Pursuing The Traitor (Scandals and Spies Book 5)

by Leighann Dobbs

  Charlie persisted, “Then you know the harm that he can do to your reputation.”

  Why was everyone suddenly so concerned over her reputation? It seemed to be the only thing people spoke to her about these days. She was more than a sacrificial virgin.

  “I’m not courting his attention,” she repeated, for all the good it would do. “We barely even spoke on the way here.”

  “Exactly.”

  Charlie’s eyes glittered with triumph, though Lucy didn’t know what about her sentence had led her friend to think she’d won this argument.

  “You always contribute to a conversation. You make a point of answering whomever you speak to, to present a gracious representation of the Graylocke family. Didn’t you tell that to me once?” Charlie shook her head. “Since Lord Brackley is a marquess, you’d think it would be more important for you to represent the Graylocke family in a gracious light, no?”

  Lucy narrowed her eyes. “Like you said, he has a black reputation.” She bit off her words.

  “He does.” Charlie hiked her chin up by an inch. “Did something happen between you? You both seem to avoid speaking or looking at one another.”

  “Maybe we don’t like each other.”

  Charlie scoffed. “The truth, Lucy. The other day when you were absent from the ball, did you sneak off to meet with him? And what about last night when you left the parlor?”

  Lucy swallowed, hardening her expression before she answered. “I was in my room, writing. You found me there, remember? And last night, I forgot my notebook in my room. You know I don’t do needlework. I needed to get it.”

  Lies, all of it. But she willed her closest friend to believe them, anyway. For all that she had found herself in Brackley’s company that first night, she hadn’t deliberately set out to do it.

  Charlie didn’t seem convinced. She touched Lucy’s arm. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. He isn’t the sort of man who cares which woman keeps him company. You’re a challenge, nothing more.”

  “I’m not even that,” Lucy said firmly. “Lord Brackley and I are nothing to each other. Barely even acquaintances. Your worries are noted, but unnecessary.”

  This time, she seemed to get through to Charlie. After the young woman exchanged a wary glance with her mother, she murmured, “Very well. Let’s see this milliner’s shop.”

  Lucy relaxed. “Yes. Let’s.” She didn’t dare bring up the possibility of going to the inn afterward. Charlie would only see it as an eagerness to find herself in Brackley’s company once more.

  She would have to find another way to slip free of the Vales. Because if there was one thing Lucy knew for certain, it was that she would not—could not—give up her search to find Monsieur V.

  Alex felt the lingering effects of Lucy’s hot stare piercing between his shoulder blades long after the door to the inn and tavern had swung closed behind him. He paused to get his bearings, looking around the surprisingly crowded common room. The neat array of tables were nearly all filled, with only a chair here and there yet unclaimed, and several stools along the counter were filled as well. A serving maid a few years older than him expertly navigated between the tables, pausing to deliver a drink or take an order for another. Despite the amount of people vying for her attention, the serving maid maintained a cool head as she meticulously traversed the length of the common room in a winding path and made her way back to the counter once more.

  Although he needed to secure someone’s attention, he didn’t think that she would have the loosest tongue if he were to try to take her away from her duties. Instead, he strolled to the counter and claimed a stool near the end, searching for someone else. The owner, perhaps.

  A man near double his age with a thick mustache approached and asked, “What can I do you for, my lord?” Even when Alex didn’t announce his heritage, he was often chosen out of a crowd unless he took pains to alter his manner of dress and appearance. In his case, he hoped the extra attention would help him.

  “A pint, please. Your best.”

  He slid a few shillings onto the counter and the man, presumably the innkeeper, left to find his drink. When he returned, Alex took a sip from the mug. As he set it down, he commented, “I didn’t expect to find you quite so full.”

  “I can vacate a table for you if you’d like, my lord.”

  Alex waved away the suggestion. “I’m happy to sit here. Is it usually this busy?”

  The man’s mustache bobbed as he nodded. “Every year at this time, my lord. With spring upon us, we have renewed interest in folks traveling to London for business or pleasure.”

  Alex took another sip of the ale. It was just bitter enough to meet with his approval. “Do many people stop to spend the night as well, then?”

  Another nod. “I’m afraid we’re near full up, but if you’ve an inkling to stay the night, I can see that there’s a room made available for you.”

  “I’m staying at Lady Leighton’s manor, but thank you for the offer.”

  “Ah,” the man said, “part of that house party, then.”

  “Yes. I’ve come to meet an acquaintance, actually. A tall fellow, about six feet, with brown hair and an athletic build.”

  The innkeeper looked dubious. “You just described near half my patrons. Can you be any more specific? What’s this fellow’s name?”

  I haven’t the faintest idea. Monsieur V had a wide array of aliases. Most recently, before he’d fled London, it had been Benjamin Faulkner. Alex didn’t think the man would be bold enough—or foolish enough—to use that moniker again.

  “I’m afraid I only met the man the other night at Lady Leighton’s ball.”

  If only that were true. At least then he would have been able to describe him better. Even though most people who crossed paths with Monsieur V mysteriously forgot the details of his face—including several British spies and the sole high-level French spy they’d managed to catch and question—Alex would feel far better if he’d come face to face with his nemesis. After all, Alex wasn’t likely to forget the face of a man who had destroyed his family. In fact, if he’d met with Monsieur V that night on Lady Leighton’s terrace, the traitor wouldn’t be alive to use the eerie mind-tricks he employed. One way or another, Alex would put an end to the destruction he caused.

  “Is there anyone who has spent a particularly long time at the inn recently?” After all, if Monsieur V was still around, he would have needed to remain nearby for long enough to set up his plan and monitor its progress. He might even be lurking in this very room.

  Alex surreptitiously glanced around as the innkeeper answered. As the man had said, he found too many men who might loosely fit Monsieur V’s description.

  “I’m afraid not. It’s been folks stopping by on their way to London, as I’ve said.”

  Damn and blast! He needed Lucy. She would be able to tell for certain whether or not Monsieur V lurked beneath their very noses. He took another swig of his ale as he wracked his brain for anything that might lead to the reveal of the spymaster’s whereabouts.

  As he lost himself in thought, the door to the inn opened. He glanced over and nearly choked on his ale as Lucy strolled into the common room. He waited, but she shut the door behind her quickly. Her chaperones did not miraculously appear. That woman had a singular talent for finding herself alone in places she should probably not be alone. Although the common room seemed innocent enough, if the wrong gossip spotted her here without escort, her reputation would be tarnished.

  Not that she seemed to care a whit whether people thought her angelic or not. Keeping an eye on her, he sipped from his mug.

  Lucy paused to get her bearings. She scanned the common room, but must not have seen Monsieur V there, because her attention didn’t linger until she reached Alex. Her eyes narrowed and a smirk lifted one corner of her mouth. She seemed pleased to have found him. What, precisely, had she thought he would be doing?

  She traipsed up to him and claimed the vacant stool next to him. She took a mome
nt to rearrange her skirts before she pulled the notebook out of her reticule and fished the pencil out after. Did she go anywhere without those two objects? As she started to flip through the book, she hailed the innkeeper with a hand.

  “What can I do for you, miss?”

  Apparently, whereas Alex appeared lordly, Lucy didn’t show her ducal heritage. Alex fought not to smile. He took another sip of his ale, thinking to watch her at play before he interrupted. She hadn’t even asked what he’d already learned. Did she not trust him to tell her the truth?

  “I’m looking for a man,” Lucy began.

  The innkeeper glanced toward Alex. Hesitantly, he said, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to help with your search. As I told my lord here, we’ve been busy of late. No shortage of men passing through.”

  Upon finding the right page, she smoothed the notebook and turned it toward the older man. The two pages comprised of densely-packed notes, indecipherable at first glance due to the shorthand she used. A symbol that looked a bit like a windmill rested beneath an amateur pencil sketch of a man’s face.

  Alex held his breath. Had she committed Monsieur V’s face down on paper? Why hadn’t Morgan mentioned this, used this? Unless she’d kept it to herself. But why would she do that? He believed her when she said she wasn’t working for him. If she’d known that she knew the face of a notorious criminal—had, in fact, drawn it—then shouldn’t she have given that information to her brother? Morgan would have circulated it to the spies searching for Monsieur V. Alex could have had him in his sights weeks ago.

  He swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat.

  “Have you seen this man?” Lucy asked.

  Although it was difficult to memorize the sketch upside-down, he did his best. The drawing wasn’t completed by an expert touch, that much he could tell from the lines and poor shading, but it was a damn sight better than he could have done. Lucy had a talent, one she likely didn’t foster often or she might have been more accomplished at it.

  The innkeeper lifted the notebook and turned it from side to side. “Hard to tell. As I said, any number of men come in here.” He squinted, then passed the notebook back to Lucy once more.

  As she turned it in Alex’s direction, he took the opportunity to study the figure more closely. The set of the eyes, the thickness of the eyebrows, the nose and mouth, the shape of the jaw. How accurate was the sketch? Even if it wasn’t exact, he had a much better idea of the man for whom they searched.

  In fact, he probably didn’t even need Lucy’s assistance anymore. If he could identify Monsieur V himself, there was no need to involve her in more danger than she already put herself in. Then again, for some unfathomable reason, Monsieur V seemed to have developed enough of an attachment to her to warrant warning Alex away.

  “The sketch looks a bit like a gent who stayed here a few nights. He left this morning, though.”

  Lucy’s face fell. “Thank you for your time.”

  “Is there anything else I can get you, miss?”

  Lucy shook her head. She spun on the stool, looking glum. Her eyelashes formed crescents on her pale cheeks. When she lifted her gaze to meet Alex’s, her eyes were hard, glittering. Although they hadn’t discovered Monsieur V’s whereabouts, she didn’t look likely to give up the search.

  Neither would Alex. There had to be another clue.

  13

  “I missed something. What did I miss?” Lucy slid the book back onto the shelf with perhaps a touch more force than necessary. She immediately winced and checked to see that it was undamaged. Once assured that the spine, cover, and pages were all in pristine shape, she replaced it on the shelf. Gently, this time.

  Only then did she allow herself a frustrated sigh. She balled her fists, her fingernails digging crescents into her palms. What had she missed?

  Monsieur V had left a very specific message for a very specific person—her—in a place other people hadn’t known to look. The only reason that Lucy had known to find that particular costume maker had been because she had been in Monsieur V’s presence. That message had led her here, where she hadn’t come face to face with him again and it appeared as though he had given up on the possibility that she would. He wasn’t among the servants or guests and he was no longer in the neighboring village. At her best guess, he had returned to London.

  Which meant that she had missed her chance.

  Lucy shook her head as she perused what else Lord Leighton’s library had to offer. Thus far, he had seemed to have an interest in horticulture. Thanks to her brother, Giddy, Lucy knew far more on that topic than she would ever find useful. She hoped to find a thrilling work of fiction, something that would take her mind off her debacle—and the fact that she might have made a mistake that would cost her the glory of capturing the spymaster.

  As she ran her finger along the spines of the books, her mind wandered once more. As much as she yearned to hasten back to London and start the search anew, she couldn’t simply leave Lady Leighton’s house party. It would be the height of rudeness. Not to mention that Charlie and Mrs. Vale were already suspicious about her motives for attending the house party, after they’d found her in her room on the opening night. Now Lucy was squirreling herself away from the guests, hiding out in the library instead. She was certain to hear of it later, when she rejoined her chaperone. If she were to leave the party and return to London, Mrs. Vale would certainly wonder why she had bothered to secure an invitation in the first place. Lucy had enough trouble sneaking away without her chaperone keeping an even closer eye on her than usual.

  So, with a sigh, she continued to peruse the titles and resigned herself to days of socializing without the thrilling mystery of unearthing a French spymaster to keep her entertained. Seeing as she was a guest, she couldn’t even continue working on her book. She’d left the rough draft in London, in any case.

  Lucy finished reading each of the spines—more horticulture books—and started to turn away. Something niggled at her, like a word at the tip of her tongue that she couldn’t quite think of. She turned back and ran her finger quickly along the shelf. She paused at the second to last book.

  Lilium. That meant lily, didn’t it? She nibbled on her lower lip as she tried to recall why that flower in particular caught her interest. She preferred tulips, personally, but there was something about a lily. She ran her finger up and down the spine, leather-bound but dyed to a deep purple. A purple lily…

  Her heart skipped a beat as she remembered the last time she had seen someone with a purple lily. Monsieur V had twirled one between his fingers as he spoke, over and over again. It had been a bit mesmerizing, the way the curve of the flower had went around and around.

  Mesmerizing, but ultimately unimportant. It was probably just a coincidence that she now found a book about lilies that happened to have a purple cover.

  Although…purple was a far from common cover for a book. When she’d gone to the costume shop, she had at first thought it to be a coincidence that had led her there as well. But it hadn’t been, had it? No, Monsieur V had arranged for a pivotal message to be left with the tailor.

  Could he have done the same thing with the book?

  Careful not to dislodge anything, Lucy eased the book from its slot on the shelf. Just in case, she pulled out the books to either side, shook them out, and ran her hand over the wood shelf between to ensure that the book hadn’t left anything behind. She replaced the other two books and picked up the purple one.

  The cover gleamed with gold lettering, proclaiming the title in Latin. When Lily opened the book, the very first image, set just inside the cover opposite the title page, happened to be of a purple lily.

  That had to be more than mere coincidence. Was the book a code? A cipher? Had Monsieur V scribbled on one of the pages for her to see? Frowning, Lucy flipped through the pages one at a time, carefully examining the margins of each page and trying to decide if there were any underlined or altered words.

  When she reached partway
through the book, it fell open to reveal a small folded note. Lucy smirked. She thumbed open the note.

  Numbers, in sets of three. In fact, the first number of the first set was the very page she was open to. On a hunch, she counted down the line number and then moved over to the appropriate word in the line. It couldn’t be so simple, could it?

  She fished out her pencil and tried decoding the note that way. By the time she was finished with the sets of numbers, she had a legible note.

  Water garden. Nine to more old eve.

  She frowned at the message. Perhaps it wasn’t as legible as she’d hoped. Though, given the book, perhaps the options were limited. Nibbling on her lower lip she tried to decipher the note further. If, in fact, that had been the code, “water garden” could mean a pond. Was there a pond on Lady Leighton’s property?

  Or—wait. Perhaps it meant water in the garden. A fountain. Lady Leighton had a fountain in her garden, a rather distinctive one, in fact.

  Nine to more old eve.

  Nine o’clock tomorrow evening? That would likely be during the evening needlework, after supper, before the men rejoined the women for the evening entertainment. All Lucy had to do was slip away.

  The note wasn’t signed, but considering that she had found it in the purple lily book, Lucy was confident that it was from Monsieur V. She had a second chance to catch him! And she wasn’t going to squander it this time.

  “That must be a riveting book.”

  Lucy jumped. She shut the book, flattening the note between the pages once more. Clutching the volume to her chest, she turned to face Brackley.

  Perched on the arm of a well-stuffed chair near the hearth, Brackley crossed his legs at the ankles and raised his eyebrows.

  “How long have you been there?”

  He straightened and closed the distance between them. “Long enough. Like I said, the book must have been riveting for you not to notice my entrance.”