Kissing The Enemy (Scandals and Spies Book 1) (5 page)

Me?
Freddie’s voice caught in her throat. The twin eager gazes of her companions bored into her, awaiting her verdict. “I thought we were discussing your candidates for marriage, not mine.”

Charlie wrinkled her nose. “Why would I want a stuffy man who spends most of his time locked away with books? No offense meant.”

Lucy laid her hand on Charlie’s sleeve. “I don’t know any of the others personally, but Catty I can vouch for as a respectful young man of good manners and good humor. Shall I introduce you?”

If Britain had had two such tenacious generals on the front lines, Napoleon would have already surrendered. Freddie flapped her mouth as she stared from one woman to the other.

At that moment, movement in the doorway saved her the need to answer. Freddie stifled a sigh of relief. She never thought she’d be so glad to see the gentlemen return.

T
he moment Lord Graylocke
stepped into the room, his gaze flew to the corner of the room where Freddie sat. Her mouth dried. He stepped toward her with purpose. She jumped to her feet, but she had nowhere to flee. Lucy had boxed the three of them into the corner quite effectively.

Her heart drummed like a racing carriage as Lord Graylocke stepped up to them. His other brothers, the duke and Lord Gideon, remained by the door. The duke was immediately beset upon by the nearest young ladies. Using his brother as a distraction, Lord Gideon inched toward the opposite corner. He hunched his shoulders, as if by doing so he would somehow make himself as short as the other gentlemen in attendance. Although he’d changed into eveningwear, his hair sported the same disarray as earlier in the orangery, a stark contrast to the duke’s tailored appearance.

Lord Graylocke’s appearance was somewhere in the middle. He dressed as if he intended to leave for a night of carousing. His black curls were fashionably tousled. His cheeks sported the hint of stubble, a shadow over his skin. He wore a black jacket over a gold-embroidered waistcoat, black breeches that tucked into his polished Hessians, and a snowy white cravat. Compared to the peacock colors of the other guests, he should have faded into the background. Instead, Freddie found it difficult to look away. The eveningwear made his eyes appear darker, deeper. Vertigo flirted with her stomach, as though she was on the cusp of falling into those eyes.

He held her gaze for a moment more before he turned to his sister. “Lucy. Good to see you here.”

Lucy frowned. The expression emphasized her rouge-painted lips. “I was seated beside you at dinner. You didn’t say a word to me.”

“Didn’t I? I’m sure I must have.”

She crossed her arms. ”No. You were much too busy staring down the length of the table.”

A tingle swept over Freddie’s skin.
At me?
When she glanced at Lord Graylocke, he avoided her gaze.

“I’m sure you are exaggerating.”

“I was not. In fact—”

“Do I hear Mother calling?” Lord Graylocke slipped a finger beneath his throat and cravat, loosening it. When he turned, Lucy stepped forward. She latched onto his arm with the ferocity of a pouncing tiger.

A sly look crossed her face. “Freddie, did you know my brother plays chess?”

Freddie forced a smile. Heat crept up her neck as Lord Graylocke turned the full force of his attention on her. There was something accusing in his gaze.
He knows I’m tasked to steal his book.

No. He couldn’t possibly.

But he could—and likely did—suspect her of wrongdoing.

His smile, unlike hers, was dazzling with its charm. “I do,” he admitted, “though I don’t see what this has to do with dinner.”

“Nothing, of course,” Lucy said. She raised one hand from his sleeve long enough to wave it through the air, as though chasing away the idea.

Charlie smoothed her mauve skirts as she stood. “Freddie also plays chess.” She leaned closer to Lucy with a twinkle in her eye. “I’ll wager that my sister can trounce your brother.”

Lucy took up the cause with an abundance of enthusiasm. “Oh, yes. Let’s have a tournament and find out!”

A look of alarm crossed Lord Graylocke’s face. Did he fear losing? “Now may not be the best time…”

Lucy bared her teeth in a predatory smile as she tipped her face up to his. “If not now, when?”

The very last thing Freddie wanted was to be trapped with him for an hour or more.

At that moment, the Dowager Duchess raised her voice, piercing the renewed babble of conversation. “Why, that’s a splendid idea! A bit of music sounds like just the thing. Who would like to play first?”

“Freddie will play!”

Wait. I will do
what?

Frantically, Freddie swatted her hands at her sister, trying to stop her from saying more. Instead, she latched onto Freddie’s hand and towed her away from the Graylocke siblings.

“Charlie, I don’t play.”

“You learned, the same as I did. I remember, you were the one who oversaw all my practices.”

And never practiced, myself.

The blood rushed to her cheeks. She shielded her face behind her hand. If the
ton
learned she couldn’t perform any of the feminine arts—that she preferred to expand her mind through reading books—she and her sister would be shunned. She couldn’t let that happen.

At least, not until she found the code book for Harker and secured her future.

On the other end of the room, next to the pianoforte, a young woman raised her arm. “I’d love to play.”

“Wonderful,” Lady Graylocke exclaimed.

Freddie breathed a sigh of relief. The young woman brushed a curl out of her face, cast the duke a coy look, and slid into place behind the pianoforte. Apparently, she didn’t know his true colors. Considering that his smile turned pained, Freddie considered the poor young woman seated at the instrument to be safe from his advances.

Narrowing her eyes, Charlie muttered, “You’re next.”

I hardly think so.

“Where did Lucy run off to?” Freddie asked, pretending to scan the room.

Charlie loosened her hold long enough for Freddie to pull away. “She’s right over there—”

Freddie took advantage of her distraction to slip into the crowd. She found a vacant spot by the mantle and leaned her back against the wall. Safe, for the moment. The music began, a light, cheerful tune, adeptly played.

Charlie whirled, glaring at the guests until she found Freddie’s position. Although Freddie expected her sister to rejoin her, she stormed off toward where Lucy and her brother still stood.

Wait. Where had Lord Graylocke gone?

Freddie noticed him when he was nearly upon her. His eyes were narrowed, his expression determined. A lump formed in her throat, hot and painful.

He knew. He had to know about her arrangement with Harker. There was no other explanation for why he would single her out. No man noticed her, not with her sister nearby.

Suddenly, Lord Graylocke stopped in place. His posture stiffened. His expression darkened. He turned on his heel. Why?

“You shouldn’t be hiding. You should be searching.”

Freddie jumped at Harker’s accusatory tone. It was far too close—in fact, right beside her ear. She turned, but she was pressed against the corner of the mantle. She had no place to run.

Harker’s eyebrows sank over his eyes like hawks swooping in for the kill. His expression was disapproving.

Freddie clenched her fists. “I will search, just as soon as I can leave without arousing suspicion.”

“Leave now. No one notices you here.”

Oh, if that were only true. Lord Graylocke stood with his brother, the duke, now, but his attention remained fixed on Freddie. She couldn’t bat an eyelash without him noticing.

“I think Tristan Graylocke suspects me.”

“Poppycock.”

It was clear from Harker’s tone that he thought her a paranoid fool. Maybe she was. She’d never ventured into spying before, let alone against so formidable an opponent as Lord Graylocke. His reputation for being a rascal clearly masked his shrewdness. Did he cultivate the rumors about his exploits on purpose?

Harker added, “I’ve never seen any person less likely to draw attention to herself. The Graylockes can’t possibly suspect you.”

And if they do?

“I’ll slip away and find the book as soon as may be.”

“Good.” Harker’s voice turned venomous. “I’m sure you’ll prefer to earn the reward I promised than the alternative.”

He didn’t have the opportunity to elaborate. At that moment, Mrs. Biddleford and Miss Maize stepped up to either side of him with wide smiles.

“Lord Harker!” Mrs. Biddleford greeted him with more enthusiasm than Freddie would likely be able to muster, though her wide smile couldn’t precisely be called friendly. Without her spectacles, her eyes looked small and sharp. She clasped her hands in front of her dusky blue gown. A fichu around her throat hid her neck and upper chest.

The moment Harker turned his attention to her, Miss Maize piped up on his other side. “We old birds need to stick together.” Tonight, she presented herself as Mrs. Biddleford’s very opposite: short where she was tall, plump where she was thin, hair light whereas hers was a steely gray, and dressed in a low-cut paler dress that might once have been purple. Now, it had faded to the point that it looked almost gray.

Looking harried, Harker coughed into his fist. “Actually, um, ladies, I believe I left my snuffbox in the library. If you’ll excuse me.” With more grace than Freddie would have expected from a man of his bulk, he wove through the guests and out the door.

Beside Freddie, Miss Maize snorted. “Idiot.”

Her voice wasn’t quite as low as she likely believed.

Mrs. Biddleford added, “Good riddance.”

Freddie stifled a laugh. Under her breath, she said, “I couldn’t agree with you more.”

“What was that, Miss Vale?”

Both gossips turned the full force of their attention on Freddie. She blinked beneath their unwavering stares. “Oh, um, nothing. I said thank you for joining me.”

Miss Maize nodded. This close, Freddie noticed a sparse scattering of pale hairs where her eyebrows should be. It seemed she didn’t care to use kohl to draw them in.

Looming over Miss Maize, Mrs. Biddleford’s nostrils flared as she studied Freddie. “Don’t you live with Lord Harker?”

Not for much longer.

Freddie forced a smile. “I do. He was very kind, taking my mother, myself, and my sister in when we had no place else to go.”

Her gracious words seemed to have no effect on Mrs. Biddleford’s sour mood.

“‘Kind’ sounds out of character to me.”

Freddie swallowed hard. “Do you know him well?”

The busybodies exchanged a look before reluctantly shaking their heads. Freddie couldn’t quite bring herself to sing Harker’s praises, so she pressed her lips together.

After a moment, Miss Maize ventured, “Your sister is rather lovely.”

Freddie fastened her gaze on where Charlie laughed next to a tall, thin man with blond hair that looked red in comparison to hers. Lucy stood on the man’s other side.

“Charlotte is lovely,” Freddie said, her voice vehement. “In soul as well as body.”

That, she meant with all her heart.

“She’ll do just fine for herself.”

Was it Freddie’s imagination, or did Mrs. Biddleford’s voice sound almost fond?

Miss Maize leaned forward, squinting. “With whom is she speaking?”

Mrs. Biddleford’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I can’t tell. You know I left my spectacles in my room before dinner.”

Miss Maize turned to Freddie. “Do you know him?”

She forced a smile. “I don’t. But I’m sure I can finagle an introduction. If you’ll excuse me.”

Without waiting for a response, Freddie hurried away from the wall. She smashed her shin on the carved wooden leg of a settee and pressed her lips together to keep from voicing her pain. She limped toward the door in time to the throb in her leg.

This was her chance. With the guests occupied by another pianoforte performance—this one not as impeccable as the first, but passable—she could slip away unnoticed. She must find that book for Harker at all costs.

“Freddie!”

She cursed under her breath. Pretending not to hear her sister, she quickened her stride to the door. Her shin only smarted now. She would have a bruise, no more.

In a feat worthy of a footrace, Lucy dashed into Freddie’s path. Freddie stumbled. Lucy caught her by the arm. The fabric of Freddie’s diamond-patterned gown stretched tight. For a moment, she feared that her detachable sleeves would rip free. When she righted herself and checked the basted stitches mooring the sleeves to her dress, only one had torn.

Lucy still remained squarely in her path, beckoning to someone behind Freddie. A heartbeat later, Charlie dragged the bewildered young gentleman who she had been speaking to Freddie and Lucy.

With the way his reddish-blond hair seemed to have been combed through with his fingers, he reminded Freddie of Lord Gideon. He was thinner than the Graylocke brothers and not quite as tall, though he topped Freddie by three or four inches. He wore a burgundy tailcoat that brought out the freckles across his nose, a cream waistcoat, tan breeches tucked into brown leather boots, and a cravat that was tied slightly crooked. As Charlie dropped his arm, he snagged one of the flutes of champagne circulating on a servant’s tray, and glanced questioningly at the women.

“Would you like one?”

“How can you think of drinking at a time like this?” Lucy spread her arms akimbo. “I’m trying to introduce you to Miss Vale.”

Frankly, Freddie didn’t blame him. Any man would need fortification when faced with the fierce expressions on Lucy and Charlie’s faces.

She mustered a thin smile. “I’m fine, thank you.”

An excuse rose to her lips as she glanced to the door, but Charlie was too quick. She wrangled her way onto Freddie’s other side and nudged her closer to the young man, who Freddie guessed to be no older than twenty-five.

Beaming, Lucy said, “Catty, I’d like to introduce Miss Frederica Vale. Freddie, this is Mr. Catterson, my brother’s associate. You can call him Catty. We all do.”

The young man grimaced. “Please don’t. Catt or Mr. Catterson will do.”

Charlie leaned forward, batting her eyelashes at Freddie. “Why don’t you tell Mr. Catterson about the book you were just reading? The one about botany.”

“To which book are you referring?” Freddie didn’t read about botany.

Her sister elbowed her in the side. “You know the one. The book you were talking about earlier.”

I never talk to you about books.
Freddie opened her mouth to inform her sister as much, but Charlie snagged Lucy’s hand, and with a giggle they retreated closer to the pianoforte. A plump young woman with her mouth set in a determined slash began to play the first movement of Beethoven’s
Sonata quasi una fantasia.
She did so flawlessly. Charlie would no doubt be disappointed if she planned to play; it was her favorite piece.

Beside her, Mr. Catterson took a sip from his flute. He scanned the interior of the room above Freddie’s head. He didn’t appear particularly interested in speaking with her.