My Lady, My Spy (Secrets and Seduction Book 4) (2 page)

Cautiously, she edged open the door and peeked into the hallway. A man was sliding a cloth along the floor with his shoe, wiping up what appeared to be water.

Not just any man. Frederick.

She pushed open the door and stepped through.

At the sound, he spun to face her. His jaw dropped as his piercing blue eyes widened in surprise. “Josephine? What in blazes are you doing up here?”

“You canceled our plans for tonight. Imagine my surprise when you strolled through the ballroom.” She gave him a frigid smile. “Shall I give you an opportunity to explain yourself before I set the dogs on you, or will you only use it to lie to me again?”

§

Frederick stared at Josephine in astonishment as she stood glaring at him. Her exquisiteness stole his breath away for a moment— her pale blond hair, her lush form in her signature shade of celadon blue, her angry blue eyes that crackled with recrimination. She was a vision, yes— but not a welcome one. Not at this precise moment.

She must have followed him.

She raked her gaze over him, and he had the sense she didn’t miss any details. “What are you doing with that cloth?”

He glanced down at the rag he’d been sliding across the floor with his foot and was startled into giving her a direct answer. “I dripped a trail of water down the hallway and now I’m wiping it up.”

“Water?”

He lifted his hand, which was wrapped in sodden cloth. “This used to contain a bundle of ice.”

Her angry expression softened. “I heard you were burned. Is it bad?”

“Bad enough.”

Her forehead furrowed with concern as she moved closer. “May I see?”

“You shouldn’t be up here. It isn’t safe.”

She ignored him and continued to approach. His entire body reacted to her proximity. With effort, he tore his gaze away from her and glanced down the corridor. The water droplets were gone. He’d managed to wipe away all evidence of his presence.

He glanced back and met Josephine’s expectant gaze. With a heavy sigh, he lifted the wet cloth from his hand.

She let out a sympathetic hiss of pain, causing him to glance down at his hand. He wasn’t surprised by the large white blisters on the fingertips of his right hand. The skin around them was an angry red.

She cradled both his hands in hers. Gentle. Careful.

Their connection was immediate. Intense.

Desire coursed through him.

His body knew her.

Wanted her.

Craved her.

She seemed unaware of his reaction as she focused on his left hand. A blister was forming along the outside of his smallest finger, and the pads of all his fingertips had been seared by the flames.

Then she turned her attention to his right hand. “Oh, Frederick,” she whispered. She grazed her fingertips over his wrist, keeping well away from the burns.

As she let out a sigh, she held her hand above his fingers as though she wanted to touch them, but she withdrew. Even the heat of her skin hovering near the burns had aggravated them, but some perverse part of him relished the pain because it had come from her deep concern for him.

Her gaze met his, her eyes full of anguish. “Have you taken anything for the pain?”

He swallowed. Now that he’d examined his hand, ignoring the pain was becoming more difficult. “A glass of whiskey,” he replied. He glanced around nervously and realized they were too close to the balcony. Someone might see them from below. See her. His chest tightened. He couldn’t take that chance. What if she were caught? Questioned? He moved closer to the wall, tilting his head for her to join him. “Josephine, you aren’t safe here.”

“Only one glass? You’ll need to drink more than that if you want to dull the pain.”

She pushed open the nearest door and didn’t hesitate before walking inside. Was she mad?

She turned toward the small table next to the door. With brisk efficiency, she extracted a match from a box she found there, struck it, and lit the candle she found there as well.

“There must be a decanter of whiskey in here somewhere,” she murmured, “or perhaps vodka since this is the Russian embassy.” She tipped the candle and used it to light an oil lamp sitting on a dressing table. “Russians are known for their vodka, aren’t they?”

“What are you doing?” Frederick asked, following her through the doorway. “You can’t simply walk into someone’s bedroom.”

“Fiddlesticks. I’m looking for something for you to drink. I’m sure the ambassador wouldn’t object, considering you were injured at his embassy.”

The woman was mad. Absolutely mad. But he had to admit there was a certain logic to her argument. What did that say about him?

He took in the room. His gaze danced across the pristine white coverlet on the bed. In a flash, he imagined Josephine draped across the snowy expanse, naked, a smile of invitation curving across her lips. He quickly turned away. How could his mind conjure such carnal images when he was injured, in the middle of an important mission, and at risk of being discovered at any moment?

He forced himself to focus on the details of the room. The empty dressing table. The fireplace laid and ready for a match. The leather satchel near the door. Yes, the room was occupied. Probably by a visitor, not a resident, judging by the lack of personal items.

He checked the corridor. Empty. At least they hadn’t been spotted. He needed to get rid of Josephine before she attracted the wrong kind of attention. Attention that could ruin his mission and provoke a declaration of war. He gently pushed the door shut with the back of his hand, wincing as the latch made a sharp noise.

She grinned with delight as she spotted the bottle next to the oil lamp. “Voila! Vodka!”

She splashed a large amount of the clear liquid into a tumbler and handed it to him. “Drink it all,” she directed him. “It will help dull the pain.”

He took it gingerly in his left hand, frowning at the contents. “Not a good idea,” he muttered. He needed a clear head. He could bear the pain until he and his brother managed to remove the book they were stealing from the embassy grounds. “I’m not a good drinker. I tend to get maudlin and a bit testy, so I try not to imbibe.”

“In that case, I’ll remember to avoid you for the rest of the evening. Now, drink it all. I insist.”

He frowned at her. Josephine could be stubborn once she’d made up her mind, and he didn’t have time to argue with her— not if he wanted her out of here quickly. Given his current situation, submitting to her demand would be the most expedient course of action. Plus, she was right. His hand hurt as though the devil himself had flayed it open. His plan had been compromised. That meant he needed to adjust. Adapt. Improvise.

He took the glass gingerly in his left hand and gave it a disapproving frown. He made a decision and downed the fiery liquid, then contorted his face in distaste. He’d never been fond of spirits.

His sleeve brushed her shoulder as he reached past her to set the tumbler back on the dressing table. Standing this close to her made him pause. The heat from her body filled the space between them, drawing him to her as their eyes met. Lord, this woman was irresistible.

Her lips quivered, and then she gave him a tremulous smile. “You smell of cigars, whiskey, smoke, and bay rum.” Her words were forthright, as though they had burst from her without being first considered. He knew from her sharp intake of breath that their close proximity affected her as well.

“Just like every other man who sat outside with Lord Percival tonight.” He kept his tone light, even as he breathed her in. Josephine had her own distinctive scent. With her standing so close to him, it invaded him. She smelled of lavender and freesia. She’d once told him she’d had the perfume blended especially for her, which hadn’t surprised him at all.

He’d discovered that when they made love, the scent lingered on his skin, even after he’d bathed. At Lord Saxon’s country house, it had remained with him all the following day, constantly reminding him of her. Luring him back to her.

He wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her now, drag her onto that bed, and relive the time they’d spent together.

Instead, he forced himself to pull back. Restraint might be painful, but it was smarter. Safer. Hadn’t he already reached this same conclusion earlier this week? He shouldn’t involve himself with Josephine. Not her. Not anyone.

He could quash his attraction to her with time. With distance. A strategic retreat. An adjustment of the pieces on the board, rather like castling one’s king in a chess match.

He needed to stay focused. Both tonight on this mission, and in the future. Josephine deserved a man who would never lie to her— who would be wholly dedicated to her— not a man with split loyalties. He could never be that man.

On their last night together, she’d confessed how much she detested being lied to, deceived, or manipulated. She’d stared at him as she said it, and the pressure to reveal his secrets had been difficult to ignore, but he hadn’t told her.

He couldn’t bring himself to confess he was a spy working in the service of Queen Victoria’s Foreign Office. That he’d been hiding this from her all along.

Yes, Frederick Woolsy, younger brother to the Earl of Wentworth, was a spy. This information was a carefully guarded secret, and he planned to keep it that way.

He’d been forced to lie to her again and again over the past year, but he’d had little choice. He’d been hard pressed to fabricate excuses for the clandestine meetings, the sudden short jaunts to boring locales, his month-long trips to first Paris and then Edinburgh, his inability to follow through on plans due to last-minute “conflicts.” He often put her off by saying “I’ll keep you informed” regarding some event she hoped they’d attend together. When duty called, he disappeared like vapor, not even leaving a lingering scent behind.

Why was he tarrying with her now when war was at stake? He should leave.

There was that word again.
Should
.

Josephine picked up a fresh, dry cloth lying next to the washbasin and gently began bandaging his hand with it. “We need to talk about last week.”

He blinked. Of course they did. “You’re right, but can it wait just a bit longer? I need to find my brother. Something urgent has happened— an emergency. He and I need to leave immediately. I promise we’ll talk, but not now.”

“You also told me you wouldn’t be here tonight. You lied to me.”

A band tightened around his heart. It was more than that. He’d originally told her he’d escort her here. “My plans changed at the last minute. I didn’t intentionally mislead you.” But that was a lie too. He
had
tried to mislead her. He’d hoped she’d decide not to come to the Koliada Ball after all. Failing that, he’d hoped to be gone, his mission complete, before she arrived.

She looked doubtful.

“Please, Josephine. Go now. I need to leave immediately. My business is urgent.”

She narrowed her eyes, and something seemed to shift in her gaze. She looked more focused. More determined. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

She moved closer, slid her hands up his chest, wrapped them around his neck, and rose to her toes. “I need to remind you of something.”

As she pressed her lips to his, she sent a tremor of want coursing through him. She slid her fingers up the nape of his neck and into his hair, scraping her nails against his scalp in exactly the way he loved.

For a moment, he forgot the pain in his hands, his brother, his mission. All that mattered was the woman clinging to him. He could lose himself in her forever. With a sigh, he slid his arms around her, and then his sigh turned into a gasp of pain.

Josephine stumbled back. “Did I hurt you?”

“No. It was me. I forgot I was injured.”

“See? The vodka worked.”

“It wasn’t the vodka,” he said, his voice rasping and gruff. It was
her
. “You need to go.”

She let out a small sigh. “Fine. I’ll leave. I hope my reminder has left you with something to ponder.” She gave him a saucy grin and swept out into the hallway, causing her skirt to swirl and sway around her in an alluring way.

He followed her to the entrance. A noise came from somewhere down the hallway— a door opening? When he glanced toward it, he saw nothing. He turned back to watch as Josephine opened the concealed door leading to the servants’ staircase and disappeared through it, closing it with a whisper of sound.

Frederick backed into the bedroom and shut the door behind him. Carefully, he wiped down the tumbler he’d just used, hiding any sign they’d been there. He gathered up the sodden cloth. He even tucked the spent matchstick into his coat pocket. He glanced around the room one last time and then bent to blow out the light.

He needed to find his brother now. Did it really take Robert this long to pick a lock and snatch a book?

CHAPTER TWO

Josephine hurried back toward the ballroom. As she entered the foyer, she spotted a petite woman in a silver ball gown coming down the grand staircase. Had she been upstairs as well? She and Frederick must have narrowly missed being discovered.