Josephine watched him for a moment as well, and then offered Frederick a tight smile. She cleared her throat. When she spoke, her voice took on a formal quality, as though she assumed people were eavesdropping. “I hadn’t expected you to be here tonight. Is your hand improved?”
“The poultice helped,” he replied in a similar formal tone, “but I’m nearly out of the supplies.”
“Mrs. Drummer will prepare more for you tomorrow. I’d be happy to bring them to you.”
Frederick tensed.
Josephine narrowed her eyes the tiniest bit. “Unless you don’t want them.”
“Of course I want them.” He glanced pointedly at Lord Temple across the room. The man picked up two glasses of punch from the refreshment table. “But perhaps you shouldn’t bring them yourself. Lord Temple might not approve.”
She narrowed her eyes as she lifted her chin. He could see the tug of irritation and disapproval at the corner of her mouth. “You are jealous, aren’t you? And this is your way of trying to discern my feelings for him. Don’t bother. It’s none of your concern. I don’t report to you, Mr. Woolsy.”
A hot flash of something seared through him. Jealousy? Of course not. It was irritation, plain and simple. Irritation with Josephine for turning what should have been a pleasant evening into something else. Something much more complicated.
Josephine glanced at Lord Temple as he approached them and then flicked her gaze over Frederick. “Is it possible you’ve come to realize you care for me after all? It’s either that, or you merely wish to control me. I can’t quite decide which it is.” She gazed into his eyes, as if trying to read the answer in them. After a moment, she gave up, shaking her head. “It appears you aren’t certain of the answer to that question either.”
Something intense and visceral tightened in his chest. He wanted to snap back a reply. He wanted to pull her into his arms again, just as he’d done a few moments ago. He wanted to banish that half-smile from her mouth by scorching it away with his lips and leaving her flushed and in no doubt that she wanted him and only him.
But what he wanted rarely matched what he actually did.
So he smiled benignly, leashing the jealousy— yes, jealousy— that smoldered in his chest.
“Your refreshment, Lady Harrington.” Lord Temple passed her a glass filled with a frothy pink liquid.
Frederick nodded to them both. “Please pass along my thanks to Mrs. Drummer, and let her know I’m looking forward to her delivery tomorrow.”
And he turned away.
CHAPTER SIX
Lord Temple glanced across the room. “He’s still watching you.”
Josephine gave him a brittle smile. “I told you, Tristan. He’s jealous of you.” She sipped from her punch glass.
Tristan leaned over and murmured into her ear, “If only he knew.”
She batted her eyes. “That you have no interest in pursuing me?”
Tristan shrugged, his muscles rolling beneath his evening coat so that it tightened across his shoulders. “That I feel as though I’m using you.”
“We’re using each other, so it negates the effect. Thank you for agreeing to be my escort so often.”
She glanced at Frederick, and he immediately looked away. He appeared quite irritated with her. Good. He deserved it after treating her so shabbily. One corner of her mouth drew up in an unladylike smirk before she smoothed it away. She finished off her punch and set the empty glass on a passing footman’s tray.
A devilish gleam lit Tristan’s eye. “You certainly put poor Frederick in a bother,” he commented. “Would you like to let him cool off for a while, or would you prefer to raise him to a simmer?”
She smiled and lifted one eyebrow. “Simmering sounds intriguing. What did you have in mind?”
“This.” He stared directly at Frederick and scowled darkly. He grabbed Josephine by the elbow and hurried her from the room.
Josephine nearly stumbled in her haste to keep up with him, but his firm grip kept her upright. She glanced around, but fortunately, the other guests didn’t appear to take note of their dash for the door. Instead, they were turning to focus on their host.
“If you will please take your seats, Miss Bonneville will begin her performance shortly,” Lord Aldridge said.
“What are you doing?” Josephine asked Tristan through tight lips.
“Adding a bit of heat. Frederick is watching us, isn’t he?”
She glanced back and caught Frederick’s scowl. “He looks angry.”
“That means my plan is working,” He rushed her back into the corridor she’d just been in with Frederick. “Your Lothario should be along momentarily.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Play along,” he said softly. He flashed her a dashing smile, but an instant later he scowled. “You can’t send me off for a refreshment and then disappear with another man.”
She stared at him blankly. “What on earth...?”
He frowned at her. “I said, play along,” he whispered.
Comprehension washed over her. She squared her shoulders, scowled at him, and yanked her elbow from his grasp. “Need I remind you, you are not my husband, Lord Temple. Only my father and my husband ever had the right to tell me what I can and cannot do, and they’re both gone now. It is not your place to assume that role.”
Frederick stepped through the doorway, his jaw tight.
Tristan scowled at him as he took a step closer to Josephine, edging between her and Frederick. “Am I supposed to ignore the fact you left in his carriage at the Koliada Ball?”
She blushed at that. “He was injured.”
“Yet he’s here tonight. Apparently your ministrations wrought a miraculous recovery.”
She felt her blush deepening. She didn’t like this pretense. It felt wrong. Manipulative.
“Stop talking about me as though I’m not here.” Frederick said. “And stop trying to intimidate Lady Harrington. You’re lucky you haven’t drawn a crowd.” He glanced over his shoulder, but from what Josephine could see through the doorway, all the other guests were focused on Lord Aldridge at the other end of the room.
“Now you’re concerned about drawing unwanted notice?” The corner of Tristan’s eye twitched convincingly. “Perhaps you should have thought of that before you drove away from the ball with her in your carriage, or before you trotted her out the door a few minutes ago.” Tristan looked furious. If she hadn’t been in on the ruse, she would have been utterly fooled.
Josephine shot a scorching glare that took in the pair of them. “I’ve had enough of this ridiculous scene.” She sidestepped Tristan and began moving toward the door. “I came here tonight to listen to Miss Bonneville perform, not hear the pair of you yowl at each other like angry tomcats.”
“I only wanted to protect you,” Frederick said as he reached out to take her by the arm.
She easily evaded his grasp. “I can protect myself. Please leave me alone. Both of you.”
She swept through the doorway and back into the now quiet room. She’d ended that scene none too soon. One moment longer and they would have become tonight’s entertainment and upstaged Miss Bonneville.
In the row of chairs lined up for the performance, she spotted a solitary vacant seat in the front row and claimed it. Neither man would be able to follow her here.
Nearly an hour later, Josephine applauded vigorously following Miss Bonneville’s last encore. The soprano’s voice was extraordinary, and her vocal range was astonishing.
Josephine was thankful she’d had the time to regain her composure. She never should have agreed to Tristan’s ruse. It had been foolish and childish, and it had been her own fault. After all, Tristan had asked if she wanted to make Frederick simmer.
She’d certainly achieved that particular goal.
As people rose to their feet, she glanced around the room, but she couldn’t find Frederick. Had he left?
She quickly spotted Tristan. When she cau
ght his eye, he slipped through the crowd toward her.
“Did he leave?” she asked.
“I think so, but I’m not certain.”
They both scanned the room, but Frederick was nowhere to be found.
Tristan stiffened, and then his countenance became carefully composed. “Would you like some punch?” His eyes remained locked on something as he spoke. “You must be parched.”
Josephine followed his gaze, noting the elegantly clad man standing alone near the punch bowl. Not something. Someone. Mr. Easterly, to be specific. “As a matter of fact, I would,” she said, not really expecting the glass of punch to ever materialize. She was certain Tristan would become much too distracted. He’d helped her with Frederick. Now it was her turn to help him with his relationship with Mr. Easterly.
He smiled, his gaze intent on the other man as he headed toward him. Mr. Easterly noticed his approach and something brightened in his gaze. She doubted she’d be drinking punch within the next thirty minutes.
She spotted Lady Wilmot across the room and moved to join her.
“Good evening, Lady Harrington,” the older woman said. “Didn’t you simply adore the performance? Miss Bonneville is truly gifted.”
“Indeed,” Josephine replied. “I heard her last month at the Palmertons’ soiree. I understand she’ll have the title role in Lucia di Lammermoor next month.”
“Oh, my. Yes. I’m so looking forward to it. My late husband used to dearly love Lucia’s mad scene.”
“Such a tragic story of treachery and ill-fated love,” Josephine commented. “Poor Lucia, to be lied to and manipulated by the people she trusted.” The irony of that statement wasn’t lost on her. She pressed her lips in a thin line.
“The opera stands as a lesson for humanity for those willing to learn,” Lady Wilmot said, nodding sagely. “No good can come from trying to manipulate someone for selfish reasons.” Then a brilliant smile blazed across the older woman’s face. “But still, that mad scene is something to behold.”
Josephine chuckled at Lady Wilmot’s enthusiasm. “That it is.”
Lady Wilmot caught her daughter’s eye and beckoned her over. “I was just telling Lady Harrington about Lucia di Lammermoor. I’m trying to recall if you ever attended a performance of it.”
Lady Elizabeth shook her head. “No. I was too young when you and Father went, but I heard him speak of it so often, I feel as though I attended it too. I’ll never forget the night you invited the soprano to perform it for your musical soiree. I fully intended to remain hidden in the balcony and listen, but once I heard her voice, I couldn’t resist slipping downstairs and watching through the doorway.”
“You didn't!” Lady Wilmot looked horrified. “What if someone had seen you?”
Lady Elizabeth blushed. “I managed to avoid everyone. Don’t worry, Mother, I was careful.”
Josephine watched Elizabeth carefully. She was lying. Josephine was certain of it. Someone had seen her. But why lie about that one detail when she’d been willing to reveal she’d watched it?
She was getting better at spotting lies. She’d gained a great deal of experience this past year through observing an expert. Frederick was a challenge, but Lady Elizabeth was relatively easy to read.
Lady Wilmot shook her head and frowned in disapproval. “A young woman in your position has to be careful. After all, this is your second—”
“My second season. Or perhaps even my third, if you count the two weeks I was in London before I left to be with my aunt.”
“Don’t say such a thing. It’s your second.” Lady Wilmot glanced anxiously at Josephine, as though looking for her support.
“I agree with your mother. That first year didn’t count. Your time here was so brief. You’d barely arrived before you had to leave.”
Something across the room caught Lady Wilmot’s attention. She pursed her lips. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said.
“Of course.” Josephine watched her as she joined an older gentleman. Lord Cary, if she wasn’t mistaken.
“My mother is overly concerned about appearances,” Lady Elizabeth commented.
“I wonder if that’s a requirement for motherhood,” Josephine said. “Mine was the same way. Being a widow is quite liberating.” She blushed. “I’m afraid I sounded coldhearted. I didn’t mean it that way. Of course I wish Lord Harrington were still with us, but he isn’t. I’m done mourning and I’ve moved on with my life. Now I enjoy much more freedom than I did when I was having my season. I wouldn’t give it up for just anyone.”
Elizabeth glanced over at where Tristan was in conversation with young Mr. Easterly. “Lord Temple and Mr. Easterly have an extremely close friendship. Does that trouble you?”
Josephine glanced at her sharply. Surely someone as young as Lady Elizabeth couldn’t guess at the sort of relationship the two men shared. “Certainly not. Mr. Easterly is quite pleasant.”
Elizabeth focused on Josephine, appraising her. “Are you aware that Lord Temple has no interest in marrying or creating any heirs? He’s already designated his nephew as next in line for his title.”
Josephine couldn’t suppress her smile. Obviously Elizabeth was aware of Tristan’s lack of interest in women. “You’re much more well-informed than I would have guessed from someone with such an overprotective mother.”
Elizabeth smirked. “What do you think drove her to become so overprotective? I’ve always been extremely curious about the people I meet.” She glanced at Tristan again. “Are you using him to keep other men at bay?”
“It’s a mutually agreed upon arrangement.”
“And where does that leave Mr. Woolsy?”
Josephine pressed her lips together. “That’s the question, isn’t it? Or the better one might be, does Mr. Woolsy know where he wants to be?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
After his confrontation with Josephine and Lord Temple, Frederick realized he wasn’t behaving rationally. Not only had he dragged her away to a secluded room to seduce her, but he’d also given in to a fit of jealous rage and confronted Lord Temple in the hallway. Both those actions were completely out of character. He planned. He considered. He did not rush into any situation without first weighing his options and considering the consequences.
The thought of losing his composure at a social event was abhorrent, but he simply couldn’t trust himself. Not tonight. Not around Josephine. If he stayed, he might do something reckless again.
He decided to walk from Lord Aldridge’s home to the Ambridge Club. The brisk activity helped soothe his anger, and by the time he trotted up the building’s front steps and passed his coat and hat to one of the footmen, he’d regained his composure. All it had taken was banishing Josephine from his thoughts.
It was only half-past ten when he settled into one of a pair of leather chairs in a secluded corner of the club. The supple leather carried the faint scents of beeswax and almond oil.
On the far side of the room, an enormous glowing fireplace large enough for a man to stand in provided plenty of heat. Near it, Lord Larchmont held court, surrounded by his sycophants. He was a man who bore watching. He portrayed himself as a patriot, but Frederick knew him too well. If Lord Larchmont believed he wouldn’t be caught, he’d be more than willing to betray his country— for the right price. With that man, everything had a price. Even his own daughters. He’d actually married off his eldest to a violent man in exchange for political favors. Despicable.
Tonight, Frederick watched the group closely, but he detected nothing unusual taking place. That didn’t allay his suspicions. He observed, noting the shifting friendships and alliances among the man’s followers. Each person in Lord Larchmont’s circle had influence, which was why he’d chosen each one to add to his collection. Something of interest always took place when these men gathered together. All he had to do was watch.
Over the years, Frederick had learned the art of surveillance. It had become second nature to him. If something unusual occurred, no matter
how small or subtle, he’d notice.
Perhaps his habit explained why he’d been achingly aware of Lord Temple’s attraction to Josephine. Every glance, every gesture, every word the man uttered had been chosen to impress her.
But Josephine only toyed with him. She pulled him in with a word or a glance, but kept him at a distance with a combination of stiffness and propriety. She’d likely driven the poor man mad.
She’d never played those games with Frederick. But then again, when it came to Josephine, he wondered if he might have a strange, unexpected blindness for her alone. She’d always seemed completely genuine. Perhaps that explained why he’d finally given in to temptation a week ago and shared those two blissful nights in her bed.
He’d loved her openness. Her honesty. Most people were filled with guile.
So why had she been filled with deceit tonight? Her every interaction with Lord Temple had been brimming with mixed signals and subterfuge. Had Frederick finally noticed it because he’d been an observer rather than a player in the scene? Had he fallen so deeply under her spell that he hadn’t noticed when she’d woven the same threads of trickery around him? He shook his head. That wasn’t possible. She might have been able to mislead him on one or two occasions, but he’d known her for over a year. He simply couldn’t believe she could deceive him for so long.
He couldn’t have misjudged her so thoroughly.
Subtle movements made by two young men standing to the right of the enormous fireplace across the room caught his attention. Their demeanor changed as they became wary of being overheard and moved to one side. One of the young men passed a piece of paper to the other.
Frederick recognized the yellow slip as coming from one of the gambling houses. A gaming debt, so it would seem. Had it been paid off, or was one of the men selling a debt to the other?
Occasionally debts were sold at a discount. The seller would get ready cash, and the purchaser could choose either to attempt to recover the debt, or to use the marker to manipulate the debtor in other, more insidious ways.
My Lady, My Spy (Secrets and Seduction Book 4) Page 7