Kissing The Enemy (Scandals and Spies Book 1) Read online

  “Are you ready?”

  Other couples had already begun to dance. Freddie nodded, a short, curt movement. She and Tristan stepped forward at the same time. Their abdomens brushed as they nearly collided before Freddie took a hasty step back. She hung her head, wishing that her hair was loose to hide her hot complexion.

  When she glanced up again, she found Tristan admiring her form. She realized that, without her fichu, her cleavage was on full display. He didn’t seem to dislike what he saw.

  Freddie opened her mouth, then shut it again. She’d never been ogled by a man, at least no man other than Harker. When she attended soirees or excursions, it was always with Charlie by her side to draw the male gaze. Being the object of a man’s attentions—and a handsome man, at that—made her giddy. She fought the feeling.

  Tristan caught her gaze and held it. “Relax. Trust me.” His voice was gentle, his expression earnest. The rest of the world melted away. For a moment, she could almost forget that they were enemies on opposite sides of a war. And that scared her most of all.

  A tide of panic caught her chest, rising quickly. She stepped back, shaking her head. “I can’t.” Yanking back, she gathered her skirt and ran from the room, her heart beating quickly.

  As she crossed the few steps to the door, her gaze unwillingly fell on Harker. Her breath caught. Mama wasn’t here, so why was he? His piercing gaze warned her that she treaded a dangerous path. She crossed the threshold, her heart in her throat.

  She knew what was at stake. She couldn’t let herself forget what would befall her family if she failed Harker’s task.

  Above all, she couldn’t trust Tristan. She couldn’t fall for him. He was a French spy, and they would always be enemies.

  Even if she wished their relationship could be different.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The cooler air of the corridor granted Freddie clarity. Without Tristan nearby to muddle her senses, she was able to focus on his real aim in lavishing attention upon her. To distract her from her mission, to thwart her from finding the code book.

  She clenched her hands. “Not today.”

  Instead of making her way toward the wide marble steps leading to the guest wing, she turned toward the library. With Tristan occupied, this might be the only chance she would find to search it without being subjected to his scrutiny.

  By now, the path was imprinted on her mind like rote. She kept to the center of the runner, her footsteps muffled as she avoided the fragile items on pedestals along the hall. She held her breath, for fear of drawing someone’s attention if she exhaled too hard. Although she passed several servants as she walked, they each stepped to the side to let her pass without comment.

  At last, she reached the library door. She ran her fingers over the wood for a moment before grasping the handle. If this journey had been different, she might have been able to lose herself in one of the many magnificent books beyond this door.

  She gritted her teeth and chided herself. Stop it. You can’t afford to be fanciful. If she was wishing her life to be different, she might as well wish Harker out of it. And she knew exactly how to do that.

  Inside the library, a fire burned in the wide hearth. The air was stale with cheroot smoke, a bit bitter of a smell. The armchairs, facing the fire, were vacant. All around the room, shelf after shelf of books soared as far as her eye could see.

  “How am I supposed to find the book in here?”

  That would be the point, a clever way of concealing the sensitive code book in plain sight. She squared her shoulders and decided to start to the left of the door. The two stories of wall-to-wall bookcases taunted her, but she refused to shy away from a bit of hard work.

  Harker had told her that the book she sought was encased in red-dyed leather, the size of a pocket book with a gold seal on the front. She hadn’t thought to ask what the seal would depict. Hopefully, she didn’t find two books that met that description.

  Looking around the room, filled with books primarily brown, she laughed. It was a low, bitter sound. She would be lucky if she found one book meeting that description, let alone two.

  You’ll never find it if you don’t search. She crouched to start on the lowest shelf, running her fingers over the spines as she searched for a slim red volume. As she found no such volume, she moved her way up the shelves to the top, beneath the shadow of the balcony ringing the room. Although she was tall, the topmost books eluded her. She needed the ladder. She dropped the ladder on her foot and nearly toppled one of the shelves, but eventually wrestled it into place beside the door. Her stomach dropping somewhere in the vicinity of her shoes, she climbed.

  When she stepped high enough to read the glimmering gold lettering on the spines of the books, reflecting the cozy light of the fire, she ran her hand along the shelf as far as she could reach, searching for the book. Not there. She hurried to the ground, all the while afraid that she would trip. Her luck held.

  So she continued around the room. She wasn’t always as lucky coming down off the ladder. In fact, she managed to rip the lovely lace of her hem and nearly land on her face at one point. She pulled out books and slid them back into place, but found no red book with a gold seal. By the time she searched the bottom story and mounted the steep, narrow steps to the balcony, the late hour caught up to her. Her jaw cracked with the force of her yawns, coming thicker and thicker. Stubbornly, she continued in her task, even though it meant looking at books two or three times to make sure she hadn’t missed the one she sought.

  She didn’t find the book. Dejected, she sat on the top step of the spiral staircase leading down from the balcony. If it wasn’t in the library and Tristan didn’t keep it in his rooms, where had he put it? Her head swam as she contemplated the dilemma. She was too tired to piece together another likely hiding place. She would have to think harder.

  Tomorrow. Tonight, all she wanted was to take one of these lovely books into her room and lose herself in its pages. She’d even set aside her choice, a tale by Mrs. Radcliffe that she hadn’t read yet. Clasping the book in her hand, she rose and gathered her hem over one arm to keep from tripping over it. She descended the stairs carefully. When she reached the bottom, she sighed.

  She turned toward the door, and for a moment, her heart skipped a beat as she saw Tristan standing there.

  No, not Tristan. Lord Gideon. Her eyes were deceiving her. In the firelight, his short, disarrayed hairstyle and the regal cut of his features made them nearly interchangeable. But Lord Gideon was nearly a head taller, without shoulders nearly so wide in proportion to his frame. She clutched her book to her chest, but didn’t relax knowing that it wasn’t one of the traitorous brothers who had happened upon her.

  Was Lord Gideon a French spy, as well? She hated suspecting every member of Lucy’s family, but her interactions with Tristan made her wary. She didn’t expect a traitor to be devoted to his family. Was it possible that a recluse who spent more time with plants than with people had also defected to France?

  Unlikely. Harker had only mentioned the eldest brothers.

  Even so, she couldn’t rid herself of the strange notion that she’d been found out. Lord Gideon’s gaze was piercing. As he beheld her, his expression turned impassive. He stepped into the room and shut the door.

  Belatedly, she recalled his status of a lord due to his parentage. She dipped in a shallow curtsey, still clutching the book. “My lord.”

  “I didn’t expect to find you here.” His voice was soft, but sharp at the same time.

  She gulped. “I came for a book.” A beat later, she hefted her prize, proof.

  Lord Gideon narrowed his eyes. For a man with so absent an air on the other occasions she’d encountered him, he now seemed alarmingly present. Not to mention astute. Did he know, could he know the extent to which she and his brother were at odds?

  For a long, drawn-out moment, he said nothing at all. Then, in that same stiff, quiet tone of voice, he warned, “Don’t play with my brother’s heart. He’
s fragile.”

  Tristan, fragile? The corners of Freddie’s lips twitched. Her mirth died a quick death at the forbidding expression on Lord Gideon’s face. He meant his words.

  If so, he obviously didn’t know his brother very well. A strong, rakish man like Tristan couldn’t possibly be fragile. If there had been a crack in his armor, Freddie would have found it by now.

  She straightened her spine. “I assure you, I have no intention of doing anything at all with your brother, least of all with his heart.” His black heart. “Good night.”

  Her pulse galloping, she brushed past him into the hall. He made no move to stop her, but long after she’d passed out of sight, the hairs on her neck stood at attention, as if she was being watched.

  This house party might be the most lauded one of the Season, but Freddie, for one, couldn’t wait for it to be over.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rain splattered against the glass window in Tristan’s bedchamber. Usually an ill omen for the day ahead, today, he was glad for the morose weather. It would keep Freddie confined indoors, where she would be easier to watch. Even if it would keep all the rest of the guests indoors as well, and he wouldn’t get a moment alone with her.

  As he straightened his cravat, he squelched the eagerness he felt at the thought of seeing her again. She was quick-witted, and a worthy sparring partner. Not to mention a pleasure to look upon. When Freddie took it upon herself to wear fashionable clothing, like the low-cut green gown from last night, she shone brighter than any other young woman in attendance, even her sister. Miss Charlotte had a youthful sort of beauty about her, but it wasn’t accompanied by Freddie’s presence, her determination and iron will. Although Freddie was an innocent, and his instincts continually told him that she shouldn’t be in the spying game, he couldn’t deny that she was made of sterner stuff than most debutantes. She was a woman to be admired.

  No, she was a woman to be watched, lest she foil his efforts. He clenched his jaw as he fiddled with his cuffs, ensuring that they hung straight. He ran his palm across his chin in case he’d missed a spot shaving.

  “She is the enemy,” he muttered under his breath. Above all, he couldn’t forget that.

  Even if she did look fetching in green.

  Battling a yawn—he usually didn’t wake until noon—he stepped out into the corridor and shut the door to his chambers behind him.

  “There you are! I thought you intended to sleep the day away.”

  Tristan jumped at his sister’s voice. When he turned, he found her bright-eyed and perky. Her hair was neatly swept up off her neck in a simple style, though a few ebony locks escaped her coif to frame her face. Her dark eyes gleamed. Her mouth curved up in a sly smile.

  Before he could so much as greet her with a polite, ‘good morning,’ she latched onto his arm and towed him along the corridor with her en route to the breakfast room.

  She leaned closer. Unlike Freddie, his sister didn’t stand taller than his shoulder. She clung to him with her fingers as sharp as claws. “I notice you’ve been spending a prodigious amount of time with Freddie—Miss Vale.”

  He opened his mouth, but couldn’t at first find the proper words to speak. Lucy was bound to take whatever he said and twist his words. He didn’t like the mischievous look on her face. He cleared his throat. “Do you mean to imply that I should avoid her?”

  It would certainly be easier for his sanity if he did. Unfortunately, he couldn’t let a spy run amok in Tenwick Abbey, even an amateur one. If he didn’t keep an eye on Freddie, his brother surely would.

  For some reason, the thought of her spending any amount of time with Morgan made him bristle.

  When he glanced to the side, he found Lucy glaring at him with unveiled irritation. “She is a lovely woman, as you well know.”

  With his free hand, he loosened his cravat. Clearly, he’d fiddled too much with it while dressing, because now he had trouble swallowing properly.

  He didn’t respond to his sister’s statement.

  She dug her fingers into his arm. “What are your intentions toward her?” Her voice was high, thin, and disapproving.

  I intend to keep her from making a bloody fool of herself trying to best Morgan and I. I intend to keep her from putting herself in harm’s way. I intend…

  Tristan could say none of the sentences that blossomed to his lips, so he lied. “I have no intentions toward her at all.”

  Lucy dropped his arm. “Tristan Graylocke! I am ashamed of you.”

  They’d reached the end of the west wing. If he darted down the corridor, he could ensconce himself in the breakfast room, where a surplus of witnesses would make it impossible for her to continue to carry this conversation.

  Then again, knowing Lucy, she might continue to pester him regardless of who heard.

  Stifling a sigh, he turned to face her.

  Lucy crossed her arms over the bodice of her cream-colored walking dress. She hiked her chin higher, meeting his gaze without flinching. He looked away first.

  “How could you trifle with a young lady’s affections like that?”

  Tristan snorted. “Believe me, she is under no misconception about my designs on her…affections.”

  “How can you say that?” Lucy threw her hands in the air. “A blind man could see the way she looks at you.”

  Had his sister fallen and hit her head? The only way Freddie looked at him was with unbridled animosity. She loathed him.

  Why, he couldn’t believe to fathom, because he hadn’t done any harm to her. And he had had plenty of opportunities to do so, as well as just cause.

  He rubbed his forehead, where his pulse throbbed violently.

  “You’re mistaken, Lucy. She feels no affinity for me, nor I for her. She’s an intelligent woman, perhaps the only one at this blasted party, and that’s the only reason I’ve been keeping her company.”

  Lucy took a cautious step forward. “So you do like her.”

  “I do,” he admitted. It was what she wanted to hear. He tried not to examine how close to the truth that statement veered. “But not in the way you imply. She and I are…” Enemies? Friends? Acquaintances? No words he conjured seemed quite right. He shrugged. “…temporary companions.”

  Lucy stared at him for a long moment. He met her gaze squarely, afraid that if he looked away, she would take it as a sign of something he didn’t wish her to deduce. After a moment, she let out an audible breath.

  “Very well.”

  His mouth dropped open. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d won an argument against her. Certainly not since she’d learned to talk.

  Stepping forward, she slid her hand onto his arm once more, less tenacious this time. “Let’s go to breakfast.”

  He didn’t argue. They strode the rest of the way in silence.

  When they reached the cozy rectangular room, Lucy dropped her hand from his arm and moved to the sideboard to direct the waiting footman to prepare her breakfast from the rows of covered trays. Aromas swirled through the air—eggs, bacon, sausage, coffee, tea, and the sweet scent of marmalade. Only a half-dozen people sat at the narrow table. Among them was a woman with brown hair who had her back to him.

  His breath caught. Was it her? Freddie had always risen early on the other days during her stay at Tenwick Abbey. He battled his reaction to the thought of her.

  Then she reached out to refill her tea cup. Her profile faced him and he confirmed her identity. His stomach flipped at the sight of her. The curve of her nose, the sweep of her mouth, the way one brown curl seemed determined to escape her pins and caress her cheek. She wore a high-necked dress again today, in a vibrant sky blue that seemed to light up the room.

  Or, at the very least, it lit up her eyes. Suddenly, the day seemed much brighter.

  Tristan bypassed the sideboard and claimed the seat directly across from her. He poured himself a cup of coffee. He emptied the pot, getting the strongest dredges from the bottom. The bitter aroma curled into the air along with
the steam from his mug. He handed the carafe to the footman. Once he took a cautious sip of the brew—strong enough to wake the dead, just as he liked—he helped himself to a slice of bread and reached for the butter.

  Across from him, Freddie was just finishing her meal. The last thing she ate was a slice of toast smothered with marmalade. He took a bite of his bread—freshly made and still soft and warm—as he watched her consume the last of her meal. A fleck of marmalade clung to the side of her mouth. She darted her tongue out to catch it. The sight stirred his desire.

  He gulped his coffee, hot enough to singe his tongue. Anything to get his mind off of Freddie’s allure. She was an innocent, an enemy, and he’d best treat her as both.

  He leaned back in his chair, taking his time with his bread. He didn’t like to eat a lot in the morning, when he was usually still queasy from stale cigars and strong whiskey consumed while carousing and gathering information. This party was a rare respite from the wild nights he kept in London.

  As Freddie finished the last of her meal and wiped her mouth on her napkin, Lucy claimed the chair next to hers. Lucy’s breakfast was piled high on her plate. How could she possibly eat so much? It boggled the mind.

  “Good morning,” Lucy chirped as she snagged a piece of bacon from her plate.

  A genuine smile crossed Freddie’s face, one that lit her eyes as she returned the greeting. So she liked his sister. That was another point in her favor. If only she wasn’t so bent on aligning herself with Harker.

  The mere thought of the man drew Tristan’s gaze to the door, but the breakfast room remained blessedly untainted by the man’s presence. Bad enough Harker festered somewhere beneath the same roof, like a fungus waiting to take over and weaken the structure.

  Unaware of the dark turn his thoughts had taken, Lucy conducted a cheerful conversation with Freddie. Freddie answered with more reserve, though not with disapproval or malice. Like in most social situations, she held herself back, trying not to draw attention to herself. Whether that was her aim or she did it unconsciously, Tristan didn’t know.