen - [Lady Spies] (9 page)

“Yes, sir,” the servant said. “I’ll do so right away.”

Meredith started as the man began to reenter the room. With a swish of her icy blue skirt, she stepped out the window onto a very narrow ledge. Holding her breath, she waited, hoping to hear more from the men inside, but the room was silent except for the shutting door as Devlin’s servant left.

Meredith centered her balance as she had been taught during training. Using smooth, slow motions she shifted her weight and peered into the room. Devlin stood just feet away, glancing over the sketches on the table to the left of the window. She yanked herself out of his line of vision and began to move away from the room. So much for going out the way she’d come in.

She glanced around. A few tall trees were nearby, but too far for her to jump and hope to shimmy down their branches without getting herself killed. Aside from which, if someone saw her afterward, it would be obvious she’d been
involved in arborial activities. As it was, she was covered with dust from beneath the bed, which would be difficult to explain.

She slid along the narrow ledge around the house’s guest windows. Each step was a balancing act, with the potential to send her crashing to the ground far below, where she would definitely be hurt, even killed.

“Don’t think about that,” she ordered herself through gritted teeth.

She wished she wasn’t wearing such pretty slippers. They did nothing to help her maintain balance or grip the ledge. Carefully, she shifted to one foot and slid one shoe off, then repeated the action with the other foot.

She watched as the dainty footwear fell, the diamonds on the buckles glinting in the moonlight before they hit the shrubbery below. She would have to retrieve them as soon as possible to keep suspicion from being roused.

Meredith gripped the ledge with her stockinged toes and glided toward the next window.

“Please be open,” she whispered as she pressed her back against the stucco wall and reached over to shove the glass. When it creaked open, she barely held back a sigh of utter relief.

Taking her time, she listened for any evidence of an occupant in the room. When it remained quiet, she pushed over until her backside rested on the windowsill, then slung one damp foot into
the room. She had never been so happy to feel hardwood floors beneath her toes.

She swung her other foot over the ledge and closed the open window with a quiet click. The room was pitch-black, as the low fire provided almost no light at all. She managed to find her way to the door by feel and exit.

Normally, after such a great escape, excitement thrilled through her system, but tonight it was all she could do not to collapse onto the hallway floor and sob.

Her theory about Philip Barclay being the only guilty party had been damaged by Devlin’s comments. Only Tristan’s name had come up in the conversation with his servant. Her heart sank.

It sank even further as she thought of Devlin’s comment that Tristan would help him…or Devlin would kill him. Her blood chilled. Did Tristan even know how much danger he was in by involving himself in Devlin’s schemes? How close he was to falling from a precipice more dangerous than the one she had just escaped if he continued to align himself with the blackguard?

She didn’t know the answers to those questions, but she did know one thing: She wanted to protect Tristan. From Devlin’s murderous intent…and from her own investigation.

But how could she protect the prime suspect of her case? How could she manage to keep collecting
evidence while she sheltered Tristan from the storm that threatened on the horizon?

Her mind turned to its natural tendency to make plans in the face of troubling uncertainty.

“Somehow I must obtain the note Devlin spoke of to his servant tonight,” she murmured as she walked toward her room for a new pair of slippers. “I
must
intercept it before the danger toward Tristan grows even greater.”

T
he letter. She had to get the letter. The letter was all that mattered.

Meredith slipped down the main staircase into the foyer and looked around. She
should
have retrieved it last night. She would have, too, except for a multitude of interruptions. There were benefits to being a popular lady of the
ton,
but there were also serious disadvantages.

First, it had been the handsome lieutenant who insisted she dance with him. Then it was one of the ladies close to her age who had wanted to share some silly piece of gossip about another in their set. Then Lady Carmichael had set her sights on her. By the time she managed to slip
away, she had no idea where Devlin’s servant had gone. Now she could only hope she would intercept him before his message left the house. She even had a folded sheet of blank paper in her pelisse pocket in case she had a chance to make a switch.

Which was the reason she was awake so blasted early after being up half the night dancing. She stifled a yawn and moved down the hallway. And then, as if conjured by her very imagination, the library door opened and Augustine Devlin stepped into the hallway just a few feet in front of her.

“Why, Lady Northam,” he said with that signature smile that could melt hearts or freeze her very blood. “What a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t aware any other guest was awake at such an early hour.”

Immediately she fell into investigation mode.

“Ah, good morning, Mr. Devlin.” She gave him her best smile. “We are both early risers, I see.”

She was relieved how easily the friendly words and smile came to her. After all her struggles covering her emotions with Tristan, she had begun to fear she’d lost her touch. But it seemed only one man could make her forget herself.

“Yes. But if I could have plucked one other person from the group here to find roaming the halls, it would have been you, my lady.”

He smiled again, and she fought the urge to shake her head in wonder. The man did have charm. She gave him that.

“And what woke you so early?” she asked, tilting her head.

His smile shifted ever so subtly from flirtation to smug satisfaction, and Meredith’s entire being snapped to alertness. “Perhaps you did not notice I slipped away from the party early last night. I had business to attend to. Business I plan to finish this morning.”

“I admit, I did notice your absence. You were sorely missed by quite a few ladies.” Stupid, stupid women who had no idea what kind of blackguard they desired just because he had the face an ancient god would covet.

He leaned in a touch closer. “And were you among them, Lady Northam?”

She resisted the urge to allow her expression to reflect her disgust. “Now, Mr. Devlin, you know a lady does not reveal such secret little thoughts.”

He let out a chuckle and gave a shrug. “A man can always hope.”

“But you say you’ll finish your business today?” she pressed, steering the conversation back to the topic she needed to pursue.

Devlin hesitated. “Ah, well, not all of it, but I will have a very important part completed once my man arrives to deliver a message to London.”

Meredith froze as she watched Devlin lift a hand to his breast pocket and tap gently. The letter. The letter about Tristan’s fate was right there. She could reach out and snatch it with no trouble.
She had no doubt she could take Devlin down to the floor with a few of her best moves of defense. He wouldn’t expect them from her. The letter would be hers.

The case would be destroyed, so of course she couldn’t do so. But the thought of putting the flat of her palm to the man’s nose and watching him scream with pain did give her a small moment’s pleasure.

But if she stayed, she might be able to quickly slip the letter away from the servant when he wasn’t paying attention. If she did it correctly, he might not notice its absence until it was too late. Excitement thrilled through her.

“Would you mind if I—” she began.

“Lady Northam!”

She spun to see Tristan coming down the hallway like a bull beckoned by a red cape. His eyes flashed fire. What the hell was he doing up? He had retired much later than she had.

He came up short in front of the two of them.

“Good morning, Carmichael,” Devlin drawled.

Tristan’s gaze flitted to her companion, and Meredith saw an intense rage in his stare. The same anger she’d seen the night he saved her life. She shivered as she recalled what lengths he had gone to when it came to her protection. If he attacked Devlin, she wasn’t sure she could keep him from killing the man.

“Devlin,” he said through clenched teeth. He
turned on her, and she was surprise that the intense anger had been masked. “I must have a word with you.”

He reached out and grasped her elbow in a grip of steel. The sudden action surprised her, as did the heat that sparked between them at his touch.

“My lord?” She tried to shake free of him.

He held fast. “Truly, Meredith, it is vitally important I have a word with you.”

In a heartbeat’s time she considered her options. If she refused his demand to go with him, she risked losing the tenuous link they shared. If he no longer spoke to her, her investigation could be limited.

She stopped pulling against him and said, “Very well.”

She glanced at Devlin and opened her mouth to murmur something polite, but Tristan didn’t allow it. He hauled her away to the closest sitting room, slamming the door behind them.

They were alone, but still he didn’t release her. He stood in the middle of the parlor, drawing in deep breaths as if to calm himself. She stared at him, mesmerized by the intensity of the emotion in his eyes and in the heat of his touch.

Tristan shook his head and looked down at her, as if he had almost forgotten she was there. Their gazes locked and the fascination Meredith felt turned to something deeper. Something she had
to deny. With a yank, she pulled her elbow free and backed away.

“What in the world is wrong with you, Tristan?” She searched his face for answers, explanations, even as she fought to rein in her wild emotions.

“I told you that man is dangerous!” He turned away, raking a hand through his hair. His desperation was clear with every motion, every word.

And she longed to take that desperation away. To soothe him. As foolish as that desire was, she found herself reaching for him. Her fingers curled around his bicep as if someone else controlled them. He jolted at the contact and turned his head to face her.

“If that is true, why do you do business with him?” she whispered. “Why do you invite him to your home? Tristan, please, if there is something wrong…some trouble you have found yourself a part of, let me—”

Before she could finish, the door opened behind them. Both of them started and spun on the intruder, ready to see Devlin’s face greeting them. Instead, Tristan’s mother stood in the doorway. When she saw how close Meredith was to her son, her eyebrows went up in surprise. But then a tiny smile tilted the corners of her lips.

Meredith backed a long step away as Tristan rolled his eyes. Evidently he recognized the matchmaking glimmer in Lady Carmichael’s eyes as much as she did.

“Oh,” Constance said, putting a hand to her chest in mock surprise. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were here.”

Tristan’s nostrils flared in disbelief at her statement. His voice was taut as he asked, “Did you require something, Mother?”

“Oh no, my darling.” His mother’s smile was filled with the joy of playing Cupid. Meredith’s heart ached. How hurt Lady Carmichael would be when she discovered the truth. About Tristan. About her. “But we’re all awake so early. Most of the others won’t rise for hours now. Wouldn’t it be nice if we took a ride together? It’s such a nice morning.”

Tristan’s eyes fluttered shut, and Meredith thought he muttered something under his breath about not being able to put her off. Then he opened them again and glanced her way. She felt his appraisal, his mind turning on whether riding with her was an acceptable risk.

She wondered that herself. Going out with him would allow her to push her case a little more. But the presence of Lady Carmichael would certainly prevent any intense exchanges like the one they had just been having. Or any more kisses that melted her resolve and turned her knees to jelly.

She smiled at Lady Carmichael. “I would be pleased to ride with you, my lady. I’ve wished to see more of this lovely estate since my arrival.”

Tristan opened his mouth, but his mother waved
off his words. “Grand! Change into your habit and we’ll meet at the stables in half an hour.”

With effort, Meredith nodded and slowly crossed to the door. But before she left, she dared a glance over her shoulder. Tristan was watching her, and though his stare did not contain the desperation she had seen in it earlier, the desire that was always evident was still there. Burning. Waiting for the right moment to destroy her resolve.

Meredith adjusted her bonnet as she stepped into the stable. She drew in a sharp breath at the sight that greeted her. Tristan stood in the middle of the large room, brushing a massive black stallion as he murmured quiet endearments to the nickering beast. He didn’t notice her entry. It was one of the few times he hadn’t been totally aware of her when they were together, and she took the opportunity to study his face.

His chiseled features were handsome in the morning light that streamed through the stable door and windows. But the light revealed something else as well. Though he was calmer than he had been earlier, there was a sadness in his eyes she’d noticed many times before.

She sighed. She
couldn’t
empathize with him. There was no room for sympathy in an investigation. Or desire, though that powerful emotion coursed through her still. She was conscious of how she tingled with heated awareness. Of how
her fingers trembled as she shoved loose curls behind her ears.

He looked up and smiled. Not the tight, forced expression she so often saw, but something honest. Like he was truly happy to see her. Guilt stabbed, but she pushed it aside. There was no place for that in her investigation either.

“You look lovely,” he said, taking in her appearance from head to toe. The sweep of his gaze was like a caress, and she was suddenly happy she’d worn her best riding habit.

The heat of blood rushed to her face at his compliment. How long had it been since a man’s attentions actually made her blush? But like a schoolgirl, she covered her hot cheeks.

“Thank you,” she said softly. The intensity of the connection between them was too much, so she focused her attentions on his stallion. “He’s a beautiful animal.”

In response, the melancholy returned to Tristan’s expression. “Thank you. He is magnificent.”

“How long have you had him?”

“One year, eight months, fifteen days,” he said softly.

She cocked her head. “He must mean a great deal to you if you know the very day he came into your possession.”

“He was my brother’s horse. He became mine when Edmund was killed.”

The pain that bubbled just below the surface of his face tore through her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, but the sentiment sounded unsatisfactory. Like she was offering a small binding to cover a gaping wound.

He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought him up.” He motioned to a nearby stable hand who came forward leading a spirited, honey-colored mare. “Here is your horse for the day. Lily.”

She smiled as the stable hands helped her into her seat. “I suppose we have only to wait for your mother, then.”

One of the men stepped forward. “Lady Carmichael sent word that she was taken by a sudden headache, but she asked that the two of you take your ride without her.”

Meredith’s mouth twitched as Tristan ducked his head and muttered something under his breath. Lady Carmichael would make a marvelous agent. She had a brilliant way of turning any situation exactly to her liking.

“Thank you, Chester,” Tristan said with a sigh. “Please send word to her ladyship that I hope her headache has passed by the time we return.” As he nudged his stallion into motion, he added, “Not that I have any doubt she’ll be right as rain in no time.”

They rode in silence as they moved down a road
that led through the areas of the estate closest to the house. When they broke away from the path and the manicured lawns and magnificent gardens, Tristan shot a brief glance in her direction.

“I want to apologize for my mother. She is a bit…overzealous in her not-so-veiled attempts at matchmaking.”

Meredith smiled as she thought of her ladyship. She liked Constance, probably a good deal more than she should, considering. Her smile fell. “I don’t mind. She loves you. Who could blame her?”

She heard the statement leave her lips, but it was too late to call it back. “I mean—”

Tristan chuckled. “I know what you meant.”

A second blush heated her cheeks, and Meredith rolled her eyes. What in the world was causing these missish reactions? Very well, she knew
what.
Being close to Tristan, smelling the spicy, masculine hint of his skin, having him touch her…those things brought out long forgotten feelings and urges she hadn’t been able to name as a girl. Now she knew what they were. Need. Desire. Passion.

But to actually allow herself to be swept away by such things, to show her reactions when her motivations weren’t purely related to her case, that was unacceptable. Yet she couldn’t stop herself. Not when Tristan looked at her and his gaze drew her in so deep she feared she would drown.

No, she had to drag herself to the surface. What
he said about his brother in the stable and the exchange they just had…both were perfect opportunities for reconnaissance.

Clearing her throat, she said, “You never told me what the horse’s name was.”

Tristan reached down and absently stroked the animal’s mane. “Winterborne.”

She glanced at the magnificent animal. “It must have been difficult to lose your brother. He died in the war, did he not?”

The tendons in Tristan’s neck tightened and his posture changed. This subject was a source of high emotion for him. The pain in his face she understood completely. But the anger buried in his eyes and in the tension of his muscles, she didn’t. Was it purely anger that his brother had been taken too young? Or was there some other reason for his rage?