Jenna Petersen - [Lady Spies] (8 page)

But when she did, no accent had touched her voice.

L
ong after Emily was sure Grant was deep in sleep, she lay on his chest. It seemed so right to feel his sweat-slicked, naked body beneath her. To hear his slow, steady breaths and let them soothe her.

It was a fantasy, of course, but she didn’t want to let it go. She wasn’t ready to get up and slip away. To leave him behind and be forced to pretend this sudden, powerful night had never occurred. Tomorrow or the next day or the next, she would encounter him in a ballroom or a parlor and would have to pretend they had never kissed. That he hadn’t claimed her in the most elemental way possible. That he hadn’t brought her to powerful release.

She’d be forced to pretend she didn’t want to repeat it all again, but this time without the barrier of her costume. With lights blazing so she could see more than the shadow of his body. So she could watch his expression when she gave him pleasure.

But that was a desire she would never fulfill. It wasn’t possible.

With a sigh, she carefully slipped out of his arms. Grant grumbled, reaching out to find her. Emily winced as she slipped one of the pillows into his arms so he wouldn’t wake. That seemed to placate him and he rolled onto his side, pulling the cushion against his chest.

Damn, but she wished she could just stay in that bed.

Stifling a curse, she moved over to the candles on the mantel she’d snuffed earlier. She glanced at Grant before she lit one. She needed light to get dressed and to search his clothing for the key…and also for evidence about who might be making the attempts on his life. She had forgotten her case long enough. Now she had to refocus.

She shrugged into her gown and slippers, then crouched to the floor. Setting the candle beside the pile of Grant’s clothing, she started to go through his things. There were a few shiny coins in his pockets, a ragged slip of paper with a reminder to meet his brother the next day, but there was hardly anything of interest.

She shoved her hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and grabbed the key, but before she could withdraw it, her fingers grazed a smooth, circular piece of metal. She grasped it, as well, and pulled both out. She put the key in the small pocket of her gown, then leaned the circular metal disk toward the candlelight. It was a pocket watch. She turned it over to examine the engraving, the design.

With a click of the clasp, she opened it. Inside there was a message:
To Lord Westfield for commendable service
.

She blinked. Why did that message seem so familiar? Why did the watch itself seem so familiar? She’d seen one like it before, hadn’t she?

She dropped her head closer to the light and smoothed her fingers over the engraving. Wait, what was that? There was a little catch in the metal. She slipped her fingers over it a second time and the watch face flipped back, revealing a hidden compartment.

Emily nearly dropped the piece as her heart rate doubled. She knew where she’d seen this watch before. Anastasia had been commissioned to design a dozen of them for the very best of the War Department spies just a few years ago. Only those with highly decorated service had received them. They were made as a reward, and a device for the field. In the hidden compartment there was room for a small key, a secret message, any number of items a spy might not want to have discovered if he were searched.

Had Grant stolen this?

No, it was inscribed to him. The watch was his.

She glanced at Grant. His broad, bare back was to her. He had a little scar on his right shoulder. His muscles were from work. He moved with the speed of a cat. When faced with the option of running or fighting, he had taken on a man who was known for his brutality. And Grant’s interrogation and skills of deduction had impressed her earlier in the night.

Her hands trembled wildly as she stumbled to her feet. All the pieces slipped together. Grant Ashbury was a spy. An agent for the War Department, as highly trained as she was herself.

Why hadn’t she seen that fact before?
That
was why he had been going to The Blue Pony, even though there was no evidence that his gambling was out of control. The hells were a perfect spot for stumbling upon plots and information, much like she had that very night.

That
was why when he saw Cullen Leary coming for her, there was a flash of recognition on his face that went beyond the boxer’s public reputation.

So if that were the case, why the hell had she been assigned to track a spy? A man who could easily defend himself if he was truly being threatened? A man who
knew
his profession put him at high risk for injury and death. If he really was being stalked, that fact would never be kept from him.

Which meant that what she had been told about him was a lie. No wonder Ana and Meredith had kept her in the dark, had been so reticent to share information.

Her stomach turned, nausea choking her as she blew out the candle and backed away.

Grant had approached
her
at the Westfield party. He’d offered her protection. She’d found it ironic at the time, but now that statement was more ominous. If she had been assigned to “protect” him…was it possible he had been assigned the same? Did Grant know she was a spy that no one trusted anymore?

Had he been laughing at her all along?

Dear God…he might have even been fully aware of her identity tonight. While she thought she was protected by her costume, he could have known he was making love to
her
.

She shook her head. The truth. She had to uncover the truth. And there was only one place where she was certain she would find it.

Hands shaking, she unlocked the door and slipped into the hallway. As she shut it behind her, she looked at the barrier. Her shock was beginning to fade, replaced with humiliation and anger. Anger at her friends for deceiving her. Anger at Grant if he knew the truth.

Anger at herself for being so blind.

She turned the key. Let him wake to find her gone and the door locked. Let him have to figure out how to escape the room. It served him right if he had known the truth about her from the beginning.

Cursing under her breath, Emily shoved the key and Grant’s watch into her pocket and ran down the hallway.

This
would
be resolved tonight.

“I said I want to see Mrs. Tyler and I want to see her now!”

Emily shouldered her way through the doorway, pushing the butler aside. He smoothed his wrinkled coat and pushed at his cockeyed wig as he glared at her.

She couldn’t blame the servant for his expression. Not only had she awoken him in the middle of the night, but she was still half made up in her costume. Her worn dress was wrinkled, the buttons cockeyed from being fastened in near darkness with no mirror for assistance. She had removed her wig before she hailed a hackney after she left Grant, but her hair was wild from just a cursory finger comb. She didn’t even want to think about what her face looked like after everything she’d done that night in her heavy makeup.

No doubt she looked a fright. And a loose one, at that.

“Lady Allington, it is the middle of the night. Mr. and Mrs. Tyler retired long ago and I cannot be expected to—”

“What is going on, Miles?”

Emily spun on the male voice that interrupted the exchange. Lucas Tyler was coming down the staircase, tying his robe around his waist as he walked. The V revealed a broad expanse of bare skin and his lips were suspiciously red.

“Lady Allington to see Mrs. Tyler, sir.” The butler gave his master a long-suffering sigh.

“You may return to bed, Miles,” Lucas said as he stepped into the foyer and met Emily’s glare. His gaze shifted up and down her body before his eyebrow cocked with unspoken questions. “I shall take care of this.”

“I want to see Ana.” Emily slammed the front door behind her, then folded her arms. “Now.”

Lucas tilted his head and his handsome face was lined with genuine concern for her well-being. “Emily, what’s wrong? Is it—”

Before he could finish his question, Ana’s voice echoed from above stairs. “What is it, Lucas?”

Hot blood raced to Emily’s cheeks at the sultry lilt to Ana’s voice. She’d never heard
that
tone from her proper friend before. When she looked again at the disheveled Lucas, she realized fully what she had interrupted.

Her treacherous mind flashed to Grant’s hot hands stroking over her skin. To his lips gliding over her breasts. To the way he filled her body and made her ache in a way she’d all but forgotten.

She shook the memories off as she recalled the pocket watch she still carried with her.

“I know the damned truth, Ana,” she called up the stairs. “I know you lied to me.”

There was a moment’s hesitation before Ana’s footsteps came rushing down. Her friend appeared in her own rumpled bedclothes. Her hair was just as tangled as Lucas’s, her neck flushed, lips swollen…and her eyes were wide and filled with pained emotion.

Emily smiled, though she felt bitterness more than any good humor. As excellent a spy as Ana was becoming since her marriage, there were still some things she hadn’t mastered. When it came to her friends, she couldn’t hide her reactions and emotions. Which is why Emily had come
here
tonight, rather than Meredith and Tristan’s. Merry could keep her face stony, make believable denials that were hard to decipher.

“Emily,” Ana began as she shot Lucas a glance.

He folded his arms and suddenly any friendliness and concern he’d shown Emily was gone. A protector replaced the man who had become her friend in the last six months.

“Emily, this can wait until tomorrow,” he said, his tone one that demanded acquiescence. “And I’d thank you not to take that tone with my wife.”

Ana hurried down the remainder of the stairs to press a hand against Lucas’s forearm. Their eyes met and a wealth of understanding flashed between them. Questions were answered in that one glance. Love was given and received.

Emily’s stomach clenched. That was something she had never experienced and likely never would, thanks to the painful past that followed her everywhere she went. She would never feel that easy understanding and care, the warmth of love and complete trust that passed between both her best friends and their new spouses. Until recently, she hadn’t begrudged them that. But now it stung her like a whip lashing across her skin.

“Darling, it’s all right.” Ana leaned up to press a brief, yet somehow sensual, kiss against her husband’s stubble-roughened cheek. “Emily is obviously upset and I’ll gladly talk to her about whatever she thinks I’ve done.”

Lucas tilted his head. “Ana—”

She shrugged. “I know. Go to bed. I’ll be back up when I’ve finished here.”

He shot another dark look in Emily’s direction and her spine stiffened. Part of her was irritated at the ire he was focusing in her direction when
she
had been the one betrayed and lied to. Another part envied his protectiveness. Ana had someone who would battle to the death to keep her from any harm, even the slightest one.

Emily had no one.

Though she couldn’t help but think of Grant raising the chair above his head to stop Cullen Leary’s charge earlier in the night.

“Come to the parlor. The hallway is drafty.” Ana motioned to one of the rooms and Emily followed. As her friend tossed a log onto the dying fire and lit a few lamps, Emily paced to the window and looked outside.

“I would apologize for interrupting whatever I clearly intruded upon,” she said as she spun back on her friend in time to see Ana blush furiously. “But I have a hard time feeling sorry when I’ve been so thoroughly deceived and humiliated. And by you and Meredith and Charlie, Ana. That makes me even angrier. It hurts even deeper.”

Ana sat down and gave her an even stare that she had clearly been practicing. “I honestly don’t understand you, Emily. What is it you think all of us have done?”

With a growl, Emily drew Grant’s watch from her pocket and crossed the room to drop it into Ana’s lap. Her friend’s brown eyes flickered down, then widened at the sight of the piece she had personally designed. She flinched like it would burn her if she touched it.

Emily knew exactly how she felt.

“It’s a watch, Emily.”

With a shake of her head, Emily let out a burst of unladylike laughter. “Oh, yes. It is a watch. A watch
you
designed. A watch that was only given to the most decorated members of His Majesty’s male spies. I believe your husband has one.”

“And is this my husband’s watch?” Ana asked, her voice bland and face benign now that she’d had a moment to regain her composure.

“No.” Emily wanted to scream, but she managed to rein in her emotions. Barely. “I found it in Grant Ashbury’s pocket tonight.”

Ana swept the watch up and got to her feet. “You picked Grant Ashbury’s pocket?”

Emily froze. She hadn’t thought about how she was going to say how she found the watch. She certainly wasn’t going to explain to Ana how she had discovered it in the pile of Grant’s clothing after they made love.

“You’re changing the subject. It doesn’t matter how I found it.” She folded her arms. “That watch proves a point you already know. He’s a spy.”

Ana swallowed hard. “Emily…”

The pleading in her voice gave Emily the answer she sought. It seemed like everything she knew had been yanked out from under her. And now she was lost. She could no longer trust even her closest friends. And everything she believed about Grant was changed, too.

“How could you do it?” she whispered, hating how her voice broke a little. Hating the tears that stung her eyes. “How could you lie to me when you know how hard it is for me to have faith?”

Ana handed the watch, the hated watch, back to Emily. When her friend tried to touch her, she flinched away.

“Oh, Emily. You wanted to work in the field so desperately,” Ana admitted softly. “We weren’t certain you were ready. You’ve changed since you were attacked, though you won’t acknowledge it. We were frightened your drive could force you to put yourself in very dangerous positions. That you might make errors in your blind attempts to prove you could do your work again.”