Kissing The Enemy (Scandals and Spies Book 1) (21 page)

T
his is a bad idea
. You’re a horrible liar.

Unfortunately, Freddie and Tristan’s plan relied on her being able to lie to Harker’s face. If she didn’t convince him, her family would be in an even worse position than they were now. She would die before she let that happen.

She hovered in the doorway to the drawing room, praying that no one would notice her as she scanned the interior for her prey. There, standing off from everyone else with a glass of amontillado in his hand. His posture was stiff and hostile, a marked contrast from when he entertained in London. His squirrelly friends doted on him, making him the toast of the night. Harker usually soaked up the attention, telling lewd jokes and laughing at his friends’ expense.

Now, Freddie had to wonder if his friends weren’t all traitors as well. After tonight, she would never have to cross paths with them again. That brought some measure of relief. It had been getting progressively harder to keep Charlie’s presence in the townhouse from being known, now that she’d made her bows.

She caught Harker’s eye. He frowned, his hairy eyebrows uniting over his eyes. She jerked her chin toward the hall then stepped back before someone else saw her.

At the moment, the corridor appeared deserted. The servants had recently lit the candles to create their magical effect, even though the sun had not yet kissed the horizon. It would before supper was through.

Although her nerves jangled in her stomach like discordant bells, Freddie thrust her shoulders back and clasped her hands in front of her waist, the picture of serenity. Down the corridor, in an unused closet, Tristan waited with the door cracked open. If she looked to be about to fail, he would rescue her. Even though she wanted to perform her task without his help, knowing that his support was nearby and unwavering lent her strength.

Her chest warmed at the idea that soon, this debacle would be over, and they would never be enemies again. She didn’t want to examine what the future held too closely, aside from that.

Harker squeezed his bulk through the door and stepped away, joining her. “What is this about?” His voice was low, but sharp all the same.

Her nerves erupted again. She pressed her palms against her abdomen to quell the sensation. “I’ve discovered the rendezvous location to hand off the book you seek. I’ve also gleaned the signal the agent will provide to assure the Graylockes of his identity.”

Was her voice too high pitched? Was the lie written on her face? Once Tristan had confessed the truth of the situation—that the hand-off was designed to catch a French spy—she couldn’t believe she’d been so naïve as to think that the duke would leave vital information around for her to find. Even if that information had appeared to be dropped during his hasty departure.

Harker’s lip curled. She nearly flinched. She held herself steady by biting into her inner cheek.

“Why are you telling me about it? Go get it.”

She swallowed twice before she could speak. “I can’t.”

His expression darkened.

Her heartbeat sped, quickening the words falling out of her mouth. “They’re expecting a man. It has to be you.”

“The Graylockes already know I’m working for England.”

You lying fiend.
Freddie’s stomach seethed with hatred. She tried not to let it show on her face. “Pretend your allegiances have changed, if you must. So long as you have the signal, they’ll have to accept you. They don’t know who their contact is, only that he is in Tenwick Abbey. You’re the only person who can make the exchange.”

Although it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention, she held his gaze. He raked it over her skin, leaving her feeling as if she were coated in slime.

“Very well,” he spat. “I’ll go. Where is the meeting and when?”

“It’s to be held while the guests are at supper, beneath the big gnarled oak tree on the grounds. The signal is mockingbird, but you must make the hand signal as well.” She demonstrated, hooking her thumbs together and flapping her hands as if they were wings.

With a disgruntled oath, he turned on his heel and marched down the corridor, hopefully on his way outside. When he turned into another hall, she looked toward the door where Tristan hid.

Did I succeed—or was I too transparent?
For some reason, she wanted his reassurance that she hadn’t blundered.

The door began to open, granting Freddie the glimpse of his profile. As she smiled in welcome, he shut the door again in haste. Why…

“Freddie, dear, was that Lord Harker?”

Freddie’s heart kicked into a gallop at her mother’s voice. She turned, though her smile felt wan. “Indeed it was. I, um, thought it best to let someone know that I wasn’t feeling quite the thing and intended to take my supper in my room.”

The worried lines in Mama’s forehead deepened. She reached forward to press the back of her hand against Freddie’s cheek. “You don’t feel hot.”

“I don’t have a fever, Mama. I’m just feeling a trifle out of sorts. A night’s rest will do wonders, I’m sure. Will you be able to give my regrets to the Graylockes? And to Charlie, too, of course.”

Mama frowned, but she murmured, “Of course.”

Freddie kissed her on the cheek and bid her goodnight. She watched as Mama slipped back into the room, then breathed a sigh of relief. This time when she turned to the closet door, Tristan had already slipped through.

Did he look a touch worried? He held out his hand. “Come. We don’t have much time. I need to oversee the exchange, in case something goes awry.”

“I thought you said the duke will be lying in wait.”

“He will be, if he can slip away from the gathering in time. But I haven’t had the opportunity to inform him about the change in plan.”

The lines near his eyes deepened. He took hold of her hand, threading his fingers through hers.

As he turned to lead her down the deserted corridor, she whispered, “Are you afraid this won’t turn out as we’d planned?”

The smile he bestowed upon her was blinding. It was also fake. His eyes didn’t twinkle the same way they did when he usually smiled at her.

“I will turn out fine. It must.”

She tightened her fingers on his, propriety be damned, and let him lead her through the abbey.

When they reached the open twilight, he reluctantly let her slip her hand away and follow him instead. His hand flexed on the empty air before he thrust it into his pocket. He didn’t speak until they reached the bottom of the low rise leading to the tree. A portly figure paced beneath the shadow of the branches, too far away to make out his features.

Harker. It has to be.

The constriction of worry around Freddie’s chest loosened somewhat. At least until Tristan turned to her.

“I’ll have to leave you here.”

“What?” She reached out, hoping to grasp his hand and keep him nearby, but he was too far away. “Why?”

“I have to meet with my brother and explain. He’ll be on the north side of the hill.” Tristan’s dark gaze latched onto Freddie’s face, his expression etched with concern. “There’s a deer trail almost hidden in the brush on the south side. Take that to the fallen branch at the top and hide there. That will be close enough for you to witness the proceedings.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but shut it without a word. She nodded. He could easily have insisted she wait out the debacle elsewhere. At least this way, she got to see this through.

To what end, she didn’t yet know.

She swallowed hard and nibbled on her lower lip. “Goodbye, then.”

He grinned. “Don’t make it sound like you’re off to the gallows. I’ll see you again shortly.”

Her heart leapt as he captured her hand and laid his lips against her knuckles. She warmed. She would rather have his lips elsewhere, but now wasn’t the time. She and Tristan had to save her family.

As he slipped away to the north, she turned south. It didn’t take long to find the trail he spoke of, wedged between the thorny bushes climbing the south side of the rise. They shielded her approach, at least, so long as she crouched.

It took entirely too long to navigate that trail. After ripping one of her few netted over-gowns, Freddie didn’t want to ruin another. Waddling from bush to bush didn’t help. She must have looked ridiculous if anyone spotted her climbing the hill. Luckily, the south side faced away from Tenwick Abbey.

Eventually, she met the fallen branch. At least a foot in diameter, she would have called it a tree, rather than a branch. It must have parted ways from the tree overhead quite some time ago, because there were no gaps in the nearly-leafless canopy overhead. Moss crept up its sides. She laid flat on her belly behind the earthy-smelling branch and peeked her head over to see the proceedings. It was a good thing her hair was brown, unlikely to be noticed.

Harker paused in his pacing at someone else’s approach. A needle-thin man with a weak chin, utterly forgettable in his modest attire and meek deportment, crested the rise to stand in front of the tree.

“You.” The man’s nasal voice sounded surprised. Likely he had been expecting someone else—Freddie.

She scanned the far side of the tree. Where was Tristan? Unlike the south side, the north side had no cover to shield him. Harker’s back was turned to him, but if he had been there, Freddie should have seen him. Had he been delayed? Did Harker have another agent left behind to do harm to anyone who approached?

Freddie’s stomach lurched at the notion. Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps Tristan was still engaged in relaying the situation to his brother. If so, he’d best hurry, or he would miss the exchange.

The thin man—who must be in the duke’s employ, if not a spy for England—said in a timid voice, “My lord, I believe all the guests are to be seated at supper shortly. You’ll have to hurry, if you don’t want your gracious hosts to take offense.”

Freddie marveled over the tone of his voice, coupled with his demeanor. His shoulders hunched forward, as if to make himself smaller. In a few words and a gesture of his hand, he made his idea sound like the best in the world, almost as though Harker had suggested it himself. Could Freddie learn to do that?

Fortunately, Harker was unmoved. He smiled, showing his teeth. “I’m not merely a guest. Trust me when I say you’ll want to meet with me.” With an almost comical rendition of the hand signal, he spoke the code word.

The spy’s mien changed immediately. He drew himself up and said in a commanding tone, “Lord Elias Harker, you are hereby arrested in the name of Britain for the impersonation of a royal spy.”

“No,” Harker said, though his voice was strained. “I assure you, my allegiances have changed. I’ve been passing along information for Britain for some months—”

The spy paid his tirade no mind. His voice laden with sarcasm as he stepped forward, he said, “Then I’d love to know why you passed along a fake signal left for an enemy spy.”

“There’s been a mistake!”

The man snorted. He dug into the pocket of his coat.

Harker was quicker. He pulled a pistol from his pocket and shot the spy. As the man crumpled to the ground, clutching his shoulder, Freddie’s ears rang. She didn’t immediately realize that she’d screamed until Harker turned in her direction, gun still raised.

Tristan and his brother erupted from behind the five-foot-wide tree trunk. Freddie scrambled to get her feet under her, only to trip over her hem and collapse on top of the half-rotted, mossy branch. Harker’s expression morphed into fiery outrage.

And then the shot went off.

R
ed bloomed
on Harker’s chest like the morbid unfurling of a flower’s petals. His eyes glazed over as he collapsed face first onto the ground. Tristan and the duke fumbled to get their pistols out of their pockets and raised. If they hadn’t shot him, then who…

Freddie rolled her back to the log to find her mother lowering a smoking pistol. Mama’s face was set, her chin stubborn. Tendrils of her gray-and-blond hair escaped her coif, lending her a feral look. Freddie had never seen her looking so hard.

Tristan skidded to a stop beside Harker’s gurgling corpse, his brother on his heels. Both raised their weapons at Mama.

No.
Freddie had to stop this. She lurched to her feet, intending to throw herself between both parties if need be. Before she caught her balance, her mother dropped the pistol. It landed on the ground with a thud. Mama raised her hand, touching her forehead, then her lips, then her chest.

“A rose plucked unwillingly houses the sharpest thorns.”

What?

The Graylocke brothers looked equally baffled. The duke’s jaw dropped. “
You’re
our contact?”

Wait, what?
Mama was a spy? No. It couldn’t be true. Freddie had been the only thing holding her family together upon Papa’s death. Mama was too weak and malleable to spy.

“I was.”

Mama stepped forward. She barely glanced at Freddie. Instead, she hiked her mauve skirt to her knees as she stepped over the branch. She skirted the growing red stain on the grass and crouched to lay her fingers at Harker’s neck, beneath his cravat.

Her mouth twisted into an expression of disgust as she stood. “I’m not sure what good I’ll do you, now. My value to the Crown rested in my ability to spy on Harker and report his movements.”

Freddie’s ears rang. Her breath gushed from her chest. When her knees weakened, she sat heavily on the log. It groaned, but held her weight.

“Mama? You’re a spy?” The roar in her ears drowned out her words, but her mother must have heard, because she turned away from the Graylocke brothers.

The duke said something about a book and Tenwick Abbey, but Mama waved him off to attend to his spy. Until then, in her shock Freddie had forgotten there was another casualty. Her breath caught and she prayed the man was still alive.

Tristan caught her gaze and held it. He looked like he wanted to say something, but his brother called for his attention and he turned to attend the fallen man. The duke pressed his hand to the man’s shoulder. He must still be alive.

Freddie half-expected Mama to follow after them and offer her assistance. Instead, she hiked her skirts and crossed over the log to sit beside Freddie.

Freddie swallowed twice, trying to summon her voice. When she did, it emerged as a distant croak. “Don’t you want to help them?”

She clutched Freddie’s hand. The squeeze barely registered. Her hand felt numb. Was Freddie going to swoon? She had more mettle than that. Her mouth tasted metallic.

“I’m more worried about you.”

“I wasn’t shot.”

Mama smirked. The weak expression faded immediately. “I’m glad for that, darling, but you don’t look well. You’ve had a shock.” She pressed her free hand against Freddie’s cheeks and clucked her tongue. “Clammy.”

When she tried to pull out of Freddie’s grasp, she clutched Mama’s hand tighter.

“Freddie, darling. I need the smelling salts in my reticule. I’m not leaving.”

Mama spoke in soft, dulcet tones that brought to mind the lullabies she used to sing when Freddie was ill. Reluctantly, Freddie loosened her hold, letting Mama dig through the embroidered reticule hanging from her wrist. The embroidery was only haphazardly done, including what was either supposed to be a dog or a dragon. It was one of the first things Charlie had stitched as a child. Mama refused to part with it for one better made, despite Charlie’s repeated entreaties. Mama said she cherished it, because it reminded her of the past.

When she pulled out the small vial containing the smelling salts, Freddie made a face. “I hate those.”

“I know.” Mama uncorked it. “Have a sniff. They’ll make you feel better.”

With a sigh, Freddie leaned forward to endure the noxious torture. If anything could make her wish for a head cold, it was smelling salts. They did help to grant her some clarity, though. She took a deep breath of the fresh, clean air once Mama put the horrid bottle away. What was supposed to be a cleansing breath turned into a cough at the ripe stench of Harker’s body lying not far away.

Mama eased her hand beneath Freddie’s elbow. “Perhaps we should go inside.”

Freddie dug in her heels. There was no love lost between her and Harker. In fact, it was a relief to know that neither Charlie nor Mama would ever become the subject of his attentions again. That ordeal was over.

Even if Freddie didn’t quite know how she would keep a roof over everyone’s head. No doubt Harker’s estates fell to some long-lost male relative, if not the Crown.

“No, Mama. Not until you explain. How long have you been a spy?”

Mama sighed. Her shoulders drooped. “Since we moved into Lord Harker’s household.” When Freddie opened her mouth, Mama held up her hand. “Wait a moment. Let me collect my thoughts and start at the beginning. I only want to tell the tale once.”

“What about Charlie?”

Mama pursed her lips. “Twice, then.”

Satisfied, Freddie clasped her hands on her lap and waited. She tried not to breathe through her nose, to minimize the stench. If she didn’t turn around and look at Harker’s corpse, she could pretend he wasn’t even there.

“Your father had a gambling problem,” Mama began.

Freddie swallowed, but didn’t interrupt. She knew that already.

Mama wasn’t looking at her face. Instead, her gaze was fixed on the scenery, the line of trees cropping up on the edge of Tenwick Abbey to the south. “The problem with gambling is that whenever he lost, he always thought he would be able to win it back. Even if he recouped some of the money, he kept trying, and eventually, he lost again. Sometimes, even worse. By the time you turned fifteen, he feared that he would be hauled away to debtor’s prison at any moment. The Crown came to him with a proposal, instead.”

Freddie opened her mouth, but her voice must have fled to the soles of her feet with the shock. She shut her mouth again.

Mama continued, “They offered to absolve his debt and set me up with a small annuity if I completed a task for them.”

“If
you
did?”

Mama turned her head, catching Freddie’s gaze. Her eyes were cloudy in the growing twilight. “Yes, Freddie. Me. They knew Lord Harker was a traitor, you see, and they needed someone to report on his movements. As your father was Harker’s closest living relative, if something were to happen to him, I would be in a prime position to insert myself into Lord Harker’s household. From there, I could report on his movements, his correspondence, his associates. Any number of things.”

Freddie gasped. “So the Crown killed Papa?”

“What?” Mama barked out an incredulous laugh. “Heavens, no. Don’t be silly! Your father entered the service as well.”

Freddie groped for Mama’s hand. She didn’t realize how tight her grip was until pain flashed across Mama’s face. Freddie licked her dry lips. “Are you…are you saying that Papa is alive?”

Mama nodded. “He is. He leads a secret life somewhere in France, to the best of my knowledge. Our communication has been limited ever since I took up position in Lord Harker’s household. Maybe now…”

Freddie shook her head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tears glimmered in Mama’s eyes. “You and Charlie were so young when it happened. I thought it better to keep you innocent of the endeavor. Then, as you got older… Can you blame me for not wanting this dangerous life for you? I wanted you to have a chance at a normal life.”

Helpless, Freddie shrugged. “I was introduced to this life anyway, by Harker. If I’d known what he was from the beginning I might have been able to do things differently.”

Mama clutched Freddie’s hand tightly. Movement from the corner of her eye and an agonized groan from the base of the tree caught Freddie’s attention. Tristan finished tying a makeshift bandage around the wounded man’s shoulder. The Graylocke brothers positioned themselves at the spy’s head and feet in preparation of lifting him.

In a steely voice, Mama said, “It’s over, now. That’s the important thing.”

His hands red with blood, Tristan lifted his arm as if to run his fingers through his hair. He stopped at the last minute and gripped the spy’s ankles instead. When he glanced up, his gaze met Freddie’s.

She was too far away to discern the expression in his eyes, but if they in any way mirrored the emotions in her heart, he must be battling an inner turmoil. Longing, relief, uncertainty. Love.

When Mama urged Freddie to stand and leave the hilltop, she turned her face away from Tristan’s, unable to look at him any longer and contemplate a future she might never have. Mama was right, this ordeal with Harker was over. But where did that leave Freddie and Tristan?