Jenna Petersen - [Lady Spies] (18 page)

“Believe it or not, I still have—or had—some secrets, Emily.” Meredith shook her head. “I realized my emotions were getting out of hand, especially when more and more of the evidence pointed to his guilt. But I still played close to the fire, kept coming to him when my investigation didn’t require it. We—We made love. He even asked me to marry him.”

Both Ana and Emily gasped their shock. Meredith nodded. “I know. And I wanted to say yes. I wanted to forget what I knew and surrender to
the life he offered, even if it was a false image.”

She frowned. Even now she couldn’t tell her friends everything. She couldn’t tell them how she had nearly burned the letter Ana sent her with the decoded information before reading it. How she almost threw her duties to the wind and gave in to her heart’s desire.

“And how do you feel now?” Emily asked softly. “Now that you know for certain Tristan stole the painting? You know the information we sought was removed, probably by him, and hidden…or worse, turned over to Devlin and his group?”

Meredith walked to the window to look outside. She thought about Emily’s question. One she’d been avoiding. She didn’t want to face the truth.

“Before Charlie and his men took Tristan away, he said something to me. He told me my case wasn’t what it seemed. And I believe him. Or—Or I want to believe.” She covered her face. “I just don’t know anymore! I can’t trust myself.”

“Why?” Emily prodded.

Meredith pressed a palm against the cold window. “Because the evidence points to him, but my heart and my feelings tell me differently. He doesn’t seem like the kind of man who would barter men’s lives for a few pounds. I battled with that fact the entire time I was in Carmichael. It hasn’t changed since I returned to London.”

“Perhaps you should see him,” Ana suggested.

“See him?” Meredith’s heart lurched to her throat. How many times had she thought of doing just that, but resisted because she knew how painful it would be?

“It’s not a bad idea.” Emily tapped her index finger on her chin with a thoughtful expression.

Meredith’s eyes went wide. “You too?”

Ana nodded. “If you saw him, you might be able to sort out the evidence from your heart. And know if your emotions were still involved.”

Emily waved off that comment. “More importantly, you might be able to do what Charlie and his men haven’t since they arrived in London. Get Lord Carmichael to tell them where the evidence he removed is now.”

Meredith shut her eyes. Facing Tristan was a terrifying prospect, even though she knew her friends were each right in their own way. She needed to see him to purge herself of the love that tormented her. Seeing him in whatever prison he inhabited might bring the reality of the situation to her.

And she wanted to know where the hidden evidence was. Without it, it seemed she had pursued the case in vain.

“Where are they holding him?” she asked quietly.

Ana smiled. “Charlie’s home, in the small holding cell. He felt it would reduce suspicion for as long as possible.”

Meredith sighed. “I’ll go this afternoon.”

“Would you like one of us to accompany you?” Emily asked, her brow wrinkled in concern.

“No,” Meredith said. “I started this alone. I must finish it alone.”

“L
ord Carmichael, your cooperation in this manner would help your cause enormously. It could mean the difference between transportation and death.”

Tristan looked at Charles Isley with a carefully neutral expression. He didn’t hate the man as much as he had expected to when Isley stormed into his home a week before and stole Tristan’s chance at revenge…his chance at any future at all. Since they had arrived in Isley’s home in London, he’d found the man to be a fair and gentlemanly jailer.

But he couldn’t give Isley what he wanted. Tristan desired private justice, the kind the government could not provide with a swift trial.

“There is little difference between the two for me,” Tristan said, meeting his jailor’s eyes. “I will be dead in every sense of the word once the news of my arrest becomes public. And I’ll have killed my family as well.”

He flinched at the truth of his dramatic statement. Once the word “traitor” was linked to his name, his fortune would be decimated, his family destroyed. His entailed estates would no doubt be transferred to the closest cousin, his mother thrown into the street. His sisters would take her in, but she would never again be accepted in good society.

Worse, no one would ever understand
why
he had done what he’d done. The
ton
was eager to believe the worst. Getting such a salacious piece of gossip about a man like him, when he’d been so careful to avoid even a hint of scandal, would be an even bigger boon. Society would talk about his fall from grace for years.

His head pounded.

Isley’s eyes narrowed. “Meredith asked me to protect you. Do you realize what a gift that was? That you would throw it back at us like this, refuse to give any information about where the hidden evidence is or even
what
it is…I don’t understand.”

Tristan sat down on the small bed in the corner of the room and pondered the uneven floorboards. Meredith. He had tried not to think of her since
he’d left Carmichael. When his thoughts did veer in her direction, the anger, the betrayal, the utter heartbreak that burned in his chest were too much to bear.

She had
lied
to him. Used him and the feelings he had for her. And all to bring him to his knees, like he was now. Nothing between them had been true. Her kiss, the emotions in her eyes, they were nothing but weapons in her arsenal.

His anger bubbled and boiled, but he shoved it back. Showing those powerful emotions would only land him in Newgate all the sooner. And venting his rage changed nothing.

“I did not ask Meredith to protect me, nor you, Mr. Isley,” he said with a frown as he lay back to stare at the ceiling. “And I have told you everything I intend to. What you believe is not the truth. I’ve tried to explain to you about my brother—”

Isley rolled his eyes. “Please don’t waste my time telling me about your quest for revenge, my lord. The evidence states otherwise. It would do you better to be truthful instead of coming up with elaborate explanations for your behavior.”

Tristan clenched his fists. Isley was a pragmatic man. He clearly didn’t understand the heat of emotion or the power of hate. “I see no point in going further if you won’t hear the truth.”

Isley let out a string of curses as he stormed to the door. There, he hesitated. “If you won’t help
yourself, then I have no choice but to remove you from these comfortable quarters into a real prison. There will be no stopping the news from becoming public then. You understand that, don’t you?”

Tristan shut his eyes, tried to block the pain. “I understand perfectly.”

The door clanged shut and he heard the lock slide into place.

With a sigh, he looked around. His room was like a shabby gentleman’s chamber, but it was his prison cell. It was a room in Isley’s own basement, with no windows for escape and the door locked from the outside. It was comfortable…at least, more comfortable than he imagined Newgate would be. Soon enough he would find out.

What would his family think when they heard the news?

Voices echoed from the dark, narrow hallway outside. He recognized the sound of his guards, who treated him with as much respect as Isley did, another courtesy he assumed he would lose once he was moved to a real prison. But then he heard another voice. A female voice.

Meredith.

Isley might be pragmatic, but he was also intelligent. Of course he would send for Meredith. The man was aware of Tristan’s weaknesses. Ones he would now be forced to fight, along with his rage. Somehow he thought it would be much harder to
mask his fury when the woman who betrayed him was standing mere feet away.

His body clenched at the sound of her low murmur. Her words were indiscernible, but he would have recognized the lilt and tone anywhere. It took all his willpower to stay on the narrow bed.

The door opened and her footsteps hesitated when she saw him. Still, he did not turn his head. From the corner of his eye he watched her stare for a long moment and sucked in a breath. By God, she was beautiful. He’d hoped he could forget that fact, but it slapped him in the face as she pushed a loose strand of hair away from her cheek.

She looked around the little chamber, then whispered something to the guards. He was surprised when they backed away, closing the door and leaving them alone.

“Hello, Tristan.”

His body reacted to her voice of its own accord. Blood rushed hot to every place where she had ever touched him. He was stunned by his own reactions. That was
need
that filled him. What the hell was wrong with him?

He pushed away the desire with force. This woman had deceived him. He could not allow his baser needs or deeper emotions to control his interaction with her. That was far too dangerous a trap.

With difficulty, he remained silent as she came farther into the room. She examined the books
stacked on the little dresser, then stepped toward him.

He turned his head to face her, let her know he was watching. She faltered under his intense gaze.

“You—You look tired,” she said softly. “Are you eating?”

His lips thinned. “Do you care?”

He stifled a curse that he had replied to her question, and with such vehemence that she must know her answer mattered.

“Of course I care.” Hurt flickered in her eyes, but was it real? Or just another trick?

“Do you?” he said softly before he sat up and turned. In one swift motion he got to his feet and took a long step toward her. To his surprise, she didn’t back away from his angry advance, merely stood looking at him. Wary, but unafraid.

He halted in his tracks. No. He would not give her the satisfaction of watching him lose control one more time. He would be as collected and uncaring as she managed to be. She was merely an enemy now. No matter how his hot blood called to her.

He folded his arms. “Tell me, how did you leave Carmichael?”

She shifted at his directness. “All was well.”

With a snort of disgust, he turned away. “No one was surprised by my sudden departure, then?”

She hesitated. “Most of the guests were disappointed, but no one was suspicious.”

“Even Philip?” he snapped. Despite his letter of explanation, Tristan knew his best friend wouldn’t believe that he’d suddenly disappeared on business. Business his man of affairs knew nothing about.

Her face paled, but she gave no answer. His heart sank as the silence stretched between them. “Meredith?”

She sighed. “Philip became problematic after your departure. He didn’t believe your letter and began inquiries. To protect your privacy and the chance of catching Devlin, we—we took him into custody.”

Tristan stumbled back as horror expanded in his chest. “You arrested him?”

She nodded wordlessly.

“But he did nothing!” he cried.

Meredith pursed her lips. “He was aware of your activities. He aided you. Charles and the other agents felt he could provide information you’ve been unwilling to share.”

Tristan scrubbed a hand over his face. Nausea threatened to overwhelm him at the thought of his friend in prison because of his own transgressions. “And has he?”

She frowned. “No.”

“Idiot!” he barked. Philip would sacrifice himself before betraying him. Somehow he had to help his friend.

But first…

“Tell me, how is my mother? Have you arrested her as well?”

She paled. “Of course not! I left her well. She was confused by your sudden departure, but believed it was because I refused your proposal a second time. I allowed her that belief.” Her face changed as if she were remembering something painful. “She has since departed to Bath and expects you to follow when your business is complete. She even invited me to join you for a fortnight.”

He scowled as anger pulsed inside him, bubbling out. “She doesn’t know she invites a snake into the henhouse.” He clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides. “I’m sure you reassured her, placated her. Made her believe you cared. What a heartbreak it will be for her when she finds out the truth about you.”

She flinched as if he’d physically struck her, then erased her emotions. “I
do
care for her, Tristan. That was not a lie.”

He snorted out a laugh of disbelief. “You care for me, you care for my mother. Interesting how you can claim to have such deep feelings for us, then destroy us, along with everyone else in my family.”

Now it was her turn to frown. Hot anger flashed in her eyes, and it reminded him of how she looked when she reached the heights of pleasure. He pushed the traitorous thought aside. That was over.

“If anyone destroyed your family, it was
you,
Tristan,” she snapped. “
Your
actions are why you are here, not mine.”

He cringed. There was truth in that statement. So much truth. And he’d spent a long time preparing for the day when he was in this very position. He’d always known he might be caught. Imprisoned.

But what he had
not
prepared for was that someone he loved—or thought he loved—would be the one to cause his capture. That someone he cared for would do everything in her power to bring him to his knees and make him crawl.

Her lack of faith cut him as much as her lies infuriated him. In her mind, she’d already convicted him. Only the evidence mattered, not the time they had shared. Was it even worth it to try to defend himself?

For his family, if not himself, it was. So he drew a long breath and looked her straight in the eyes. “Tell me the truth.” He broke the stare as he paced away to the low fire near his bed. The fire tools had been removed in case he would use them as weapons, so he couldn’t stir the coals. “You are clearly a part of all this. Tell me exactly how. Why?”

Her breath caught and he looked at her over his shoulder. She stared at him for a long time, silent, as she considered what he’d asked.

Finally, she nodded as she took a seat on one of
the uncomfortable wooden stools that had been provided for him.

“I do owe you some kind of explanation, yes,” she admitted. Her voice was soft, but not weak. “After my husband died, I struggled with my place. I had no desire to remarry—”

He frowned as he remembered her refusal of his proposal. Of course, now he fully understood her reasons.

“But a woman of my station has so little she can do to occupy her time if children and a husband are not part of her life,” she continued. “I was looking into charitable work when I was approached by Charlie.”

“Mr. Isley?” Tristan asked.

She nodded. “Yes. He explained a woman of rank was putting together a group to aid the cause of widows and orphans who couldn’t fend for themselves. She wished to remain anonymous, but thought I would make a good addition. I agreed because I had been both an orphan and a widow. I knew how lucky I was that I hadn’t been put in financial straits by either event.” Her face drew down. “Once I involved myself, I realized there was more to Charlie’s offer than met the eye. He revealed that this mysterious woman was not just putting together a ladies aid group, but a group of female spies.”

Surprise tempered Tristan’s anger and disap
pointment temporarily. Female spies. The more he considered that, the clearer the benefits of such a group became.

“Women have access to society that men may not,” he reasoned, more to himself than for her benefit. “They are told gossip and secrets a person might keep from a powerful man. And, of course, no one suspects a lady of doing something so bold.”

She nodded and for a brief moment seemed pleased that he understood the group she was part of. Then she remembered herself and her smile fell.

“Yes, quite right on all accounts. That was Lady M’s rationale exactly. I was hesitant at first. The life of a spy is dangerous and unpredictable. But as I trained, I grew more excited about the prospect of helping my country, of
doing
something thrilling and real.”

Her eyes lit up when she spoke, shining like sapphires. Tristan’s body reacted, warmed though he willed himself not to be moved by her beauty. Her excitement. Those were the very things that had landed him in this cell.

“A little less than a month ago, Charles came to me with a new case.” Her excitement faded. “He told me about the robbery at Genevieve Art House, about the possibility of secrets hidden within the painting that could be passed to the
wrong people.” She drew in a breath, as if the next part pained her. “And then he told me
you
were the prime suspect in the investigation. I was to pursue you to determine your innocence or guilt, and do my best to retrieve the painting before whatever was inside was passed to the wrong hands.”

Tristan flinched at the calm, straightforward way she explained her role. As if it had been so easy. Just a part of her everyday life. He hated this.

“Well, I suppose that’s better than what Philip believed,” he sneered. “You
were
out to destroy me, but you weren’t working in league with Devlin.”

She recoiled.

He calmed himself before he continued, “My only question is, why were you chosen for this rather than any other spy, male or female?”