My Lady, My Spy (Secrets and Seduction Book 4) (11 page)

Finally, Lord Cary rose to his feet. “I need some sleep. Meet me at the Foreign Office at nine o’clock. I need to introduce you to some men. They’ll be the ones who will make the final decision regarding my successor.”

He reached out to shake Frederick’s hand, but then pulled back. “Sorry about your injuries.” He shook his head. “Lord Percival showed so much promise when he was young. It’s a shame he became such a wastrel. I considered interfering a few years ago when I recognized the self-destructive path he’d chosen. It’s too bad I didn’t. It’s one of my bigger regrets. If I had, you might not have been burned last night.”

Frederick let out a chuckle. “An unexpected event can destroy even the best of plans. No one could have predicted the Lord Percival effect.”

Lord Cary let out a low rumble of laughter. “Which is why I always make contingency plans.” He touched his finger to the side of his nose. “As you well know.”

Frederick dipped his head. “A habit I learned from you.”

Lord Cary smiled. “Which explains why you’ve been so successful.” He gave a sharp nod. “I’ll see you in a few short hours. Don’t be late, and don’t miss the appointment. I must leave London soon, and I’ll be gone for a fortnight.”

He strode from the room as Frederick watched him leave. There were different kinds of stress in life. There was that immediate and direct stress of a life-threatening situation. Frederick had come to know it well over the past few years. But there was also the ever-present stress involved in knowing that others depended upon you.

Lord Cary had learned to balance those long-term burdens during his career. Some were the simple, day-to-day needs of daily life. Concerns for wife, family, health. But more troubling were the demands placed on him by the network of spies who were his responsibility. They often faced life-or-death situations that demanded Lord Cary’s intervention.

In contrast, Frederick’s primary responsibility was to the success of his own missions. The only life he put at risk was his own. The rush of danger and excitement he felt could be heady, and it often left him unable to relax for hours afterward, but that was the extent of his emotional burden. He wasn’t the sort to berate himself for errors— instead, he learned from them and focused his mental energy on planning for every reasonable contingency in his upcoming missions. If a plan went awry, it was usually due to something he couldn’t have foreseen.

Something like Lord Percival.

Lord Cary’s worries were of a different magnitude. He didn’t place
himself
at risk, but others. And with multiple missions taking place simultaneously, he never had a moment when he could truly relax.

With Frederick’s penchant for planning— some might even say over-planning— how would he function as spymaster? He’d be obliged to work with men who had significantly different approaches to completing their assignments. That meant he’d have to accept that he couldn’t control the outcomes.

He considered the other spies who worked with Lord Cary. He knew none of them particularly well. Lord Cary preferred to keep the members of his network separated so they wouldn’t be compromised.

Frederick normally worked alone, taking on the more subtle and challenging assignments. Although the other spies he’d met prepared strategies for achieving their goals, none of them devoted as much time and energy to devising alternatives as he did. And none of them had achieved his consistent level of success either.

Could he adjust his standards? Could he accept that others would approach their missions in a more haphazard manner? His jaw tightened at the mere idea of making such a compromise.

Perhaps he was asking himself the wrong question. What if he raised his expectations? What if he taught his network of spies how to search out and eliminate the failure points in their plans?

Some of his tension eased. This alternative was a good one. The more he turned it over in his mind, the more it appealed to him.

Being spymaster would bring other changes as well. Lord Cary had lived in London and maintained his broad network of spies from the comfort of his own home. He’d even been married. On most nights, the man had been fortunate enough to sleep in his own bed, and that was much more than could be said for Frederick. His assignments had taken him all over England and beyond.

Frederick tipped his head back against the leather chair. He couldn’t imagine a more perfect life. A master of spies— a manipulator of destiny. As he pictured himself in the role, a slow, satisfied smile spread across his face.

There was only one addition that could make this fantasy approach perfection.

Having Josephine by his side.

Seizing this opportunity could change his life.

§

A beam of early-morning sunlight pierced the window of the Ambridge Club and woke Frederick. As he stirred, one of the omnipresent footmen approached him. “May I offer you some tea? Breakfast is being served in the dining room.”

Frederick rubbed at his face with his left hand, momentarily disoriented by his surroundings. “What time is it?”

“Just past eight o’clock, sir.”

Frederick’s stomach clenched. He had an appointment at the Foreign Office this morning. “Blast it. I’ll be late. Send for a hackney.”

“Certainly, sir. I’ll fetch your coat and hat as well.”

A short time later, Frederick leaped out of his hackney and ran toward the front door of Woolsy House.

“Wait here,” he called to the driver without breaking stride. “I’ll be back in a moment.” His right hand burned like the devil, but he wouldn’t be able to replace the poultice— not if he wanted to meet Lord Cary on time.

He couldn’t regret staying at the Ambridge Club since he’d used the time he’d saved by not going home to examine the opportunity Lord Cary had offered him. Nor could he regret the brief hours of sleep he’d stolen there.

He wasn’t sure who was more surprised as he burst into the foyer— himself or Robert.

His brother gaped at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you come in at this hour before.”

Frederick scowled. He couldn’t waste time assuaging his brother’s curiosity. Not if he wanted to be on time for his appointment with Lord Cary. “What concern is it of yours?” he asked in a brusque tone, intent on avoiding any further questions. He rushed toward the staircase, bumping his shoulder against Robert’s as he brushed past.

“I’ll wager this has something to do with Lady Harrington.”

Something cold and tight gathered in Frederick’s chest. By taking Josephine to his bed last weekend, he’d thoughtlessly exposed her to exactly this sort of assumption, and Robert’s careless words raked against his raw emotions. At this moment, he detested himself.

He spun on his brother with fury to find Robert smiling in an obnoxious and knowing way. He clenched his fists and then winced at the pain. “Have a care, brother. You should know better than to sully a lady’s name that way. I’m in a hurry right now, or I’d teach you some manners.” He took a deep breath, reining in his anger. It was only then that he realized Robert was preparing to leave the house as well. His brows drew together as his curiosity grabbed hold of him. “Where are you going at such an early hour?”

Robert opened his mouth to answer, but Frederick held his palm out, interrupting what might be a long-winded reply.

“It doesn’t matter.” Frederick dropped his hand, slashing the air between them. “I don’t have time to listen to you. I have a meeting at the Foreign Office, and I’ll be pressed to arrive on time.”

Robert lifted his cane toward Frederick in a sweeping gesture. “Your evening clothes are likely to raise a few eyebrows.”

Frederick scowled. Just as he’d feared, Robert was delaying him. “That’s why I’m here. To change.” He turned on his heel and hurried up the staircase. “I’m too busy to spar with you.”

As Frederick burst into his bedroom, his valet, Herbert, covered a bowl with a cloth and turned to face him. “Good morning, sir.”

“I’m in a rush. I’m late for a meeting and I need to change.”

“Yes, sir.” Herbert quickly pulled clothing from the wardrobe while Frederick removed his gloves, coat, and shirt. Herbert had placed a fresh pitcher of water next to a basin, and Frederick poured water into the basin. He splashed the tepid water over his chest and clumsily rubbed the bar of soap with one hand, generating a bit of lather. It took him less than a minute to wash, and he immediately felt better.

He turned to face Herbert, and the man tossed him a clean towel. Frederick snatched it from the air and rubbed himself dry. It only took a moment to don a fresh shirt and jacket.

Herbert turned to face him, holding the bowl he’d been covering when Frederick had first entered the room. With a flourish, he whisked away the white cloth. Inside, Frederick spotted the freshly mashed leaves for his poultice.

Relief cascaded down his spine. “You’re priceless. The best valet ever.”

Herbert smiled. “I do my best, sir. I saw you arrive in a hackney. You appeared to be in a rush, so I took the liberty of preparing the poultice.” He gestured toward the bowl of mashed greenery. “This is the last of the leaves.”

Three minutes later, Frederick’s entire outlook was transformed. A fresh shirt, a bit of Mrs. Drummer’s herbal remedy, and a positive attitude would take him far. With a bit of luck, they would take him all the way to the role of spymaster.

“Wish me luck. I could use a bit extra today.”

“Of course, sir. Good luck, sir.”

Frederick tore down the staircase and registered his brother’s presence as he rushed out the door.

For a brief moment, he wondered why Robert would still be lingering near the entrance, but then he pushed the question from his mind. He needed to stay focused. Lord Cary would expect nothing less.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Josephine woke early but lingered in bed. Lately, she always woke to thoughts of Frederick. Did she dream about him every night? Her hand slid across her breast, grazing her erect nipple and sending a shiver of awareness to her core. He did this to her in her dreams, and she always awoke feeling aroused and restless. Needing him next to her. Craving his touch.

At the sound of her doorknob turning, her eyes flew open and she pulled her covers up higher.

Taylor, her maid, backed into the room holding a tray laden with breakfast foods. She carefully balanced it on her hip as she scurried inside and kicked the door closed behind her.

“I brought your breakfast, my lady. That cat of yours followed me all the way upstairs.” The glance she shot back at the now-rattling door was both indulgent and mildly irritated. The feline seemed determined to get into the room. “She loves your smoked salmon. She’s given me the devil of a time trying to keep her away from it this morning.”

Josephine scooted up in bed and rearranged her pillows so she could sit comfortably. “Poor Domino. It’s her weakness. I’ll wager that if I put my mind to it, I could teach her to jump through a hoop as long as I used smoked salmon as a reward.”

Taylor shook her head. “Not that one. I’ve never seen a more stubborn, independent cat.” She lowered the tray’s short legs and set it so it balanced above Josephine’s lap.

“That may be true, but I don’t think she’d stand on principle with her favorite treat hanging in the balance.” Josephine picked up the small metal egg-shaped tea strainer and slipped it into her pot of hot water to let it steep.

“Shall I lay out your clothes for the day?”

Josephine placed a slice of the smoked salmon on a triangle of toast. “I want the gown with the white trim at the neckline,” she said, and bit into the wedge with a satisfying crunch.

Taylor pulled a celadon-blue gown with snowy-white trim from the wardrobe and examined it as Josephine took a bite of her egg.

Josephine stared at the gown. Once she’d set aside her widow’s weeds a year ago, she’d chosen a new wardrobe, and on a whim, she’d had every gown made in celadon blue. A reminder of happier times. Of dreams for the future.

“It needs pressing,” Taylor said. “I’ll bring it back shortly, m’lady.”

Josephine nodded, her mouth full. She waved Taylor away as she swallowed her second triangle of smoked salmon and toast.

As Taylor opened the door, a white streak tore through it.

“Oh, no. Domino!”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve nearly finished eating my salmon.”

Domino jumped onto the bed, stalking the fishy scent. She paused only briefly to glance at Josephine before continuing on.

“Who’s my good girl?” Josephine crooned. She put a sliver of smoked salmon on her fingertip and held it out for the cat. Domino delicately accepted it and then dropped to the floor to eat it.

“You spoil that cat.”

“Fiddlesticks. She isn’t spoiled. She always asks for permission before she takes anything. Didn’t you see the way she looked at me first?”

Taylor snorted. “She just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t swat her away.”

Domino jumped back onto the bed, ready for more fish. As Taylor left the room, she shook her head and clucked her tongue.

Josephine wondered if she’d make a terrible mother. Too lenient. But her own parents had been kind and supportive, and she’d turned out well.