Kissing The Enemy (Scandals and Spies Book 1) (14 page)

If he was lucky, maybe she’d even be willing to give them something they could use to expose Harker and take him out of the spy game once and for all. The notion was appealing, but didn’t satisfy his desire. With Freddie’s touch muddling his head, he would gladly surrender to Harker if only he got to press his body against hers once more.

He’d never seen the appeal of having a wife, but if most men were as enamored with the thought of finding themselves alone with their wives as Tristan was with Freddie, then maybe the concept had merit.

Lud, had he just considered marrying Freddie? He couldn’t have.

It would be one way to ensure she was no longer subjected to Harker’s coercion.

No, the very idea was mad! He was definitely losing his sanity.

Lost in thought, he stepped through the old door, which Lucy held wide. The doorway was wide enough for him and Freddie to walk abreast, but in order to do so, she had to press closer to him. A whiff of her lavender perfume met his nose. The soft, gentle scent made his head spin.

They stepped into the wide, cavernous room. Before Tristan took more than three steps, the door slammed shut with a resounding crash that echoed throughout the room. As Freddie’s hand slipped from his arm, they both whirled toward the door. Lucy was gone.

Tristan bolted to the door. The light in the room, filtering through the rain-splattered glass high above, was thin and wan. He could see the outline of objects in shades of gray, but no more. As he reached the door, he grappled for the latch. It was stuck. Something was securing it from the other side.

He pounded on the door with the flat of his palm. “Lucy! Let us out this instant!”

“No!” Her voice was muffled. The tinkling of rain on glass, amplified by the echoes in the vaulting room, almost drowned her out. Tristan strained to hear. “You like her, she likes you. Talk about it! I’ll let you out when you agree to marry.”

Tristan fisted his hands. His leather gloves saved him from the pain of his fingernails, but barely. “We are
not
going to marry, Lucy. Give up the notion.”

She didn’t answer. Had she left? Tristan tried the latch again, but it still wouldn’t budge. He slammed the palm of his hand against the door.

Behind him, the crash of metal signaled that the suit of armor had fallen to the ground. From the rustle of fabric, Freddie must be caught under it.

“Bloody wretched thing,” she muttered under her breath.

He couldn’t agree more, though his sentiments leaned more toward their situation.

Balling his fists, he turned away from the door. Freddie flailed, half-trapped beneath the suit of armor. He crossed to her in ground-eating strides and bent to help. Within moments, she disentangled herself, but when he tried to lift the suit, the components fell apart and scattered on the ground. He left it there.

“Thank you,” Freddie muttered as she dusted off her dress. Judging from the way she was angled away from him, she didn’t care to meet his gaze.

“Think nothing of it,” he answered, his voice stiff.

“What are we to do now?”

He ran his hands through his hair. “We find Lucy and lock her in her room for the rest of the day. If only the abbey had a dungeon.”

Freddie laughed, a light and happy sound that pinched him in the gut. “I warned you this would happen.”

“You warned me that my sister intended to lock us in a dusty old hall where no one would come looking for us?” He crossed his arms. “Do tell when we had that conversation.”

“Don’t be a chucklehead. I warned you only last night that she was forming erroneous assumptions.”

“So I recall. If I’d thought she would resort to childish antics like this, I would have taken your warning to heart.”

Freddie sighed. “There’s no point in assigning blame now.”

Tristan shook his head. “Not unless we’re laying it squarely at her feet.” He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to get it to lie flat again, to no avail. “We may as well get out of here.”

“Oh. Right. The secret passage. She didn’t choose the most opportune location if she wanted to keep us locked away.”

To the contrary, his younger sister was more devious than he’d dreamed. In order to get out, he and Freddie would be forced into even more intimate quarters. If they were seen together in his family wing on the other side of the passage, he might, indeed, have to marry her.

He gritted his teeth and kept the foreboding to himself.

Given her penchant for clumsiness, he decided it better if he kept close by her. He ignored the strange, warm feeling in his chest at the thought. Reaching out, he groped for her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. Like him, she wore gloves.

“Tristan, what—”

“The door to the passage is this way.”

Her words cut off as he coaxed her forward. Her fingers tightened on his, but she didn’t try to break free.

Although he tried not to dwell on the fact that she’d called him by his Christian name, his ears rang with the memory of the word on her lips. He swallowed hard and ran his hand down the door to the ring serving as the handle.

When he opened it, he insisted Freddie enter first.

“Why?” she asked, her voice suspicious. “You aren’t going to lock me in here, are you?”

He snorted. “What good would that do me? I’d have no way to get out.”

“Maybe you crave the solitude.”

The mirth in her voice was infectious. His dark mood lightened somewhat. “With a sister like mine, would you blame me?”

“At the moment? I’m surprised you don’t swear off the world and live as a hermit.”

“Now, what fun would that be?”

He guided her into the passage and entered after her. He had to release her hand in order to do it. He flexed his fingers at the loss and pulled the door shut behind him.

Without the dim light cast by the windows, he couldn’t see anything. Not even Freddie’s form in front of him.

“I can’t see a thing. Can you?”

“No,” he answered. “Feel your way ahead but don’t go too far.”

“Why not?”

Her voice was edged with defiance, as if she lived to oppose his wishes.

He rolled his eyes. “We can’t come out in my family’s personal wing. At this time of day, someone might see us. We’ll have to take one of the other exits.”

“There are other exits?”

He frowned. “Yes, of course. Why have a secret passage that runs the length of the abbey if there is only one destination?”

“I didn’t see any when I was last in here.”

Ah, yes. In vivid detail, he conjured the night he’d found her in his room. She had smelled a little musty and he’d suspected she’d used the passage Lucy had shown her. Now, his suspicions were confirmed. Apparently, she hadn’t taken the time to investigate the passage.

“There are four other exits to the passage, that I’ve found, but they use hidden doors. You need to press a trigger to get them to open.” Even then, the passage had been there for centuries. Some doors had languished for too long and were in dire need of oiling.

When he stepped forward, he bumped the back of her. The brief press of her body against his ignited his desire. He took a healthy step back. “Forgive me.”

“It’s fine. What do I have to feel for to find this trigger?”

“I’ll find the door. Walk slowly and I’ll be right behind you.”

The soft click of her heels indicated her compliance. Tristan had to angle himself to the side in order to navigate the passage comfortably. He pulled off his gloves and kept his hand on the wall to his left, feeling for any shift in the rough stone. He’d never done this in the dark before. Would he miss the doorway?

He found one before too long. The crack in the wall was barely perceptible. “Stop,” he called, his voice soft.

The rustle of movement halted. “You found an exit?”

“I believe so. Give me a moment and I’ll push the trigger.”

The mechanisms were usually at the level of his shoulders. He felt along the wall until he found the familiar crevice. He delved his fingers inside, praying that he’d found one of the doors that opened easily. The longer he spent in the passageway with Freddie, the more the stale air started to smell like her. He couldn’t get her perfume out of his head.

He exerted pressure and the wall clicked as it started to move inward.

“Thank Heavens,” Freddie exclaimed.

He raised his fingers to his lips. A line of light entered from the other room, which could indicate that the room was occupied. Slowly, he pushed out the wall enough to peer past it.

He’d found a sitting room, and a lesser-used one if the hodgepodge of furniture was any indication. He released a breath. “We’re safe.” He pushed out the wall enough to exit and held it open for Freddie.

She dusted off the skirt of her dress, chasing dirt into the air. He battled a sneeze. She needn’t have bothered with the action; her attire was hopelessly sullied.

“I suggest you return to your room,” Tristan said.

When she straightened, she almost looked hurt.

He added, “I don’t know about you, but I could do with some tidying up.”

She raised her hand, patting her hair. Her questing fingers found the piece of cobweb near her temple. As she pulled it away, she made a face. “I think you’re right. Shall we meet back here in an hour?”

Tristan frowned. “Whatever do you mean?” She’d been trying her best to avoid him. Suddenly, she sought out his company?

The corners of her mouth twitched as she raised her eyebrows. “Surely you didn’t think I’d let you retaliate against your sister without me.”

He grinned. “What, exactly, did you have in mind?”

Her eyes twinkled, a brown that looked like expensive brandy in the light filtering through the window. “Let’s show Lucy how it feels when someone else plays matchmaker.”

Not precisely locking her in a dungeon, but judging by the mischief in Freddie’s eyes, the gratification was bound to be infinitely sweeter. Still holding the wall open, he captured her hand with his free one and lifted it to his lips.

“You, my dear, are brilliant.”

As he parted ways with her, he thought he noticed heightened color in her cheeks. The notion brought a bloom of satisfaction to his chest. She might pretend at indifference, but he had some effect on her, after all.

I
n the end
, Tristan had only one rule for their revenge—Lucy had to be chaperoned at all times. He wanted to get even with his sister, but he didn’t want to send her into ruin or a forced marriage.

Seated side by side in the parlor that had been divested of its furniture in order to accommodate a ring of chairs large enough to seat every guest, Tristan and Freddie surveyed the prospects. Who would they throw into Lucy’s path to keep her occupied?

Freddie leaned closer to him. The second walking dress she’d donned this morning—yellow, this time—had a lower neckline than the first. A small, flowery line of embroidery followed the swoop of her bodice over her breasts, just low enough for him to see a hint of cleavage. If she was going to wear gowns with lower necklines each time, perhaps he ought to lead her through the secret passage a time or two more. How many would it take before she wore the alluring green dress from last night?

Oblivious to the turn his thoughts had taken, Freddie whispered, “What of the young man scratching his chin?”

Tristan’s next deep breath brought the soothing scent of her perfume. He forced himself to attend to the conversation and searched the group for the man in question.

“Davenport? He’d be too frightened to talk to my sister.”

She let out a huff of impatience. “Perhaps you should suggest one, then. You seem to know them much better than I do.”

He bit his tongue to stifle a laugh. They scribbled on their papers, folded them over, and passed them down the line as they contributed to the game of Consequences that his mother had arranged. Whispers eddied around the circle as various couples spoke in low tones—including Lucy and Miss Charlotte.

Tristan’s stomach jumped, as if trying to escape out his throat. He tore his gaze away. He didn’t like their pointed examination of him and Freddie, no more than he liked their sly expressions as they spoke in heated whispers. They were concocting a scheme. He doubted he would care for it.

He folded his page, cutting off the line he’d written and waited for his mother to make the rounds to collect the completed papers. He leaned his head so close to Freddie’s the teasing curl at her temple brushed his cheek. It was soft, like silk.

“We may have to find someone to occupy your sister. She seems to be scheming with mine.”

Freddie grinned. She raised her gloved hand to cover it, keeping the expression for his eyes alone. His chest warmed at the twinkle in her eye.

“Such scheming things our sisters are. Mine certainly didn’t inherit the habit from me.”

Laughter bubbled to his throat and slipped out. The sound drew the eye of several people nearby, including his mother. Freddie didn’t appear to notice. Her smile widened, and his chest warmed. He no longer cared whether someone noticed their conversation.

“Do you doubt me?” she asked, her voice low and teasing.

“I think you are a master at scheming. You taught her everything you know.”

She worried her lower lip between her teeth. The dimple her teeth made in the plump flesh drove him mad. He would give anything to be able to lean over at that moment and taste her lips.

“Not everything,” she whispered, her voice so low it barely carried to his ears.

He smiled. “Good. We’ll need all your expertise if we’re to emerge victorious.”

Her eyes glinted as she met his gaze. “I don’t care to lose, if you recall?”

She had forfeited during their battledore match in the end, if only to escape his company. Today, she didn’t seem as adamant to part from him as before. Could his design to woo her be working?

For some reason, the thought left his chest flat. After he convinced her to give up her alliance with Harker, then what? He couldn’t marry her. Their keeping company was for show, nothing more.

He swallowed, trying not to think of it. He had become a spy to make a difference. That didn’t change because of one alluring woman. Even one who underestimated her charm.

He offered the slip of paper to his mother as she passed. She continued around the circle until she returned to her place, a bundle of folded pages in her hands. She sat and chose one to begin reading out.

The following half hour was filled with laughter over bizarre gifts, ludicrous declarations, and unlikely pairings. The duke was featured in more than one tale; Tristan’s name emerged twice, from Lucy and Miss Charlotte, he was willing to bet. He had put his sister into one tale, as had several others, likely gentlemen. Miss Charlotte was even mentioned once or twice, but not her sister. Freddie didn’t seem to mind.

He pressed his lips together, pretending to hold back a laugh when he covered another emotion instead. How could they overlook her?

His mother’s voice penetrated the warm haze of anger as she read the last line from the sheet in her hand. “…and the consequence was that he fell under her spell!”

The group laughed, but Tristan’s chest tightened. Had he written that? He needed to pay more attention when he committed words to the page. Or else, his head was still muddled from the drink he’d nurtured last night after Freddie had fled.

That sheet marked the last to read aloud and the circle of guests disbanded to seek other amusements. Footmen filed into the room to collect the chairs and return the furniture to its natural order. Tristan stood and offered Freddie his hand. She slid her delicate palm into his and he helped her to her feet.

“Are you ready?” Tristan murmured as he guided Freddie’s hand onto his sleeve. His sister and hers had risen and made their way to him with impish looks on their faces.

Freddie cast him a sly sidelong glance. “Let’s make them regret this mad plot of theirs.”

He couldn’t help but match her smile.

In a deft movement, he drew Freddie to the left, hiding them both behind a cluster of gentlemen. He tapped the nearest one on the shoulder. Freddie’s hand slipped from his arm as she rounded to the fellow’s other side.

The man who turned to him, a weak-chinned young man with a broad nose and beady eyes, looked suspicious as Tristan smiled. He slung his arm over Digby’s shoulders, pulling him close.

“I think my sister’s been eyeing you.”

Digby perked up immediately. “She has? Are—are you certain?” He spoke rapidly, stumbling over his words with mixed excitement and disbelief.

Tristan infused his stance with confidence. Digby often joined in the late-night card games at the gaming hells. He was the easiest to read, a bit frightened of the women who joined the table, and he always treated them with respect. A harmless sort of fellow to throw in his sister’s path.

“Didn’t you notice, man? She kept casting glances your way during the game.”

“She…she did? I thought she looked at you.”

Tristan rolled his eyes. “I’m her brother. Why on Earth would she care to look at me when there are other gentlemen present?”

At this, Digby straightened. He fiddled with his cravat. “Do you think I should t-talk to her?”

“Absolutely. If you have honorable intentions, it’s best to capitalize on her interest now before someone else catches her eye.”

“Oh. Oh, of course.” Digby held up his hands. “My intentions are pure, I assure you. I would never disrespect her, not
your
sister.”

Tristan frowned at the odd way he emphasized the relation. He decided not to examine the slip of the tone too closely. Digby often had an odd manner of speaking. Slapping the man on the back, Tristan said, “Then I wish you luck.”

When he stepped back, Digby took off like a racehorse.

Tristan bit back a grin. He turned his attentions to how Freddie was doing with her mark. She smiled up at a tall man, batting her eyelashes.

The urge to smile evaporated. Something disapproving and primal took hold of him. He clenched his fists, battling it down.

Freddie didn’t seem to notice his unease. She tapped the man on the arm, a light brush of her fingertips. “Why, Lord Harington, my sister adores horses! She can’t hear enough of them.”

The man had a long face, rather reminiscent of a horse himself. His eyes brightened and he turned, craning his neck to see above the crowd.

“Have you been introduced?” Freddie asked, her voice light and encouraging.

Like a punch to the gut, Tristan realized that this was likely the way she would behave as a mother. Bright, gentle, encouraging. Everything a son or daughter could ask for.

Tristan shoved the thought away. He’d never thought much about children, and he didn’t care to start now. No one cared whether he sired an heir and a spare.

Lord Harington nodded, but the movement was hesitant. “I have, while she was in the company of Lady Lucy.”

“Well, it appears as though Lucy is otherwise engaged. This might be your chance to engage my sister in conversation.”

“Yes.” He straightened his cuffs and threw back his shoulders. “Good day, Miss Vale.” He didn’t look at her as he prepared to stride away.

A slim smile stretched her lips. “Good luck, my lord.”

The moment Freddie stepped away from the other members of the group, Tristan installed himself at her side. She didn’t look triumphant. In fact, if anything, she looked worried.

“What ails you?” he asked, his voice a whisper.

When she turned her head, her mouth skimmed so close to his chin that she nearly brushed his skin. He pulled away marginally.

She raised her gaze to his. In the strong light of the sitting room, her eyes glowed like embers. “I feel bad for lying to him.”

Tristan raised an eyebrow. “You wanted him to engage her in conversation, did you not?”

“Yes, but I gave him the wrong impression. What if they might have made a good match, had I not given him to believe that she was horse-mad?”

She looked so genuinely distraught over the idea that he nearly pulled her into his embrace to offer comfort. He fisted his hands at his sides instead.

Before they’d launched this plan of revenge, he hadn’t considered that she might be interested in matchmaking. Tristan didn’t tend to think of such things. But, then, he wasn’t a woman.

“If you hadn’t told him such a thing, he would never have sought out her company. Any match that comes to fruit between them will be because of you.”

“I suppose so…” She still sounded concerned.

If Freddie considered marriage for her sister, did she also seek a match for herself? It was a maddening question, and one he didn’t care to dwell on for long. Whatever her intentions for marriage, she’d clearly set them aside during the interim of this house party.

She had, after all, set herself squarely in his path. As his enemy.

He tried for a charming smile. He practiced it often enough in the gaming hells and other suspect locations in London. But, in this case, he felt as though Freddie could see through the pretense.

Impossible. No one sees you.
Not even when he was in plain sight, drawing attention to himself. Other people only saw Morgan’s younger brother and temporary heir.

Freddie let out a yelp as she suddenly pitched forward. Tristan caught her, his arms wrapping around her as her soft body pressed against his. The feel of her was like a conflagration. He battled his reaction as he set her on her feet and took a healthy step back. What had prompted that?

With a pugnacious glare, Freddie turned. Several feet behind her stood Lucy, wearing a smug smile. She must have shaken Digby off her tail. She cocked one brow in challenge.

Tristan exchanged a glance with Freddie. Her gaze simmered with mischievous intent. He grinned. “Are you ready to go to war?”

She matched his smile. “Let’s do this.”

* * *

T
he afternoon’s
battle wore thin quickly. Lucy, realizing what Tristan and Freddie were about, soon sought to thwart his efforts by being inseparable from Miss Charlotte. He and Freddie had to concoct elaborate schemes to convince young men to approach the formidable young women in pairs. Lucy must have gotten to Mother as well, for the indoor games took a decidedly romantic bent. How else would he have pulled the word ‘kiss’ from the hat during Pantomime? Through every game, he was paired with Freddie, which would have been more pleasurable if not for the knowing stares of his sister and his mother.

Even the respite of the dinner table was thwarted by his mother announcing that the family would mingle with the guests tonight. Somehow, Tristan found himself seated beside Freddie. Not that she wasn’t an adequate dinner partner—they kept up a lively conversation, mostly about their sisters—but he was starting to feel the stares of the others in his family.

Particularly Morgan. Even though Tristan tried to reassure his brother with a look that he knew what he was doing, Morgan looked disapproving. That, if nothing else, made Tristan determined to continue. For the remainder of dinner, he applied himself to making Freddie smile and laugh. Each one was a reward in itself.

As the gentlemen and ladies rose to depart the room and go their separate ways, Tristan laced his fingers through Freddie’s and tugged her toward the door. She stumbled, but soon caught her balance and the delicate pink skirt of her evening dress. This dress, like her walking dress, had a lower cut neckline than most of her other dresses. A pearl necklace drew attention to her creamy skin.