Jenna Petersen - [Lady Spies] (3 page)

Grant arched a brow, but tilted his head in acquiescence. “Good evening, my lady.”

She nodded before she turned and fled away. Her heart raced with every step, her breath caught as she moved blindly through the crowd. What was wrong with her? One handsome man met her eyes and she forgot her training and purpose? Perhaps Charlie was right. Perhaps she
was
changed. Too changed to continue with her work.

“Emily!”

Turning, she found herself face-to-face with Meredith and her husband, the Marquis of Carmichael, Tristan Archer. Meredith grasped both her hands. “You are very pale, are you well?”

Emily took a few breaths as Meredith’s fingers warmed her suddenly chilly ones. “Yes, yes, of course.”

“Are you in pain?” Tristan asked, his voice low so no one else would hear.

She shook her head, realizing they thought her expression was due to her injury. Despite her attempts to hide her occasional discomfort, her friends noticed. “No, there is no pain.”

Meredith’s face relaxed, some of the worry draining away. “Tristan, will you—”

He nodded even before she finished her question, like he was able to read her mind. “I’ll fetch some wine, of course.” He placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder and squeezed before he headed into the crowd.

Emily turned her head to avoid Meredith’s stare and focused her energy on calming her ragged nerves.

Meredith tilted her head. “Let’s go outside and get some air, yes?”

Emily nodded, though she hardly heard Meredith’s suggestion. Instead her mind rung with tangled thoughts. Thoughts about being unfit for duty. Thoughts of the night when she had been shot. And thoughts of Grant Ashbury, his seeing stare, her secret duty to protect him and his offer on the dance floor to do the same for her.

Blindly, she followed Meredith out to the terrace.

The cold night hit her like a slap, jarring her from her turbulent emotions. Her vision began to clear and her mind quieted as she sucked in great gulps of the frosty air.

“I saw you dancing with Lord Westfield,” Meredith said softly. “Whatever happened to make you look so…lost, Emily?”

Lost. That was the best word for it. She felt lost.

“I don’t know.”

She shrugged. Normally she wouldn’t admit a weakness, even to one of her best friends. No matter how close she was to Meredith and Ana, trust was still a difficult beast to manage. Out of habit, she kept secrets, hid her emotions and intentions from time to time. But tonight, she felt so shaken. She needed honesty. Meredith would give her that.

Emily shook her head. “It was so easy at first. He approached me, which I did not anticipate. Drew
me
into conversation as if he was expecting me here, looking for me. I saw that ridiculous Andrew Horne coming and asked for a dance to avoid the interruption.”

Meredith nodded. “And then?”

Emily glanced over her shoulder to watch Tristan slip onto the terrace behind them. She had an urge to stop talking in front of him, but then she looked at Meredith. There was no point. Her friend told her husband everything, anyway. She might as well continue.

“I felt like the old me. The girl who could garner information from a suspect or a source without even making an effort. But then he looked at me, Merry,” she whispered, wrapping her bare fingers around the cold stone that edged the terrace wall. “
Really
looked at me. And said if I needed to be rescued that I shouldn’t hesitate to ask him.”

“That
is
irony,” Meredith said with a small smile when Tristan touched his wife’s shoulder for a second time, then he offered Emily a glass of red wine.

“Drink slowly,” he ordered. “And breathe.”

Emily pursed her lips. Six months ago, no new spy would have dared tell her how to behave. Even one who was married to her best friend.

Of course, as the first drops of wine slipped down her throat, she realized that six months ago she would not have come undone at the pointed stare of a man she was sworn to protect. She wouldn’t feel anxious and frightened at the idea of speaking to him again.

“It was odd to have him say that to me,” she continued when she had sipped her drink a few times. “And I wanted—”

She stopped. No, she wouldn’t admit that. Not even to Meredith or later to Anastasia. She couldn’t tell them that for a brief moment she had wanted to say yes. To ask Grant for the protection he offered. And that frightened her more than anything.

“Are you certain you’re well enough to take this case?” Meredith asked after a long, uncomfortable silence. “Perhaps it is too soon—”

“No!” Emily set the glass aside and shook her head. “I am well. I can do this. It’s been a while, that’s all. And I probably did some damage tonight, I know, but I can repair it. I can renew Westfield’s interest in me, stay close to him.”

Tristan let out a snort that made both Emily and Meredith look at him. “Renew it? You haven’t lost it.”

Emily cocked her head. “What do you mean? I practically ran screaming away from him.”

“No man offers protection to a woman he does not have interest in, Emily,” he said with a quick side glance toward Meredith that spoke volumes about their own past. “No matter what he says or does, if he intervened on your behalf, it is because something about you intrigues him. When you hurried away, that was only akin to dangling fresh meat in front of a dog. I’m certain it enticed him, not put him off.”

Meredith smiled. “A very keen observation, my love. Though I’m sure Emily does not like being compared to meat dangled before a salivating animal.”

Despite herself, Emily smiled at their natural banter. “I have been called worse.”

Tristan ignored their teasing. “The fact is, you can use this “offer” to your advantage if you decide to do so.”

Emily nodded, the strength she had felt slipping away coming back bit by bit. The fear and uncertainty fading. She was an agent to the Crown, she had to remember that. Remember who she was before she was shot.

“Yes, I see,” she said with a nod as she considered what Tristan had said, “If I convince Lord Westfield that I have no interest in the suitors who are suddenly coming around again since my ‘illness,’ if I make him believe that I need his assistance in moving them away from me, he’ll think he is protecting me. But in reality, I’ll be at his side, watching over him, protecting
him
. Learning about him, so that I might uncover the truth about whoever is threatening his life and why.”

Meredith nodded. “Very true.”

“It will work perfectly to my advantage. Thank you, Tristan, for that very good advice.” Emily smiled.

He shrugged one shoulder. “I have another piece of good advice if anyone cares. Let us go inside before we all catch our deaths and none of this matters.”

Emily nodded as she followed her friends back into the house. But even as the warmth of the ballroom stroked over her chilled skin, she still shivered. Using Grant Ashbury’s sudden interest to her advantage was a wide open door to her case, to protecting him.

But considering her strong reaction to him earlier, she had to be certain she didn’t reveal anything else in the process.

T
hree days after their first encounter at his mother’s ball, Grant was no closer to uncovering any revelations about why someone would threaten Emily Redgrave, let alone who that person could be. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t uncovering more and more intriguing facts about the lady herself.

He leaned back in the uncomfortable chair in Lady Laneford’s parlor, trying to block out the wobbling chortle of her eldest daughter’s singing voice. His gaze flitted to Emily. She was seated across the way from him, one row from the front, focused on the young woman. Her face didn’t reveal anything about what she thought of the dreadful music. But that, he had come to realize, was usual with her ladyship.

Emily rarely exposed
anything
about her feelings in her expression. Not at parties, where she chatted amiably enough, while her eyes were all but devoid of emotion. Not at teas, where Grant had sat outside her home, surreptitiously watching as she conducted a meeting of her charitable society with her two best friends and a select group of ladies.

In fact, he’d only seen strong emotion flash over her face twice. Once while he talked to her at the ball a few nights before. And once when she stood at her bedroom window one dark, late night, staring out at her gardens, a thin robe wrapped around her slender shoulders that could not possibly keep out the chill of the frozen night air.

Her emotions at the ball had been varied. Shock. An anger he couldn’t place. A fear he didn’t understand. But the second flash was what had haunted him for two nights.

Forlorn sadness. Empty loneliness.

Seeing that had moved him in a way he didn’t like. He didn’t want to be drawn to her or know more about her, yet pursuit was his only option. He had a case, after all. Her emotions might very well lead him to the root of the threats against her.

“Grant?”

He started as his brother’s voice vibrated close to his ear behind him. He hadn’t even realized Ben was in attendance. A troubling realization.

“What?” he whispered back.

“Applaud, you idiot,” his brother said on a laugh.

Grant blinked and realized the room around him was filled with polite clapping. Lady Laneford’s daughter had completed her concert and was nervously looking around the room at the audience.

His brother nudged him. “You know, perhaps I should meet Lady Allington. See what kind of woman it is, exactly, who can drive my always-focused brother to utter distraction.”

Grant gritted his teeth. Benjamin could be the most irritating person. “You already know Lady Allington.”

“In passing, certainly. But I don’t think we’ve ever been formally introduced.” His brother glanced across the room in her direction and let his breath out in a low whistle. “By God, I had forgotten how pretty she is. I’m surprised you didn’t mention it.”

After that comment, Grant couldn’t help but look at Emily. She brushed a stray lock of blond hair away from her face and something in him burned with that inexplicable desire that had been plaguing him since their first encounter. He pushed it away.

“Emily Redgrave is an assignment, nothing more.” Grant shot Ben a glance that was filled with warning. His brother ignored it.

“Pity. Because I think you wouldn’t mind there being a bit more.”

Grant’s eyes widened. “There is nothing between us.”

Well, that wasn’t exactly true. There had been…
something
there the night of his mother’s ball.

Ben got to his feet as the audience rose and slowly formed into groups to talk. He grabbed Grant’s elbow and hauled him up much faster than he would have moved on his own volition. “Come on. I want to meet her.”

Grant spun on his brother, deftly extracting his arm from Ben’s grip in one smooth motion. “What? No!”

“Why not?” Ben shrugged. “You must approach her, yes? Won’t it be less suspicious if I’m with you?”

Grant shut his eyes. There were times he wished his brother didn’t know he was a spy. It hadn’t been a revelation he made purposefully. Ben had stumbled upon him one late night after a bullet grazed his shoulder. As he tended to Grant’s wound, all the pieces had slipped together and Ben had been nothing but trouble since. Interfering, suggesting—offering trouble.

What was worse was that sometimes his blasted suggestions were spot on.

“I really don’t wish for you—” Grant began.

But his brother was subtly shoving him in Emily’s direction and Grant couldn’t stop him without raising a commotion he wanted to avoid. Setting his jaw, he surrendered and moved toward her.

What he saw was no less irritating than his brother’s presence. Emily was on her feet already, talking to the man who had been sitting beside her during the musicale. Mr. Tobias Clare, third son of Viscount Clare. Reasonably handsome, definitely wealthy…unattached.

Grant’s eyes narrowed.

“Good afternoon, Lady Allington,” he said, then spared a glance for her companion. “Clare.”

Emily lifted her gaze and met his. For a brief moment, a flash of triumph lit her eyes. As if she had been expecting his arrival down to the moment he approached and was congratulating herself on her correctness.

“Ah, Lord Westfield. How nice it is to see you again,” she said with a smug little smile.

“A pleasure to see you Westfield, Ashbury.” Clare gave him and his brother a quick nod. “But I am afraid I must step away. Lady Allington—” The young man bent over her hand to press a brief kiss across her glove. “It was a delight to share the musicale with you. I do hope I shall see you again soon now that you are back in Society.”

Grant’s eyes narrowed as Emily smiled. A smile that could light up a room it was so blasted bright. “I am sure we shall meet again, Mr. Clare. Good afternoon.”

When the other gentleman was gone, she turned back to Grant. Her smile remained, but its power was significantly reduced. She held back with him. Grant’s spine stiffened at the realization.

“Well, my lord, it seems you and I are suddenly thrown into each other’s paths more regularly, does it not?” she asked, tilting her head. She was examining his face, searching it for…something. Grant broke eye contact.

“It does seem to be, my lady.” He shrugged. Behind him, Benjamin cleared his throat. Loudly. Grant shot him a glare over his shoulder. “Forgive my rudeness. Have you ever been introduced to my brother?”

She shook her head and again her smile was filled with warmth. She didn’t hold back for Benjamin either. Grant was filled with an unaccountable urge to shove his brother out of the way or step in front of him if only to see how it would feel to have Emily look at him with such openness. Just for his case, of course.

“Lady Emily Allington may I present Mr. Benjamin Ashbury,” Grant said, somehow keeping the edge from his voice.

“A pleasure.” Ben took her hand briefly. “I am sorry I did not have a chance to meet you formally at our mother’s ball a few nights ago.”

Emily nodded. “Yes, it was a lovely night. Your mother has always hosted the best events.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her.” Ben laughed. “Not that she isn’t already fully aware. Mama delights in a ball. Unlike my brother here.”

Grant glared as his brother elbowed him playfully.

Emily swung her gaze on him. “Do you not enjoy a ball, my lord?”

Her pale blue stare was so startling, piercing, that Grant struggled to answer, “I—I admit, my lady, they have never been my most favorite events.”

“Then what
do
you like to do, my lord?” she asked. She tilted her head and a few curls bobbed free around her face, tempting him to brush them away as she, herself, had done earlier.

Instead, he fisted his hand at his side and shrugged.

Benjamin, of course, was at no such loss for words. “Oh, my brother delights in many activities,” Ben chuckled, ticking items off on his fingers. “For example, he adores a musicale…the more off key the better. He cannot bear missing a thrilling game of whist with our aged grandmother in the country. Oh, and do not begin to indulge his secret passion for the family portraits that so many hang in the halls of their homes. If only my brother had unlimited hours, I think he would spend them listening to Society matrons describe the whiskers their ancestors wore with such distinction.”

Grant shot his brother the darkest glare in his repertoire, but found himself watching Emily’s reaction to Ben’s teasing with interest. She shot Grant a sly smile that was as potent as the brush of skin against skin.

“Really? My, you are fascinating, my lord. I never would have guessed to look at you that you had such, er,
intriguing
interests.” She lifted a gloved finger to her lips, drawing Grant’s gaze to their full, supple softness. “Did you know that Lady Laneford has one of the most extensive portrait collections in all the Empire, right here in her Great Hall?”

“Does she?” Grant asked on a sigh.

“She does. And if you would like, I would gladly give you the tour that I was forced to endure—” She held up a hand in mock interruption. “I beg your pardon, given the
pleasure
of hearing, several times over the past few years.”

Grant cocked his head, barely keeping his eyes from widening in surprise. As annoyed as he was at Benjamin for meddling and wheedling and generally making him look a fool, his brother’s playful tactics had worked. Emily was asking him, in the most natural way, to walk with her. They would be alone and after this lighthearted exchange, she might even be more receptive to sharing information.

“My lady, I would like nothing better,” Grant said with a bow.

Emily inclined her head toward Ben. “And what about you, Mr. Ashbury? Would you join us, as well?”

Ben wrinkled his face in disgust. “Good God, no! A portrait gallery, how dull. I leave it to you two adventurers with much pleasure, I’m sure.”

With a laugh, Emily turned from his brother and motioned to the parlor door.

Emily intertwined her fingers behind her back as she and Grant strolled up the long Great Hall. The buzz of the gathering was long forgotten, left behind after a series of mazelike twists and turns in the hallways. Now they were utterly alone, and while it certainly was not inappropriate to share such an innocent diversion like looking at the portraits with Grant, somehow it felt less than innocent.

In fact, it felt downright naughty.

Grant cleared his throat as he craned his neck up to observe a portrait of some long dead Laneford ancestor. “I hope my brother and I did not intrude upon your conversation with Mr. Clare, Lady Allington.”

She allowed her gaze to flit to his face, but his expression was unreadable. “Of course not. Mr. Clare and I simply found ourselves seated next to each other this afternoon. It was not in any way a private exchange.”

Grant’s mouth relaxed a fraction, just enough that she realized he was pleased to hear such news. Her heart gave an unwelcome thump. It seemed Tristan had been correct that she hadn’t lost whatever interest she’d sensed in Grant at the ball a few nights ago.

A fact that gave her a little too much pleasure.

“Hmmm.” He lifted a hand to his chin as if the painting were the most interesting thing in the world, although Emily doubted he cared two licks about it. “You see, I was not certain if you required saving, as we discussed earlier. How am I to be your champion, fair lady, if I do not know when you need a knight to gallantly sweep in and slay your dragons?”

Emily tilted her chin to look at the floor as a blush warmed her cheeks. She couldn’t help but smile at his teasing words. There was just something about Grant that made her feel…
light
was the best way she could describe it. It wasn’t an experience she’d often had in her life. And never in association with a man.

She shook off the unwanted reaction. This time alone with Grant Ashbury was about gathering information for her investigation, not anything else. And there was no time like the present to get her mind off inappropriate things and back to matters at hand.

“Tell me, Lord Westfield, was your brother in jest when he listed your favorite pursuits?”

Grant grinned, but didn’t take his eyes from the painting in front of him. Somehow, she had the impression he was still utterly aware of her every move.

“Of course. You see, one of my
brother’s
favorite pastimes is to torment me mercilessly. And if others measured their successes as well as he does in that realm, there would be more rich and happy men in the Empire.” He shrugged. “You know, of course, you have brothers and sisters, do you not?”

Emily was unable to keep her shoulders from stiffening, her heart rate from doubling. “Y-yes,” she muttered. “I have brothers and sisters.”

Ones who had inherited their feelings toward her from their father, a man who vocalized his disdain for her presence within the confines of their home, if not in the public arena. She had nothing like the easy relationship Grant and his brother shared. Her hands fisted reflexively at her sides.

Grant turned toward her, his smile gone. “Are you well, my lady? Suddenly you are pale.”

Emily jolted. Dear Lord, was she actually allowing her reaction to the mention of her family to reflect on her face? That would not do! Quickly, she wiped away all emotion and gave Grant her best empty smile.

“Yes. It is nothing.”

He reached out, taking her arm before she realized what he was about to do. Just as it had on the dance floor a few nights ago, his touch set off a firestorm of reaction in her body. It was like the simple brush of his fingers reverberated in every nerve ending she possessed and she shivered uncontrollably as he slipped her hand into the crook of his arm.

“My apologies,” he said, his voice suddenly rough. “I had forgotten your recent illness. Perhaps you are tired. Would you like to sit?”

He motioned to a cushioned bench in front of a picture window that overlooked the snowy gardens outside. Emily nodded.

“Yes, thank you.”

She sat and Grant took a place beside her. His large frame did not allow much space for her on the narrow bench and it forced them to be seated very close together. Probably too close for propriety and judging from the flicker in his eyes, he knew that fact as well as she did.