My Lady, My Spy (Secrets and Seduction Book 4) (5 page)

Frederick whipped around and strode toward the drawing room without waiting for Landon’s reply. He knew he was behaving rudely by walking away from Josephine so abruptly, but he needed to distance himself from her, if only briefly. She followed him as he entered the room, but she stayed far enough away for him to regain his composure.

Ruthlessly, he turned his thoughts back to the book— back to his duty. Tonight had been a disaster. These next few hours would be crucial if he had any hope of recovering from it.

His hands throbbed with pain as the effects of the vodka wore off. Perhaps he should take another drink— but no. He needed to keep his wits about him. Pain might slow his thinking process, but alcohol would be much worse.

A moment later, Landon entered the room carrying a large container of ice. He spread out a small towel as he began preparing to assemble a bundle of ice, but Josephine shooed him away. “I’d prefer to do that,” she said. “Can you wait for my housekeeper and bring her here as soon as she arrives?”

Landon gave a stiff nod and left the room. Josephine turned her attention to vigorously attacking the small block of ice with the ice pick, breaking it into smaller chunks. Watching her breasts bob with her effort had a mesmerizing effect on Frederick.

“Here,” she said a few glorious moments later, turning toward him and handing him the bundle of ice chips. “Sit for a moment and let the ice numb some of the pain. I’ll pour you another drink.”

“No more spirits,” he said, swallowing as he accepted the bundle. He dropped heavily onto the garnet-colored sofa. “You know, you don’t need to take care of me. Landon is quite capable of doing so.” Frederick pressed the cloth to his hand and almost sighed with relief as he felt the cold seep into his fingertips. “Although I must admit, you are a much more pleasant companion than he is. Much more attractive too.”

She blushed and turned her back on him, busying herself with wiping away some flakes of ice that had fallen on the side table. “Thank you,” she said without turning around. “I’d begun to wonder if my presence here was more of an irritation than a balm.”

Frederick shook his head decisively, but since her back was to him, she couldn't see him. “I doubt you could ever irritate me even if you put your mind to it,” he said. His voice sounded gruff, so he tried to even it out. “Quite the contrary. I find your presence unaccountably soothing.” He hadn’t been able to eliminate the emotion from his tone, but at least he didn’t sound angry any longer.

She turned to face him. Her head was dipped slightly as she peered at him. She seemed to be trying to gauge his mood. She seemed to like what she saw, because a slow, sultry smile began to spread over her lips as she took a step closer to him.

Something banged at the door of the drawing room, startling them both. Frederick was stunned when the door flew open and an older woman came bustling in, carrying a bag.

Josephine’s jaw dropped at the sight as well, but her expression of surprise was quickly replaced by one of pleased satisfaction.

Their unexpected guest wore a dark-green coat buttoned askew. Her mulberry-colored hat sat at a worrisome angle, looking as though it would fall to the floor at any moment. The entire ensemble gave her a decidedly lopsided appearance that wasn’t helped by the large and obviously heavy basket looped over one arm.

“This is my housekeeper, Mrs. Drummer,” Josephine announced. “A more versatile woman you’ll never find. She’s extremely knowledgeable regarding herbal remedies. I think you’ll be quite pleased.”

Before Frederick could rise to greet her, the woman hurried across the room and claimed the seat next to him on the sofa. She plunked her large basket on the floor by her feet. “May I see?” Mrs. Drummer asked, holding out her hands and glancing toward his.

With one last dubious glance at her hat, he held them out. “I hope you can help. As fate would have it, tonight has been a complete disaster.”

“No one can ever predict what the three Moirai have planned for us,” Josephine said.

Mrs. Drummer gently stripped away the damp bandages and then cradled his hands while she examined them. She clucked her tongue in dismay. “My, but those look painful.” She shot him a smile full of reassurance. “Don’t worry, I’ll have you feeling better in no time.”

“The Moirai? They’re from Greek mythology, right?” He searched his memory. “Weren’t they the three Fates?” Frederick asked. “Do you believe in that sort of thing?”

“That our lives are predetermined?” The corner of her mouth turned up. “That concept doesn’t fit into my philosophy of life. I believe our choices drive our outcomes, not merely some external force.”

Frederick sat up a bit straighter. “Are you saying it’s a combination of the two? Both self-determination and fate?”

Mrs. Drummer stood and picked up her basket before crossing to a nearby desk. She opened the basket’s hinged wooden lid, peered inside it, and extracted a cloth bag along with a mortar and pestle. She commenced pulling out handfuls of fresh green leaves from the cloth bag and tossing them into the bowl. She tore them into smaller pieces and then began to smash them together using the pestle. The pungent smell of the broken leaves drifted toward him. It wasn’t unpleasant— very fresh in fact. Then she splashed a bit of liquid into the bowl and mixed it all a bit longer.

“I think the circumstances of our birth wield the greatest influence on our lives. I’ll never be queen because I wasn’t born to it, nor will I be the captain of one of Her Majesty’s warships since I’m not a man. Even so, that doesn’t mean I can’t exert control over my own life through the choices I make. I choose my friends. The foods I eat. The places I go. No one else controls these things.” She drew closer to observe Mrs. Drummer’s preparations. “But then again, I’m fortunate in this. Most of my friends don’t have my level of freedom. Their husbands make those choices for them.”

Mrs. Drummer extracted a length of flannel from the bag, pulled a pair of scissors from her pocket, cut off a strip of fabric, and then spread the mashed leaves over it.

“Did Lord Harrington treat you that way? Did he limit your choices?”

She tensed. “More so than I would have liked.” She shook her head, glancing at Mrs. Drummer as though trying to decide how much she wanted to reveal in her presence. “I’d thought we’d travel around the world once we’d married. I’ve always wanted to visit Anatolia, Greece, Rome, so many places. He promised we’d go, but he never made it a priority, despite his promises. My husband was a good man— just—”

“Just a bit too thoughtless and overbearing?” Frederick suggested.

“Perhaps a bit. He meant well, but he had the need to be in control of everything. I found it wearing at times.”

“This should help,” Mrs. Drummer said, carrying her concoction toward Frederick. He glanced at it. The poultice didn’t look like much of anything at all. Just a thick green mess.

Mrs. Drummer sat next to him. “Give me your bad hand,” she said.

Frederick glanced at the clock above the fireplace mantel. Nearly twenty minutes had passed since he’d entered this room. He could sense the church register slipping farther and farther away with each passing second.

He held out his right hand. She cradled it as she gently draped the poultice across his burns. The light pressure of the flannel hurt at first, but at least the leaves were cool. A moment later, however, the poultice began to take effect. The pain receded quickly. It didn’t disappear entirely, but it was no longer all-consuming.

The moment the pain eased its grip on him, Frederick began to think more clearly. He hadn’t realized how much energy he’d been expending on suppressing it, but now that his mind was crisp and sharp once again, he found himself immediately focusing on finding the book.

The identity of the person who’d orchestrated tonight’s theft suddenly came to him, as crisp and clear as if the man were standing before him. It had to have been the Frenchman— Monsieur LeCompte. The fact that the thief possessed a key had troubled Frederick. It was a clue. An enormous one. Not even Frederick had managed to obtain a key.

Only LeCompte possessed the requisite skills to set tonight’s events in motion. The embassy’s renovations had only recently been completed, and LeCompte was one of the few people who could have acquired a key to the new locks. He was also one of the few who could have procured an invitation to the ball for the mysterious thief. Those two facts placed him on a very short list of suspects. What made him stand out was the fact that he possessed a strong motivation to acquire the book, a motivation that was nearly identical to Frederick’s. LeCompte wanted Emperor Napoleon to be able to use it as leverage against Czar Nicholas.

An intense sense of urgency swept over Frederick. Time was of the essence. His duty couldn’t wait— not for an evening, not even for another hour. He knew what his country demanded of him. He had to send Josephine away from here as quickly as possible, and he had to locate the Frenchman and retrieve the church register.

Frederick barely contained his impatience as Mrs. Drummer used strips of linen to wrap the poultice in place on his right hand. Then she began treating his other hand.

When Frederick glanced at Josephine, his mental resolve weakened. She was beautiful tonight. She’d swept her glossy blond hair up into a chignon, and gossamer tendrils framed her face.

She met his gaze, but hers was full of concern. For him.

Her sweet mouth with its slightly fuller lower lip was tense with worry. This was only one of the many expressions her eloquent face had presented to him over the past few months. He’d seen those sweet lips drawn up in a bow of delight or tightened in a frown of consternation. Only a week ago he’d seen them swollen and ripe with his kisses, and he’d love nothing more than to see them that way again. Tonight.

But, no, not tonight. He needed to send her away, and to do that, he needed to persuade her it was for the best.

As he observed her, he realized her definition of what was “for the best” would be quite different from his. Her priority would be to care for him and promote his recovery, while his was to track down LeCompte and retrieve that book. How would he convince her that his mission needed to take precedence over his well-being?

The realization came crashing down on him. It came down to choices again. And his were limited. If he wanted to leave quickly, he’d need to lie to her. To control and manipulate her.

The thought galled him, even as he steeled himself to do it. How had he come to this? How had he turned into the sort of man who manipulated and lied to someone he cared for?

“Is the poultice helping?” Josephine asked.

The hopeful look on her face pierced him. He didn’t deserve her sympathy. He realized this even as he nodded. Even as he began lying to her. “The pain has eased considerably.” He faked a broad yawn. “Pardon me. It appears the night’s events took more of a toll than I’d realized.”

“You need to rest. I’m certain you’ll feel much better in the morning.”

Mrs. Drummer shook her head. “By morning, the effects of the poultice will have disappeared and you’ll need to reapply it. Lady Harrington is right though. You should catch whatever rest you can now while the pain is at bay. It’s unlikely you’ll sleep through the night.”

He let his eyelids droop slightly. “In that case, perhaps I should retire now.”

“Yes. I believe that’s just the thing.” A broad smile of approval lit up Josephine’s face, and it made him feel like a manipulative cad.

He was a scoundrel. An unmitigated scoundrel.

“Mrs. Drummer and I will leave you to recuperate,” Josephine said.

The housekeeper gestured toward the bag on the table. “I’ll leave these supplies so your valet can prepare a fresh poultice once this one begins to lose its potency.” She quickly rattled off instructions for making it. Frederick listened closely and committed the steps to memory.

He rose to his feet as Mrs. Drummer collected her basket. It was obviously much lighter, but when she looped it over her arm, she still appeared lopsided. That was probably because she’d never addressed the problem with her misaligned buttons.

Josephine eased closer to him. “I’m glad we were able to help you.”

“Thank you for your thoughtfulness. I don’t deserve it,” he said. Josephine looked enormously pleased by this, and her smile skewered his lying heart, forcing him to look away.

Tonight’s lies were for England. For the Queen. At least, he tried to tell himself that. Unfortunately, it did nothing to ease his guilt.

Shouldn’t he at least be truthful to himself? Tonight’s lies hadn’t been simply to protect her. They’d been to manipulate her into behaving a certain way. The lie had been more expedient than the truth, and that self-knowledge left him feeling raw.

Apparently he now lied simply because it was convenient. He’d sunk even lower than he’d realized.

CHAPTER FOUR

As Josephine stepped out the front door of Woolsy House, the cold night air slid its fingers around her, driving the warmth from her body. It hadn’t seemed so cold when she’d first entered the house. Had the temperature dropped while she’d been ensconced with Frederick, or had his presence earlier kept the chill at bay?

Her coachman stepped forward to escort her to her carriage. “Where would you like me to take you, m’lady?” he asked as he opened her carriage door.