Jenna Petersen - [Lady Spies] (5 page)

He barked out a laugh. “I created a spectacle?” He drew in a breath and lowered his tone. This was not
the time to lose control over his emotions. “What are you wearing, Anastasia?”

She flinched at the inappropriate use of her given name, but glanced down at herself nonetheless. Her eyes came back up, filled with confusion.

“A gown.” Her lips thinned. “They are all the rage with proper ladies this season, you know. Someone came up with the silly notion that we shouldn’t run around in our underthings.”

He bit back both a retort and a sinful image of Anastasia in far less than a chemise. “No.”

He took a step toward her as he lifted a hand to point. She stumbled back. Clearly, she did not fear him…what she feared was that he would touch her again. His breath caught at the idea as he watched her track his extended finger like it was a weapon.

“You are wearing a
black
gown, Ana. A mourning gown.”

Her stare broke away from his finger and moved to his face instead. Her forehead crinkled and she looked at him like he had gone completely mad. He was beginning to think she might be right in that assessment.

“And?”

He rubbed his temple as he tried to keep himself together. This woman was the most frustrating and tempting piece of skirt he had ever met.

“You are wearing a black mourning gown…at a ball,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “Between that fact and your stunning little return to Society,
you are drawing far too much attention to yourself.”

“Wait, you call ten or twelve women approaching me to say hello a ‘stunning little return to Society’?” She shook her head.

He sighed. After years hiding herself away, she was so blind. “Only a few people may have approached you, but those who didn’t are talking about you, Ana. Your name was on the lips of every woman and man in that room and probably still is.”

Her face drained of color at that thought. “Perhaps some of the women mentioned me, yes, but I cannot believe what you say is true. You’re exaggerating.”

Lucas shut his eyes and slowly counted to ten in his head. “The women mentioned you. A large portion of the men are plotting to bed or wed you.”

“What?” she cried, her voice elevating sharply before she remembered herself and looked around. Thankfully, most of the people on the terrace had gone back into the ballroom.

“It is true, Ana, whether you like it or not. Men of a certain age and disposition like pretty little widows. And since you have been out of Society for a while, you are a novelty. You are a woman the men want because you have been out of their reach for so long.” He fisted his hands at his sides. It hadn’t been easy hearing snippets of conversation about Ana’s “attributes.” Only his training and cover had kept him from busting a few of the cruder heads.

She stumbled back, but there was nowhere else to
go on the narrow terrace. She leaned against the railing like it was the only thing keeping her up.

“Before I married, none of those men even looked at me. I cannot believe I’m the topic of such conversation,” she said softly, dropping her chin to stare at her slippered feet.

Her forlorn look touched Lucas in a place buried deep. Ana had actually
liked
being the belle of the ball, even if only for a few moments. She had enjoyed the fact that so many people remembered and welcomed her. Now her memories of the evening were tarnished as she realized the ramifications of them.

He drew in a breath and gentled his tone. “I realize garnering attention wasn’t your design, but you must understand the fact that you are wearing black only magnifies the reaction to you. At the very least, it makes you instantly recognizable in a crowd. That is why you must start wearing color.”

Her chin lifted slowly and the defeat was gone from her stare, at least for the moment. Ana straightened up and folded her arms across her chest. His heart gave the strangest little ache at the sight, the way her chin wobbled in indignation.

“Mr. Tyler, I am a widow. Widows wear black.”

If a tone could wither, Lucas would have been curled up on the stones at her feet, ready to blow away with the next stiff breeze. Instead, he narrowed his eyes.

“Your husband died many years ago, my lady,” he
said with a scowl. Normally he wouldn’t have been so harsh, but damn it! The woman kept calling on the memory of a man dead so long ago. It irked him to no end.

Her eyes fluttered shut, but not before he saw the flash of sadness and loss in their depths. His chest tightened. She might be using her husband’s death to hide away from the world, but her grief was real. He wasn’t sure whether to shake her back to life or pull her into his arms for comfort.

Her voice was soft and even as she said, “Regardless of the time that has passed, I loved my husband, Mr. Tyler. A love like that doesn’t happen more than once in a lifetime, so I will wear black to honor him…whether you approve or not.”

With that, she turned away from him. Lucas held back a growl of growing irritation. And not just for the sake of his case. He shouldn’t
care
what some repressed widow wore or her reasons for doing so.

He shook off the reaction as he took a step toward her. Grasping her elbow, he spun her back around to face him. “No—” he began.

But he didn’t get any further. Ana lifted her chin in defiance and met his eyes. His angry orders fell away from his lips as he stared down at her. Moonlight danced off her sleek chestnut hair and made her eyes sparkle from emotion and the life within her that she repressed out of misguided guilt and lingering grief. He found himself longing to coax that life and emotion
from her. To remind her not just how to be a good spy…but a woman again.

Her lips parted as if she had read his thoughts and her eyelids drooped slightly when her gaze focused suddenly, powerfully on his mouth.

By God, after everything she’d said, did she actually want him to
kiss
her?

“Very—Oh my!”

Lucas froze at the sound of a voice behind them. His gaze flitted to Ana. Her face had grown deathly pale with shock and fear. They had been discovered…and she was practically in his arms.

Slowly he let her go and backed away, knowing with each step that it was too late to pretend that whatever woman had seen them was mistaken in her assumptions. He turned with a wince. It was Lady Bellingham, the young wife of the old Viscount, notorious for her penchant for gossip. She wouldn’t be able to resist telling the world what she had seen. Or almost seen.

Ana straightened up from the terrace railing, her lips pursed. “Good evening, my lady,” she said, her voice as calm and carefree as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired. “Isn’t it a lovely evening?”

Lady Bellingham gave a sly smile as she glanced from Ana to Lucas and back again. “Very lovely. Quite
romantic
, don’t you think Mr. Tyler?”

He cleared his throat and took another step away from Ana. “I hadn’t really noticed, my lady.”

The young woman let out a giggle. “Of course you
didn’t, sir. How could you when you had a far more appealing subject to look upon in Lady Whittig?”

Ana shifted and some of her cool exterior slipped away. “You misunderstand, my lady—”

“Pish posh!” Lady Bellingham waved a dismissive hand. “I am not one to judge.”

“Yes, well,” Ana stammered. “I should return to the ballroom, I’ve been outside quite too long. Th-Thank you for your thoughts on the Society for Widows and Orphans, Mr. Tyler. I shall keep everything you have said in mind as we plan our next event.”

“Yes, good evening, Lady Whittig,” he replied, inclining his head.

“And I’m sure I will speak to you further inside, Lady Bellingham.” Ana made her way toward the ballroom doors. “Good evening.”

Lady Bellingham wrinkled her brow as she watched Ana slip away, then mumbled her own good-byes as she followed…to tell the story to the entire room, no doubt.

With a curse, Lucas turned to the terrace railing and gripped the steel with both hands. How could he have been so distracted? He hadn’t done something so foolish in a year…and the last time he had done so it had resulted in tragedy.

But something in Anastasia Whittig made him reckless. Made him think of nothing but her. And he could only wait to see what the ramifications of his slip in propriety would be.

A
discreet visit could do no harm. Her driver could be trusted and she was sure she hadn’t been followed. No, there was
no
harm in being at Lucas Tyler’s town home. Ana paced the luxurious parlor as she tried to convince herself of that fact. At the very least, it could be no worse than being caught on the terrace with Lucas two nights ago.

She shivered as she thought of that night. Of Lady Bellingham’s triumphant face. Of her own inability to cover her emotions…worse yet, her inability to stop herself from feeling those emotions entirely. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t deny she had reacted to Lucas. When he pulled her close and then just stared down at her, an undeniable hunger in his eyes, she had
responded. Her body had swayed toward his, and she had found herself wondering, for a wicked moment, what would happen if he leaned down and kissed her.

She shook her head to clear the unwanted memory away. Why in the world did she react so strongly to Lucas? He was pompous and arrogant and had no faith in her. He thought he could tell her what to do like she was a soldier in his own private regiment. And he acted like the mere passing of time could dictate when emotions faded.

Yet despite all those reasons not to like him, there was something about the man that—well, fascinated her. When he was near, all she could do was watch his mouth move. Inhale his musky, clean scent. Marvel at how his body heat surrounded her even when he wasn’t touching her, and burned her when he did.

What in God’s name was wrong with her? Was what Lucas said true? Was she so bloody sheltered that the first handsome man she had any kind of close contact with since Gilbert’s death sent her into a trembling mess? What kind of woman did that make her, that she was so easily moved by an infuriating stranger?

She let out a sigh as she collapsed into the closest chair and looked around. Handsome and arrogant or not, the man had very nice taste. Understated, yet elegant. Not a frill or flower in sight, so he probably didn’t have a woman’s input in his décor.

Despite herself, she smiled, but the expression fell the instant the parlor door opened and Lucas stepped inside.
She sucked in a breath as she stumbled to her feet. Would she ever stop being surprised by how handsome he was?

“Good afternoon.” His complete ease as he strolled into the room made her all the more aware of her own discomfort. “I admit I was surprised to hear you had arrived, Ana. And without a lady’s maid to boot.”

She pursed her lips partly at the hint of teasing in his voice and partly at the use of her nickname. He should be calling her by her title, yet she didn’t correct him. She’d been thinking of him as Lucas for too long to start calling the kettle black now.

“I took great care in coming here, I assure you, Mr. Tyler.” She folded her arms.

He stared at her for a moment. As always, his gaze gave her the impression that he was sizing her up. And as always, she wondered how she fared in his estimation.

Undoubtedly, very ill.

“I am certain you were careful.” He motioned to the chair she had been occupying when he entered. “Won’t you have tea?”

She hesitated. Was this how business was conducted? Over tea like they were discussing the weather? It seemed so civilized and
mundane
. She had always pictured the work of spies being done by dim candlelight in darkened rooms, not in a parlor at two in the afternoon.

“I did not come on a social call.”

He sighed as he took a seat himself and stared up at her. “Does it then follow that we must be unsociable?”

“I—” Oh, how he flummoxed her! She expected one thing and he invariably did the other. With a purse of her lips, she sat down and shrugged. “I suppose not. Yes. Tea would be lovely, thank you.”

He rang for the ser vice to be brought in and then tilted his head. “Very well, I can stand the suspense no longer. Tell me, my lady, what brings you here on this ‘not social’ call?”

She retrieved her reticule from the floor beside her chair and carefully withdrew the folded newspaper within. She smoothed the creases before she held it out toward Lucas. Her hand trembled. She tried to stop it, but failed.

“Did you see this?”

He took the paper and she watched as his slate gray eyes darted over the article in question. “Ah yes, Blighton’s weekly Society paper. Very good for starting fires. Otherwise, it’s complete rubbish.”

“That may be, but it is well-read rubbish.” Ana glared at him and he blinked back in innocence as if he were waiting for her to explain her upset. “We are in the paper.”

He nodded. “I see that.” With flourish, he shook out the pages and began to read, “‘And Blighton’s is pleased to announce the return to society of Lady A.W. at Lady Westfield’s soirée this week. And though she is still wearing her widow’s weeds, an intriguing report says
she will not be wearing them long. We’ve been told another lady saw her entangled in the arms of Mister L.T. on the terrace in the moonlight. Has Lady W. found love again?’” He paused for effect, though his face was calm as still water. “Scintillating.”

“Oh, you frustrating man!” she burst out, getting to her feet. She snatched the offending article from his hands and paced to the fire where she took one final glance at it, winced, and tossed it into the flames. “Everyone will know this refers to us. Lady Bellingham made it common knowledge that she stumbled upon us at the ball.”

“I imagine you’re correct,” Lucas said on another sigh. “But I don’t know why this is a surprise to you. After all, I told you that your return caused a commotion. If you add the element of a potential romance to the mix, the
ton
will swarm around you just to see what will happen next. Society adores a good love story. Or a bad one.”

Ana looked at him, dwarfing the chair he sat in. A lock of dark hair had fallen rakishly over one eye. He looked like the hero of every story she’d ever read. And yet Society believed it was possible she could find love with a man like him. She, who had only ever captured the attention of one man in her entire life. She, a woman who locked herself in the cellar of her best friend’s house for days at a time. The idea gave her a treacherous thrill.

She tamped it down with a stern reminder of her
place. “You also told me that my being the center of attention would harm this case. How are we to continue our investigation if I am being watched and judged every time I pass through my front door? Our affiliation was supposed to be kept quiet.”

He gave a little shrug as he leaned back in the chair and draped one elbow over the back with casual ease. “Supposed to. An interesting choice of words, Ana. You see, one thing you must learn about the field is that you cannot always control the turn of a case. There are no ‘supposed tos’ when it comes to an investigation. You must adapt, change when the circumstances surround you change.”

She drew in a breath as he met her eyes. Though he seemed jovial and relaxed, she saw for the first time just how involved he was, how interested he was in how she handled herself. And how would she? She had never liked change. Rules were made so that everything went according to plan. That was the life she led.

And Lucas was now telling her that rules and regulations had no place in the field.

“What are you suggesting?”

He didn’t answer, but very slowly he rose to his feet. Step by step, he came toward her. She wanted to back away, but she stood her ground. She had to. Partly because she needed to prove a point…and partly because the hot fireplace was at her back.

He stopped less than a foot in front of her and tilted his head. “If we ignore the report and are not seen in
any more”—he smiled wolfishly—“compromising positions, then the interest in you will fade.” His smile fell as he reached out and fingered a black ruffle at the shoulder of her mourning gown. “Especially if you insist on wearing widow’s weeds everywhere you go.”

She lurched back from his questing fingers and would have gone down on her backside in the process if not for the steadying hand he reached out and put on her arm. Once she regained her balance, he pulled away, leaving her bereft and relieved in almost equal measure. Confusion was her only constant.

“Ah, Fannie, tea. Thank you,” he said with a smile toward the door. Ana turned and watched a maid quickly set a tea ser vice on the sideboard. He waved her away and poured two cups himself.

“Does that answer your burning question, my lady?” he asked as he put a bit of cream and sugar in one cup, then motioned to the other.

She nodded without speaking. She couldn’t really find words after the strange encounter. He had touched her, she had recoiled, and yet, she felt anything but horror. Damn this entire blasted situation.

“Is that yes to cream and sugar or yes that I’ve answered your questions?” he asked with a chuckle.

She couldn’t help but be eased by his smile and laughter. Her shoulders relaxed. “To both, I suppose.”

“Good. Since you’re here, perhaps we can go over some evidence while we share our tea.”

She cocked her head. It was as if the heat between
them had never existed. To him, it probably didn’t. An unwelcome disappointment touched her. A man like Lucas Tyler was used to the power he held sway over women. And hadn’t Emily said that he would use any method in his arsenal to control the turn of their case? Perhaps that included taking advantage of her attraction, of her loneliness.

That she could not allow.

She set her mouth into a thin line as she forced an attitude more befitting business. “Yes. I would be happy to review the evidence.”

She took the cup of tea he offered and followed him through an adjoining door to another room. She realized this was his office, a private place in his home where Lord knew how many secrets were hidden. She watched as he unlocked a compartment on his desk and withdrew a pile of papers.

“Here.” He motioned his elbow toward a large table on the opposite side of the room. “Let’s spread these out.”

She took a few of the items and they spread them across the tabletop until it was covered by notes, reports, and a large map she had last seen when Charlie briefed her on the status of the case. One by one, the places where spies had been attacked were marked on the map.

Ana drew a long breath and stepped closer. Lucas leaned down and his shoulder just brushed her back.
With a jolt at the contact, she cast a quick side glance at him. He didn’t even notice as he focused on the items before them. She set her jaw. If he could be unaffected by their proximity, so could she.

“I’ve been thinking about the attacks,” she said, happy that she could form words at all.

“And?” His gaze flitted to her.

“What kind of patterns are there to the attacks themselves? Is there some order the spies are being chosen in? Perhaps if we learn the reasons behind those who are harmed and those who aren’t, we could trace the attacks back to their source.”

Lucas straightened up and stared with open admiration that warmed Ana to her very toes. “A very interesting proposition, Anastasia.”

He ducked his gaze back to the map. He pointed to a cluster of four markers on the East End in Southwark. “The first three were all in the same general area surrounding a rough little pub called Wickerbys. Not a surprise, really. It is a well-known place for spies to gather and exchange information.”

Ana cocked her head. “Well known to whom? The general public could not know such a thing or else all the spies in His Majesty’s ser vice would be easily unmasked.”

“Known to others within my organization,” he corrected. “That information might be easily ascertained through good intelligence.”

“What about these two?” She pointed to two other markers on the map. This time they were both within the confines of Hyde Park.

He glanced at a sheet that told which incidents had happened when and where. “The first was an attack on a spy who was meeting a contact at the park. The second was a spy who was not on assignment. He was simply there for personal reasons, meeting with friends, and was attacked.” A shadow passed over his face. “He was the first spy to die. The others were merely wounded and taken out of ser vice.”

Ana thought of Emily with a shiver. Having one friend attacked was difficult enough. Lucas must have known so many of these men who had been cut down in the field. To be helpless against such atrocities had to wear on him. Especially considering the kind of man she knew him to be even after such a short acquaintance.

“Could his attack have been mere coincidence?” she asked, watching his face as he cleared the emotions away. How she wished she could do the same. It was something she’d never really been able to do, despite all her training.

Lucas shrugged, his stare holding on the marker that represented the dead spy. “It’s always a possibility, but he didn’t live the kind of life that would lead to such violence outside of his work. And the attack was so much like the others that we must assume it was related.”

She nodded once. “What
are
the common elements of the attacks, Lucas?”

He started before he spun to face her. She felt the blood drain from her face. Had she really just called him by his given name? Damn it!

“I—” she stammered.

He lifted a hand. “I like to hear my name from your lips.”

She sucked in a breath before she turned away. Her cheeks burned as she moved blindly to the window. She was shaking as she tried to regain calm without success. Cover her reactions? She wished she didn’t have them at all. Especially these unexpected reactions of heat and desire and fear that mixed in a potent brew in her mind.

“May I ask you a question?”

Ana felt his stare burn at her back and she forced herself to turn. She hoped her expression was somewhat in control. “Of course.”

“Why haven’t you ever entered the field?” He cocked his head. She wasn’t sure of what kind of answer he wanted to hear by the tone of his voice or the look on his face.

She hesitated as her gaze drifted down to the black mourning gown she wore. Lucas followed her line of vision and his face tightened. The moment stretched out between them uncomfortably as she searched for a way to explain herself without giving him too much personal information. It was far too dangerous to explain
her inner emotions, her battles with her grief, to a man like this. He was trained in twisting those things to use against suspects. He could easily do the same to her.