Jenna Petersen - [Lady Spies] (4 page)

The only recourse she had was to pull her arm from his, hoping that breaking contact would also break the strange spell that had suddenly come over her.

It did little to help. Her senses remained heightened by his proximity. Even his scent taunted her. So warm and masculine and clean. There was an underlying spice to it that suggested something…wicked.

She cleared her throat and blinked to focus. “If your brother was wrong about your interests, then what are they in truth?” she asked, hating the little tremble to her voice.

Grant tilted his head and his face moved closer. “Why such curiosity, my lady?”

She shrugged, loathe to overplay her hand. “No particular reason. I’m just wondering. You do not seem to have a great love for Society. You’ve always seemed somewhat…bored by the events I have seen you attend over the years. I wondered whatever could capture your attention.”

He drew back just a fraction and she hoped she hadn’t gone too far. Certainly what she had just said was very forward.

He cleared his throat, rubbing his palms on the rough fabric of his trousers. “I suppose I am little different from any other gentleman. I enjoy a good wager now and again. I fence at my club.”

He leaned back, cupping his hand around the back edge of the bench. Suddenly, Emily was all too aware of his fingers, just inches from touching her, though he never moved to do something so inappropriate. Still, the promise of the graze of his hand over her hip was there, hanging in the air between them. Air that was suddenly awfully warm.

“What about you, my lady?” He arched an eyebrow. “What are you…
passionate
about?”

Emily swallowed. Her lips felt dry. Her throat was suddenly parched. And had Grant moved closer or was he getting bigger?

“I—I—”

She was stammering. She never stammered. Always cool under pressure, that was what she was known for. Once she had talked herself out of being captured by a group of thieves who had returned to their hideout earlier than expected. But now, with a gentleman who was no kind of threat to her, she felt odd. Strained. And she also felt a strange urge to tell Grant more than she wanted to reveal.

She scooted back at that thought and her backside slid off the bench an inch, sending her off balance.

Grant’s hand instantly shot out, grasping her upper arm with the coiled strength of a powerful animal, steadying her so she didn’t fall.

“Emily?” he whispered as he pulled her back onto the bench and even closer.

Close enough that their breath mingled as she looked up, frozen, at him and he stared down at her. Waiting.

But for what?

Instinctively, she extracted her arm from his grip in a few controlled motions and got to her feet. She backed away, never letting her eyes leave his.

“I am sorry. Perhaps you’re right that my illness has made me overly tired. I ought to return to the parlor and say my good-byes to Lady Laneford. But I thank you for…” She hesitated. What
should
she thank him for?

“No, thank you.” Grant got to his feet in a slow reveal of powerful corded muscle and lean body. “Thank you for your tour of the portrait gallery. May I escort you back to the group?”

She shook her head. “Thank you, no. I’ll find my own way. Good afternoon, Lord Westfield.”

“Good afternoon, Emily.”

She shut her eyes as he said her given name a second time. It was as intimate as a caress.

Without looking at him, she hurried from the room, fighting to catch her breath as she raced blindly down the hall.

She was going to have to find a better way to uncover Grant’s activities. Because spending time alone with the man was obviously too much for her.

Much too much.

“I
need more information about Lord Westfield’s whereabouts recently. I need more information about the man, period.”

Emily paced in front of the blazing fire at Anastasia’s new London home. She had been invited for tea at Ana’s because Meredith was leaving Town in the next few days to assist Tristan with his first case. Their conversation had turned to business. It always did. Or it always
had
. Now their time together was as often punctuated by giggling stories about husbands and love as by frank discussions about evidence. And those stories left Emily in the cold.

Both Ana and Meredith looked up from their teacups. They exchanged a quick glance that had Emily wincing. Their unspoken communication pushed Emily even further out of their world.

“You have spoken to him, haven’t you?” Ana asked. “Have you garnered nothing from those exchanges?”

Emily turned her back on her friends and pretended to look into the fire. She hardly saw the flames. All she could see were foggy images of Grant’s face moving toward hers while they sat on the bench together in Lady Laneford’s hall. Instead of the heat of the fire, she felt the burning hiss of his touch when he grasped her arm. The answering flame of her own long-denied body.

Not that she could confess those things to her friends. She could scarce understand them herself. It was shocking to want a man she hardly knew. Especially when desire had never been something she sought. But now it buzzed around her like an angry, persistent bee. Just as her fears and memories haunted her. Was this strange wanting for Grant just another emotional toll of the night she was shot?

“No,” she whispered. “I’ve garnered nothing of value from our few encounters. I hoped you two might have found more in your research.”

Meredith cleared her throat as Emily turned back to face her friends.

“I’m afraid we have come up with as little information as your own efforts,” Meredith said with a shrug. “It seems Lord Westfield is a closed book. You will simply have to seek him out at more of these gatherings. I’m sure he’ll ultimately give you some kind of clue as to his thoughts and activities.”

Emily swallowed past the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. They were
lying
. She could see it in their eyes, the same ones that slid away from hers. She could hear it in their voices.

Her two best friends, the women she had depended upon for years, had put her very life on the line with that hard-given trust, were lying to her. Bald-faced, blatant lies.

She wasn’t sure whether to scream or cry.

Instead, she folded her arms and glared at them. “Really? How very interesting that you two have uncovered nothing about Grant. Especially since I received a note from Jenkins just this morning that outlined, in detail, his every movement for the past month.”

Ana choked on a mouthful of tea and Meredith’s face drained of color. Emily wanted to feel triumphant that she’d overcome their reticence, but she couldn’t manage it. Not when the underlying issue was so clear. They no longer believed her competent.

“You spoke to Jenkins?” Meredith asked.

Emily nodded once. Jenkins was one of their men on the street. Man
of
the street, in all actuality. A pickpocket with a penchant for collecting information as readily as he collected trinkets. He was more than willing to sell that information to spies who were able to pay his price.

She clenched her fists as she tried to remain calm. “Of course I spoke to him. From the very beginning, it was clear to me that you and Ana and Charlie would resist helping me. You’ve made it abundantly apparent that you don’t think me capable any longer.”

Ana got to her feet. “That isn’t fair, Emily!”

“Isn’t it?” She clenched her fingers harder, until they actually hurt. “I adore you, all of you, but if you don’t think I know you’re trying to protect me, then you’re all fools! You want to keep me so safe that it appears you are even willing to put Lord Westfield in potential danger. Unless one of you is actually investigating this case behind my back, sending me on a fool’s errand!”

“That isn’t the truth at all,” Meredith protested even as she placed a hand on Ana’s arm.

Emily turned away in frustration. There was so much unspoken communication between her two friends. Communication about
her
. Like she was some child who needed tending. An invalid who wasn’t capable.

Worse, she didn’t feel capable. After two encounters with Grant, she felt…unsure of herself. She’d been so certain returning to the field would banish these anxieties and worries. But it hadn’t. Instead only new and more troubling emotions joined them to torment her.

“We don’t want to hide anything from you,” Meredith insisted. Her voice was calm and even. It was a soothing tone Emily had heard her friend use with reticent witnesses before. Placating. “And if you’ve uncovered something from another source, then that is wonderful.”

Ana pursed her lips, but she retook her seat beside Meredith. “Yes. What information did Jenkins give you?”

Emily took a few steps toward the table, but did not retake her seat. She pondered the question. Had it come to this? Her friends did not feel her competent enough to share all their information and she did not trust them enough to reveal what she knew?

“The hells,” she finally admitted on a sigh. She would not keep secrets. She would pretend to her friends that she was still a strong and capable spy, despite their worries. “His lordship has spent quite a bit of time recently in the hells. Especially at The Blue Pony near Newgate.”

Meredith’s eyes widened with enough surprise that Emily realized this was new information to her friend. At least she hadn’t hidden the facts.

“The Blue Pony?” she repeated.

“What is The Blue Pony?” Ana asked with a tilt of her head. Even after six months of working in the field, she remained naïve about certain things.

Emily shrugged. “It’s one of the rougher gambling halls in the city. Not a normal haunt of an earl, certainly. At least, not one who isn’t in serious financial jeopardy.”

She frowned as she sat down. Grant had mentioned he liked a good wager from time to time, but she hadn’t been under the impression that he was so desperate a gambler as this new information implied. The Blue Pony was the kind of place a gentleman frequented only if he had lost his ability to show his face in more respectable clubs. A place where men lost their fortunes and sometimes their lives.

Of course, a gaming habit gone terribly wrong had been the cause of threats against many a man’s life. It offered an explanation for why someone would want to harm Grant. So whether she liked it or not, she had to explore the lead.

“You look concerned,” Ana said softly. “Distant.”

Emily shook her head. There she was, revealing her feelings again. “I’m only thinking about the case.”

Meredith’s eyebrow arched with incredulity. “Is that all?”

“Of course,” Emily snapped.

“Then what will you do?” Meredith asked and her expression remained the same, as if she didn’t believe the case was all that was haunting Emily.

She shrugged as she ducked her friend’s pointed stare. “I must go there to observe the place. I want to question some of the patrons to uncover any trouble Grant has encountered there. Perhaps I’ll even have a stroke of luck and go there a night he is in attendance so I can observe his behavior. I need to determine whether his time spent at The Blue Pony has anything to do with the threats against his life.”

Ana shook her head. “It’s dangerous, Emily! You cannot go, you shouldn’t!”

Emily flinched. Ana was saying out loud all of her own thoughts. Once upon a time, she would have thrilled at the idea of entering the dangerous club. Of the game of interrogating the patrons without revealing too much. The potential for being caught in a lie or threatened would have made her heart leap with excitement.

But now the idea of the seedy hell, filled with treacherous men and potentially deadly exchanges actually made her chest tight, her breathing labored. But she had to fight through those feelings.

“I thought you trusted me to investigate this case,” Emily said softly.

Her heart sank with every argument her friends made. With every concerned look and every lie they told to “protect” her, it was becoming more and more clear that she couldn’t depend on them during this case. She hadn’t realized just how much she had come to lean on them until she lost the ability. And it reminded her of why she had shunned such connections in the past.

“We do trust you,” Meredith said softly and her hand slid across the table to cover Emily’s. “But we still worry. Are you certain you must go to this place?”

She refused to hesitate and reveal her inner thoughts. Instead, she held Meredith’s stare evenly. “You know I must, but I will go in disguise, of course.”

She pulled her hand away from the comforting touch of the friend she knew was only looking out for her. Protecting her in her own way. A way Emily did not desire.

“Be—be careful, Emily,” Ana said softly. “Please be careful.”

Emily nodded as she made her way to the parlor door. “Whether you accept it or not, I
will
do this. And when it is over, you won’t doubt my abilities any longer.”

As she slipped from the room, she could only hope that somewhere along the way, she would regain faith in herself as well.

Grant counted to ten in his head, but the red veil of rage that had been dancing around the edge of his vision all night was not lessened in the least. The cold air bit at him as he hunkered down in the shadows, watching Emily move around her chamber, making some kind of mysterious arrangements.

He had been observing her since she slipped out of the ball at Lord Greenville’s home they’d been attending earlier in the evening, without even acknowledging his presence. She’d avoided his stare all night.

Avoided
him
was a more fitting description. Since the day they had nearly…well, he guessed it would have been a kiss if he’d had his way…at Lady Laneford’s, she had kept herself separate from him.

But while she avoided him, she was up to more nefarious and dangerous pursuits than stolen kisses in a Great Hall. He had viable information that said she’d received a communication from Horace Jenkins, an underground criminal who occasionally sold information to spies. But he was also a trickster, a blackmailer, and a pickpocket of legendary status.

Why the hell was a lady of rank and respectability receiving correspondence from such a man? It made Grant sick to think of all the possibilities. To think of the precarious danger she was so blindly putting herself in.

That information had to be related to the threats against Emily. There was no other explanation for her interaction with such a criminal. And as much as Grant wanted to sneak into her chamber, grab her by the elbows, and shake her until she understood what kind of danger she was putting herself in…he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until he fully understood her motives and the nature of her secrets.

Which meant all he could do was watch and wait to see what her next move would be. He shivered as the bitter wind blew harder, cutting through his woolen greatcoat.

What the hell was she doing? He’d lost sight of her as she departed her chamber, but froze as a carriage…not her usual carriage with its identifying crest on the door, but a plain one, pulled onto the drive. He lifted his spyglass and carefully observed the driver. The man was bundled up against the cold, with a startling red scarf protecting his face.

The front door opened and Emily came down the steps. She was hardly visible beneath the heavy bonnet, scarf, and winter wrap, but he knew it was she. The way she moved, the way she tilted her head to look around…it was Emily, no doubt. She was carrying a large valise as well, but the footman did not take it and put it on top of the carriage, as would normally be done with luggage, but instead placed it on the seat beside her.

Grant straightened up from his hiding place as the footman shut the carriage door and the vehicle slid into motion.

Where the hell was Emily going in the middle of the frigid night?

Grant raced to his own carriage, but instead of climbing inside, he leapt up to the seat next to his driver.

“Follow them!” he ordered. “And quickly.”

The man nodded and they lurched into motion. Grant gripped the seat to steady himself as he searched the streets for Emily’s coach.

He’d had no word that she was leaving Town. And that wasn’t the impression he’d gotten watching her through her window. She hadn’t been packing things to go on a journey. And even if she had, why would her bag be put into the carriage with her?

Nothing about Emily Redgrave made sense. Nothing.

He craned his neck, leaning forward as his own rig careened around an icy corner onto an avenue clogged with the vehicles of revelers returning home after soirees and trysts.

“Blast!” he growled. “Where the hell are they?”

His driver shook his head as he steered around the crowded streets. In the darkness that was only pierced by weak street lamps, all the carriages looked the same. Without an identifying crest, it was nearly impossible to tell if Emily’s vehicle was right in front of them or not on the street at all.

They were in a more dangerous neighborhood now. Not a place where ladies went. If Grant hadn’t known of her contact with men of questionable pasts, he never would have guessed Emily would come here. Now he wasn’t certain.

“That might be them up ahead, sir.” His driver motioned to a cluster of coaches and horses in front of a run down building.

Grant leaned up to read the sign that dangled from the roof. He pulled back in shock.

“The Blue Pony?” he repeated on a breath. “No, that can’t—”

Before he could finish his sentence, a carriage at the front of the line of vehicles pulled away and made a wide turn on the street. As it came back around and passed Grant, he nearly fell off his own rig.

It was driven by a man with a brilliant red scarf wrapped around his face. Emily’s driver. And from the looks of it, the carriage he drove was now empty.