My Lady, My Spy (Secrets and Seduction Book 4) (3 page)

The silver-gowned woman spoke to the footman, who whirled around, startled to see her. While his back was turned, Josephine darted past them. The footman appeared angry, and she didn’t want him to turn his furious gaze on her.

The children’s choir had completed their performance, and now the members of the orchestra were tuning their instruments. Dancing would resume shortly, although with this oppressive heat, many people might choose not to exert themselves.

Someone had opened the doors leading to the rear of the embassy, and the cool winter breeze was a blessing. She caught sight of a refreshment table and suddenly realized she was famished.

She filled a plate with some delicious-looking items. After a brief search, she found a quiet spot near a piano in one of the salons and settled in to ponder her next steps.

Perhaps that was her problem. She pondered too much. Sometimes action was required, not rumination.

She bit into a meat-filled dumpling as she considered what had just transpired upstairs. She shouldn’t have let Frederick send her away. Instead, she should have followed through on her plan to confront him. But, no, she’d allowed her sympathy for him to alter her plans. Those burns. She shuddered. He must be in a world of pain.

Had she lost her best and only chance to demand an explanation? When would she find a better opportunity to be alone with him? He’d certainly done an admirable job of avoiding her all week. She tried something that looked like a thin pancake with caviar on top. Quite good. Perhaps she’d take some more.

At least fifteen minutes had passed since she’d come downstairs. Frederick must have left already to deal with his urgent matter. She wouldn’t see him again tonight. So when would she see him again? With the burns he’d suffered, it was unlikely he’d be attending any social events in the next few days.

Fiddlesticks. She nibbled at an interesting mushroom concoction. Delicious.

Her plate was empty now. She glanced around. She should mingle rather than simply remain standing here. She’d abandoned Tristan, poor man. He deserved an apology.

A glimmer of silvery fabric caught her eye. There went that same silver-gowned woman again— the one she’d seen descending the stairs— and now she appeared to be hurrying toward the cloakroom. Was she leaving? So early? Josephine watched her departure longingly, wondering if she could follow suit.

Her sudden urge to leave surprised her. She normally enjoyed events such as these, but she now realized she didn’t want to stay here. In fact, she didn’t
have
to.

She could go. No one held dominion over her. She was her own woman. She could leave if she wanted to.

And she would.

With that decided, she spun around and came face to face with Frederick. Even as she let out a gasp of surprise, she reached out and touched his arm, pulling him to a halt.

“Josephine— I mean, Lady Harrington.” Frederick’s face reddened.

She yanked her hand away. “‘Lady Harrington’?” Not Josephine? His use of her title felt like a public rejection. “We’re back to that?” At least her voice sounded cool and firm. She’d been afraid it would crack from the tension. What was he even doing here? “I’m surprised to see you. I thought you needed to leave most urgently.” Humiliation welled, threatening to spill over. “After the way you hurried me downstairs with claims of a life-or-death emergency, I never dreamed you’d still be here.” She shot Lord Wentworth a significant glance. “I see nothing dreadful befell your brother.” She lifted her chin, daring him to tell the truth. Daring him to appease her.

Frederick simply stared at her, not uttering a word. He didn’t even try to defend himself. He’d lied to her again, and he knew he was well and truly caught.

Lord Wentworth turned away, obviously embarrassed by witnessing their confrontation.

She was so angry with Frederick right now that it was a struggle to hold her tongue. She pressed her lips firmly together. She had a great deal she wanted to say to Mr. Woolsy, but none of it was suited to their current surroundings.

Just then, a man pushed past them and jostled Frederick, causing him to let out a hiss of pain.

“Pardon me,” the man said, not even pausing.

Frederick’s face seemed to grow even paler as he clenched his teeth.

Josephine loosened her grip on Frederick’s sleeve and glanced down at his hand, noting the cloth she’d wrapped around it. How could she have forgotten his injuries so quickly? “Are you in much pain?”

Frederick gave a stiff shrug and glanced away. “The vodka helped.”

“He puts on a brave front,” his brother said, “but I think we should leave and tend to his injury.”

“Then I’ll go with you.” Now that she’d found Frederick again, she wasn’t letting him get away. Not until she’d had the chance to speak with him privately. “My housekeeper is quite skilled at concocting poultices. I’ll send for her. She can meet us at your home.” She forced a false, polite smile. “That will allow us to have that conversation you’ve been avoiding.”

When Frederick shot his brother a pleading look, a stab of pain and humiliation pierced her. She hid her reaction, not wanting him to see the hurt he caused her. Was the prospect of speaking with her so onerous?

“That isn’t necessary,” Lord Wentworth said. “I’d hate to inconvenience you. Our physician can care for him.”

“Fiddlesticks. I couldn’t possibly stay and enjoy myself knowing that Fre— Mr. Woolsy is suffering.” She pressed her lips in a thin line. She hated this pretense of formality, but it felt as though Frederick had imposed it upon her when he’d used her title. After being on such intimate terms with him, this forced decorum galled her.

“I can assure you, Lady Harrington, there’s no need for you to trouble yourself.” Frederick glared at Lord Wentworth. “My brother is using my hand as an excuse for leaving when the true reason lies with him. Don’t abandon the ball on my account.”

Frederick’s sudden flare of anger startled her. “I beg to disagree,” she said. “I examined your hand earlier and am well aware of the severity of the burn.” She peered at him more closely, and she didn’t like what she saw. “You’re quite pale and there is a sheen about you I find most troubling. I believe your hand pains you much more than you’re willing to admit.”

At that, Lord Wentworth also peered at Frederick. He frowned. “Perhaps we should accept her offer.”

“We?” Frederick’s voice was sharp with irritation as he spun to glare at his brother. “I was unaware that you’d been burned as well.”

“It’s settled.” Lord Wentworth’s tone was firm as he ignored Frederick’s sharp comment and gestured toward the cloakroom.

“No, it isn’t,” Frederick said too loudly.

Josephine spotted the flutter of his pulse as it pounded rapidly in his throat. This must have been what Frederick meant earlier when he’d said he became irritable when he drank. No wonder he preferred to avoid alcohol.

“Not here. Not now,” Lord Wentworth said. “Don’t compound tonight’s mistakes by drawing attention to us.”

Her eyes darted from one brother to the other as she became even more confused. Why were they behaving so strangely? First Frederick had informed her he wouldn’t escort her here, saying he’d stay home tonight, and then he’d appeared, only to avoid her and sneak upstairs. Now his brother was obviously concerned about drawing unwanted attention. None of it made sense.

Unless— was Frederick on an assignment for the Queen? Had she stumbled upon one of his missions?

Frederick glared at his brother. “My biggest mistake was relying on you. Tonight has been an unmitigated catastrophe.”

Lord Wentworth’s spine stiffened. “I already apologized for my error and I’m trying to correct it, but I’m not the only one who made mistakes tonight.”

“Fine,” Frederick said too loudly, “have it your way.
Eto moya vina
.”

When Josephine noticed the startled glances the nearby guests sent their way, she flushed with embarrassment. Now they
were
drawing attention. Quite a lot of it.

As he glanced around, Lord Wentworth seemed to take in the censorious glares focused on them. He stepped closer to his brother, lowered his voice, and in a crisp tone said, “Rather than staging a public scene, I suggest we call for our carriage.”

Josephine nodded, lending him her enthusiastic support.

“Fine,” Frederick snapped, “but I refuse to rely on you again. I’ll call for the carriage myself.” He spun on his heel and stalked in the direction of the cloakroom.

What on earth? This was so unlike Frederick. Josephine stared at his back as he stalked away. She glanced at Lord Wentworth, raising her eyebrows in surprise, but he simply shrugged. “The injury’s making him short-tempered.”

There was more to it, of that she was certain, but this wasn’t the place to discuss what had just transpired. Instead, she nodded and took off after Frederick.

As she reached his side, she heard him instructing a footman to call for the carriage. Being careful not to aggravate his burns, he cautiously shrugged into his coat while the woman in the cloakroom helped Josephine don her cloak. Josephine took a moment use a pencil and a scrap of paper the attendant handed her to scribble a note to her housekeeper.

When Josephine glanced across the room, she spied Lord Wentworth speaking with Ambassador Revnik. She tensed. The ambassador seemed to be gesturing toward her and Frederick.

She gave Frederick an assessing gaze, taking in his pallor. He didn’t look well. Not at all. Perhaps a bit of conversation would distract him. It certainly couldn’t hurt. “You spoke in Russian earlier, didn’t you? What did that mean?”

Frederick looked at her blankly as he clumsily tugged his top hat onto his head using his left hand.

“You spoke to your brother. ‘
Eto moya’
something...”

His eyes cleared for a moment as he focused on her. “
Eto moya vina.
It’s all my fault,” he translated. His face was glum as he shook his head. “The entire evening’s been a disaster.”

“I didn’t know you spoke Russian.”

“No?” His face softened for an instant as a smile flickered at the edges of his mouth and then disappeared. “I’m afraid there’s a great deal you don’t know about me.”

She bit back a retort. This wasn’t the time or the place to reveal everything she knew about him. Instead, she offered a sweet smile. “Do you speak any other languages?”

“French, of course. Italian. Spanish. I’m currently learning Turkish.”

Her eyes widened. She’d always wanted to visit Constantinople, and they spoke Turkish there. A challenging language, indeed. “Turkish would be helpful.” And then she shot him a mischievous grin. “I knew you had a talented tongue.”

His eyes darkened and deepened as he seemed to recall exactly what he’d done with his tongue to earn her praise. He glanced down at her mouth, swaying toward her in a movement that was both infinitesimal and undeniable. He wanted her, she was certain of it.

Then why had he been avoiding her all week?

She moved closer to bridge the gap separating them, but he shifted back, maintaining his distance. Josephine let out an inaudible huff of frustration. The man was baffling.

A footman announced their carriage was ready just as Lord Wentworth joined them. She quietly directed the footman to call for her carriage and then handed him a note. “Give this to my coachman and instruct him to deliver it to my housekeeper immediately.”

Frederick ushered her out the door and into the cold night. A number of stable boys and footmen huddled in a tight clump, probably for warmth. One broke away and hurried over to escort them to their carriage.

Lord Wentworth stepped to one side and leaned on a slim black cane as the footman opened the carriage door. Frederick moved in front of the young footman and lifted his hand to assist Josephine into the carriage. She glanced at the loose bandages covering his burns and then carefully placed her hand on his forearm rather than risk injuring him further. She slid to the far end of the seat in the carriage, and he settled into the spot next to her.

“Thank you, Frederick,” she said softly.

She noted a faint blush suffuse his cheeks.

“Why did you revert to calling me Lady Harrington? I much prefer it when you call me Josephine.”

“I’d intended to protect your reputation,” Frederick said, looking faintly embarrassed, “but you seem firmly committed to tarnishing it. Nearly everyone at the ball saw you leave with me.”

“Fiddlesticks. A widow has much more latitude than a débutante.”

“Not this much.”

Was he truly worried about what people thought of her? His concern was sweet, but misguided. “Your brother is with us, and neither of you is rumored to be a rake. My reputation is safe enough.”

As Lord Wentworth climbed into the carriage, she glanced at him. “You should call me Josephine as well.”

“Thank you. You must call me Robert.” He claimed the seat opposite them. “It’s quite kind of you to offer your assistance, Josephine.”

She smiled at his use of her name.

“She didn’t offer. She insisted.” Frederick turned to frown at her.