My Lady, My Spy (Secrets and Seduction Book 4) (13 page)

“Did he have any trouble?” Frederick peered into the drawing room. Had Josephine stopped by to deliver the poultice supplies while he’d been roaming around London? Had she left him another basket? He scanned the room. Nothing.

A sharp pang of disappointment speared him.

“No, sir.” Landon pressed his lips together and scowled. “But another—”

“Send my valet to me.” Frederick knew he was treating Landon abominably, but he was in too vile a mood to behave any other way at the moment. Once he had the pain under control, he’d be able to manage being civil. “I need his assistance immediately.”

Landon’s scowl deepened. “Very well, sir.”

As Landon turned on his heel and stalked away, Frederick dropped onto the drawing room sofa. Herbert arrived moments later, carrying a small bundle.

“Can you scrape together any remaining bits of that poultice you made earlier today?”

Herbert nodded. “I don’t know how effective it will be, but there’s a small amount left.” He handed Frederick the bundle, which turned out to be filled with ice. The man was a certifiable genius. Frederick cradled it in his hands and suppressed a moan of relief as the cold began to counteract the pain.

A few moments later, Herbert hurried back into the room carrying a cloth-covered bowl. Landon appeared immediately behind him.

“There’s a gentleman here to see you. Mr. Devin Montlake, a barrister.”

Was it so late in the day already? The lawyer must have traveled from Maidenhead in record time. “Send him in. I’ve been expecting him.”

After receiving the letter, Mr. Montlake must have taken the very next train leaving for London. With a heavy sigh, Frederick sank back into the cushions of the garnet-colored sofa. At least the ice dulled his pain. Now he could think a bit more clearly.

Herbert sat next to him as he gently unwrapped the bandages from Frederick’s right hand. Then he passed Frederick a bowl of vinegar-tinged water.

Frederick dipped his hand in a bowl and rinsed off the bits of smashed leaf. He lifted his dripping hand from the bowl and peered at his fingertips. How he’d managed not to break open any of those blisters was beyond him.

Herbert handed him a towel, and he blotted his hand dry just as his guest entered the room.

“Mr. Montlake. A pleasure to meet you. Please forgive me for not rising to greet you, but I suffered some burns the other night. My valet is helping me change the dressing. I wouldn’t subject you to this if not for the urgency of our situation. I appreciate your making the journey on short notice.”

Mr. Montlake’s clear blue eyes pierced him with a gaze that seemed to take in every detail of his disheveled appearance. “Miss Winter sent for me. Is she here?”

“She’ll be here shortly. She’s meeting with Lord Tidmore to make arrangements for him to preside over her case now that she’s acquired new evidence. Given the extreme urgency of the matter, I have every hope he’ll hear it immediately.”

The barrister raised his eyebrows. “That’s excellent news. Her case troubles me more than any other I’ve dealt with.”

“Have you known her long?” Frederick watched as Herbert gently applied the poultice to his burns. Although it didn’t cause his pain to diminish as much as a freshly made poultice would, the effect was immediate. He leaned back against the sofa cushions.

“I’m fairly new to Maidenhead, but my wife, the Lady Cecilia, has known Miss Winter for years. My wife’s father, Lord Babbage, owned the property we now live in, and Miss Winter lived nearby.”

That caught Frederick’s attention. “I heard Lord Babbage emigrated to France.”

Mr. Montlake nodded. “For his wife’s health. He wanted to take her away from England’s damp weather.”

As he recalled, Lady Babbage had contracted consumption. “Leaving one’s homeland is a bold and drastic move. He must be a devoted husband. Has the change in location helped?” Frederick’s valet gently wrapped a length of cotton bandage around the poultice.

Mr. Montlake nodded. “When my wife and I visited them in December, Lady Babbage looked much improved. My wife was greatly relieved to see her thus.”

“Did they emigrate recently?”

“Yes. They moved shortly after our wedding, which was when my wife and I first took up residence in Maidenhead. I met Miss Winter’s parents shortly before the tragic train accident that took their lives. When her uncle claimed her inheritance as his own, I served as the barrister for the Winter sisters. Everyone who knew them thought the court’s decision in favor of her uncle was a grave miscarriage of justice, but the law was on Mr. Winter’s side.”

“We hope you can help us rectify that error.” Frederick gave his valet a nod of dismissal. As the man cleaned up the poultice supplies and tucked them away in a basket, Frederick caught sight of the bit of celadon-blue cloth tucked inside. Josephine’s favorite shade. He didn’t catch a glimpse of the unusual color often, but when he did, he always thought of her.

Why hadn’t she stopped by today as she’d promised? He’d advised her to have her housekeeper deliver the supplies. Had Josephine finally given up on him? The idea made his chest ache.

As he watched, Herbert tucked the blue cloth into the basket on top of the poultice-making supplies and then slipped from the room.

“Do you think there’s a strong likelihood the judge will hear the case tomorrow?”

With reluctance, Frederick turned his attention back to Mr. Montlake and gathered up the threads of their conversation. “I’m certain he’ll want to do so without delay. The church register is a complicating factor. Once the trial is complete, Miss Winter plans to surrender the book to the crown. The Queen will not be patient in this matter. If the judge agrees to hear the case, he’ll need to make a decision within a day.”

Mr. Montlake’s eyebrows rose. “You
are
aware that’s highly unusual, are you not? What judge would agree to that?”

“We have reason to believe Lord Tidmore can be persuaded.”

Mr. Montlake nodded slowly. “I haven't appeared in his court, but his reputation precedes him. He might be the only judge who can do what you’re suggesting.”

“Then we must begin preparations immediately to go before him.” Frederick rose to his feet. “Join me in my brother’s study. You and I can examine the church register there while we wait for Miss Winter’s return.”

As he moved down the hallway toward the foyer, he thought he caught a glimpse of that shade of robin’s egg blue again— Josephine— but it was just a glimmer of light reflected through one of the stained-glass window panels at the end of the corridor. He felt a pang of something. Disappointment that he hadn’t seen her today? No. Not that. He didn’t have time for that.

He showed Mr. Montlake to Robert's study, where the barrister quickly settled in. Mr. Montlake pulled out the notes and files he’d brought along and then glanced at Frederick. “Give me time to review these, then we can talk.”

Frederick nodded and left. As he crossed through the foyer, the front door swung open. His brother and Antonia swept inside, bringing a cold winter wind with them.

“Good, you’re back,” Frederick said. “You’ll be pleased to learn that Mr. Montlake arrived and is in the study preparing for court.”

“That’s excellent news,” Robert said as he closed the door.

“Did Lord Tidmore agree to hear your case?” Frederick asked.

Antonia smiled broadly. “Yes. Tomorrow morning at nine.”

“It’s a good thing Mr. Montlake arrived promptly.” Frederick rubbed at his chin. “Have you thought of anything else we need to do to prepare?”

Antonia frowned “Perhaps you can help me with a bothersome problem. I still need to prove my uncle was the man who stole the book from the Russian Orthodox church. The thief’s hand was severely burned that night. You’re a clever fellow. Can you think of a way to get my uncle to remove his gloves? He wears them all the time, and I need to know if he conceals his hands because he was burned.”

Frederick nearly smiled. Gloves to hide burns. He was much too familiar with that concept.

Teasing out a solution to this problem would provide the perfect distraction from the thoughts of Josephine that continued to plague him. “You’ve given me an interesting challenge. Gloves, eh?” He considered the dilemma a moment longer and then gave her a curt nod. “Rest assured, I’ll find a way.”

Antonia’s smile was full of relief, but Frederick barely noticed. He was already concentrating on this new puzzle. He just needed a quiet place to think.

No one would be in the plant conservatory now that evening was approaching. The gardeners would be done with their work, and it was unlikely anyone else would enter his mother’s former domain. The spot would be perfect.

A heavy floral scent filled the warm room from the blossoms the gardeners managed to force into bloom in the dead of winter. Underlying it was the aroma of rich, dense decay rising from the soil.

He let the room’s warmth and solitude envelop and soothe him, letting it work its spell, just as it always did, and drive away troubling thoughts.

But today, the room’s magic shifted. Changed. Rather than peace, thoughts of Josephine filled his mind.

He imagined her smile— when that woman smiled, she smiled with her entire body. Her entire soul. There was no artifice in her. Every emotion was written clearly upon her face.

He paused, stroking the leaf of a nearby rosebush with the thumb and forefinger of his good hand. Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. She wasn’t open to everyone. She didn’t divulge her thoughts and feelings to the world. Only when they’d been alone together had she truly revealed herself to him. Only when they’d spoken in private. Only when he’d slipped into her bedroom at the country house. Only when she’d given herself to him. When she was in public, her countenance displayed precisely what she wanted others to see.

She’d only let him see her, truly, those two nights they’d spent together. Let him see into her essence. He couldn’t banish those images of her from his mind. They were seared into his very soul. Josephine with her lips parted as she leaned in to kiss him. Josephine as she smiled at him in delight. Josephine with her head tossed back in the throes of ecstasy— ecstasy he’d evoked in her.

Try as he might, he couldn’t stand against those memories. He couldn’t prevent them from surging into the forefront of his consciousness and distracting him. Having to exert so much effort to control his wayward thoughts was a new experience for him. Focus normally came to him as easily as breathing.

He pulled his hand away from the rosebush and accidentally brushed against a large thorn. It dug into his skin, catching on the back of his knuckle. He froze and carefully detached his hand from the plant before it could dig any deeper into him.

This was exactly what he’d been doing with Josephine this past week. Extracting her from his life.

He examined the spot and found a scratch, but the thorn hadn’t drawn blood. The same couldn’t be said for Josephine. When had she become an integral part of him? When had she invaded him so deeply that her absence now caused him pain?

He cupped his other hand— the more severely burned one. The fire had changed everything that night, leaving him distracted and careless. If not for his injuries, he would have noted Josephine’s presence and successfully avoided her. Antonia would not have had the opportunity to steal the book. Everything would have been different.

But that hadn’t been his fate. Instead, he’d offended Josephine, spurned her, and widened the gap between them.

He let out a heavy sigh. As the sun set over the homes surrounding Woolsy House, the vibrant colors of the conservatory’s blooms faded.

In the darkening gloom, he had to face the truth. Josephine had taken his advice and decided not to deliver the poultice supplies.

He’d gotten what he’d asked for. She’d moved on.

So why did that leave him feeling so empty?

§

Later that evening following dinner, Frederick and Mr. Montlake returned to Robert’s study to continue working. They quickly became engrossed in translating the church register. Not only did Montlake want information from the pertinent page where Antonia’s parents’ wedding was recorded, but he also wanted some sample entries from other pages to check them for consistency.

“I want no surprises,” Mr. Montlake said.

Despite the pain in Frederick’s hand, he found himself completely immersed in the translation when Robert and Antonia entered the room. He glanced up from his spot behind Robert’s desk, vaguely surprised by their arrival.

“How are the burns?” Robert asked as he crossed the room to stand in front of his desk. He looked relaxed and refreshed.

“Painful.” He aimed an irritated glare at his brother. He struggled not to take Robert’s smiling good humor as an insult. Frederick glanced down at the pen he held in his left hand. “A bit better, I suppose. I can manage to hold this in my off-hand.” He tossed it on the table and flexed his fingers.

“Should I prepare the poultice again?” Robert asked.

Frederick shook his head. “All the herbs are gone. Lady Harrington must have finally taken me at my word and decided to stay away.”

Antonia gave him a sharp glance. “That’s odd. She arrived just as we were leaving for Lord Tidmore’s house. She brought the poultice supplies with her.”