She’d had difficulty focusing on any task ever since leaving Frederick’s house yesterday. She’d made the right decision to sever her relationship with him, but that didn’t make her choice any easier to live with. Not when her heart was breaking. She poked her needle through the back of her fabric and drew it through with a broad sweep of her arm.
She might as well admit it to herself, even if not to him. She loved him. At least, she had loved him, for a time. Or perhaps she’d only loved the man she’d believed him to be, not the man he really was. Perhaps she’d only loved the phantom she’d conjured in her mind. The dream of what she’d believed him to be. Not the reality.
She couldn’t seem to let go of that dream.
Reality could be immensely distasteful.
She took another careful stitch.
Promptly at three o'clock, she spotted Monsieur LeCompte’s carriage depositing him in front of her townhouse. A gust nearly snatched away his top hat, but he caught it in time.
She tucked her needlepoint away in the small box on the end table and smoothed her blue skirts, brushing away a stray bit of the bright pink floss she’d been using.
From her vantage point in the drawing room, she watched as Monsieur LeCompte handed his coat and top hat to Fleet, her butler, and then swept his fingers through his dark thatch of hair. It obeyed him instantly, falling into place as though carefully arranged by his valet.
As he turned to face the drawing room entrance, he caught sight of her and stopped. He offered her a broad smile as he strode into the room. “Lady Harrington. What a pleasure to see you.” His deep, resonant voice and pleasant French accent sent a pulse of awareness through her.
She dipped her head in response. “And you, Monsieur LeCompte. How kind of you to visit me on this blustery day.”
“I’d hoped we might take a turn outside, but the weather— ah— it does not cooperate.”
“May I offer a cup of tea to warm you?” She gestured toward the maid bringing in the tea tray. The girl placed it on the low table in front of Josephine and then left the room.
“Oui, merci.” He crossed the room and claimed the chair to Josephine’s right.
Josephine carefully poured a cup of black tea, prepared it according to his preferences, and handed it to him.
LeCompte took a sip and smiled his approval. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”
She sipped from her own cup, watching him over the brim. “I must admit, monsieur, you piqued my curiosity with your request to call on me today. You mentioned my distress, but— well— for the life of me, I cannot understand why you think I’m distressed.”
LeCompte kept his gaze level as one corner of his mouth tightened in a smile. “Non? Perhaps I read too much into the situation. I’m forever trying to put together the pieces of the puzzle, but sometimes I make mistakes.”
“Am I a puzzle to you?”
He flashed his bright smile. “Aren’t all women puzzles to men?” He set his teacup noiselessly on the saucer. “But in this instance, you happen to be a piece in a much larger puzzle. A bright spot of blue in an otherwise drab design.”
She couldn’t help smiling. “I can’t imagine how I might play a part in a larger picture.”
“Aren’t we all playing our small parts in life? You, for instance. You quietly slip through society, free of so many of the restrictions placed on most women. You possess a level of independence seldom enjoyed by someone of your tender years. I doubt many are aware of how few limits are placed upon you.”
She cocked her head to one side. “And why is my situation of such immense interest to you?”
He rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “You’re a curiosity. Because of that, I’ve been watching you.”
A chill ran down Josephine’s spine. She didn’t like the idea of anyone watching her, and LeCompte was more dangerous than most, given his penchant for gossip. She kept her face impassive. “That’s a rather bold and intrusive thing to do, don’t you think?”
“Not at all. I watch many people. It’s quite interesting what one learns simply through observing others. You, for instance, seemed to be developing a strong attachment for Frederick Woolsy. That fascination seemed to be mutual. But about a week ago something changed— something came between you.”
Josephine’s teacup trembled in her hand, so she gently placed it on her saucer. “You’re an observant man. I can’t decide if I should applaud your skill or be terrified.”
“Neither. I’m simply bringing a fact to your attention. I can’t help wonder if Lord Cary is to blame for the increasing distance between you and Mr. Woolsy.”
Josephine couldn’t keep the confusion from showing on her face. What on earth did Lord Cary have to do with her? With Frederick? “I seem to recall seeing Lord Cary at Lord Aldridge’s home the other night.” She’d seen Frederick speaking with him too. She tried to recall any details about their encounter, but nothing came to mind. “What does Lord Cary have to do with Mr. Woolsy?”
Monsieur LeCompte was reaching for his teacup, but her words made him stop short for an instant. She almost missed that brief hesitation. As he lifted the cup, he gave a small shrug. “Perhaps not as much as I’d thought.” He took a sip of his tea. “Do you plan to see Mr. Woolsy soon? I already know he and his brother are in court today, so you don’t need to conceal it from me.”
She looked at him blankly. “Why would they be in court?”
LeCompte furrowed his brow. “Apparently, I’m better informed regarding Mr. Woolsy’s affairs than you are.” He rubbed at his jaw. “I must admit, that gives me pause. After you left the Koliada Ball with him, I’d assumed the two of you had made steps to repair your relationship. Either I was mistaken, or you’re excellent at dissembling. I doubt it’s the latter.”
Had he just accused her of being a bad liar? She was tempted to take offense, but she decided to let it go. “Is that why you came today? To question me about Frederick’s movements?”
LeCompte shrugged. “He’s been behaving quite oddly. Late meetings with Lord Cary, a court appearance, and his odd change in behavior toward you. I’d believed his attachment to you to be much stronger. I must admit, I’m confused.”
Not as confused as she was. She almost blurted out that comment, but she managed to bite back the words. Is this how Monsieur LeCompte gathered his gossip? By startling people into accidentally revealing information they’d rather keep concealed?
He drummed his fingers against the edge of his teacup and then set it on his saucer with a clatter. “I saw something on the way here that troubled me greatly. I’d hoped you might shed some light on it, but now—”
She tensed. What had he seen? “Out with it, monsieur. You have been leading me throughout this entire conversation, and now you have me on tenterhooks. Has something happened to Frederick?”
He turned an oddly direct gaze on her. Gone was the flirtatious gossipmonger, and in his place was a man of deadly seriousness. “Not Frederick. It was his brother, Lord Wentworth. As I came here today, I witnessed him and a young lady in an altercation with a group of Russian soldiers.” Josephine gasped, but he kept talking. “One of the men was on the ground between them, grievously injured and bleeding profusely. As Lord Wentworth and the woman turned to flee, a Russian darted forward and snatched a book from his hand. Lord Wentworth let it go and climbed into their carriage just as one of the soldiers tried to stop them. They barely managed to escape.”
Josephine’s blood ran cold. She hadn’t understood most of what Monsieur LeCompte had told her today— Lord Cary, the court case... but this— this was different. Robert must have managed to recover the church register he and Frederick had lost the night of the Koliada Ball.
Recovered it only to lose it again.
“You say Robert and the woman escaped? Were they injured?”
Monsieur LeCompte shook his head. “Not that I saw. They appeared unscathed.”
Relief swept through her. “Thank goodness.” She felt a pang of sym
pathy for them for losing the book, but then stopped herself. She shouldn’t care. She shouldn’t let Frederick and his family steal their way back into her heart. This problem was none of her concern.
Frederick’s many lies had made that abundantly clear. She wasn’t a part of his trusted inner circle. She was an outsider.
She knew where she stood with him. He didn’t want her in his life. He didn’t want her involved with his work as a spy. He was a consummate liar. He kept her uninformed. He coddled her like a child.
Even LeCompte knew more about Frederick than she did.
She swallowed as she gathered her thoughts. “Witnessing such an assault must have been terrifying. I’m sure you were relieved to see them escape.”
LeCompte watched her for a moment, judging her reaction. Making a decision. Finally he smiled, letting the role of the flighty gossipmonger overtake him again. “Oui. I wish I could have helped, but what was I to do? Alone? Outnumbered? I could only have made things worse.”
“Of course,” she said.
They chatted for a while about more trivial things. As Monsieur LeCompte left, Josephine clenched her fists so hard her nails bit crescents into her skin. She wanted to go to Frederick. She wanted to lend him her support.
But he wouldn’t welcome it. He never had.
He never would.
So why did she feel her heart breaking?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Josephine stared down at the letter from Frederick in her hand. He wanted to meet with her. Today.
His timing was abysmal.
She shook her head decisively. She absolutely would not allow him to derail her plans. He couldn’t assume he could waltz back into her life after abandoning her for a week and expect her to cancel her appointments. She’d scheduled a meeting with the museum curator for this afternoon, and she fully intended to keep it. Frederick’s quixotic changes of mood would not alter her plans.
Men. They were perverse creatures. He’d finally gotten what he wanted from her— a cessation of all contact— and now he’d changed his mind.
She read the letter again. She had to admit, Frederick’s request seemed heartfelt and sincere. Perhaps she should bend, but only slightly.
She sat at her writing desk and briefly penned a reply.
Dear Mr. Woolsy,
It is with regret that I must inform you I have a conflicting appointment with a curator at the British Museum today at one o’clock. I am therefore unable to meet with you at that time. I will be available tomorrow afternoon and plan to receive visitors at home. Please feel free to call on me at your convenience.
Yours sincerely,
Lady Harrington
She read over the brief letter and gave a satisfied nod. It would suffice. It struck the right note of formality and politeness.
She sent the letter off with the eleven o’clock post.
§
At precisely five minutes before one o’clock, Josephine’s carriage drew to a halt in front of the British Museum. She glanced down at Mr. Beasley’s letter and read through the instructions for meeting with him in the vast building.
A moment later, she glided through the main doors and located a uniformed clerk at the visitors’ desk. She quickly introduced herself and asked to be escorted to the curator’s office.
“Right this way, Lady Harrington,” the man said. He hesitated as he glanced over her shoulder. “Mr. Beasley didn’t mention you’d be bringing a guest.”
Frederick’s voice came from behind her, sending a flash of awareness coursing through her. “I was a last-minute addition. When I learned of Lady Harrington’s plans for the day, I couldn’t resist the temptation to join her.”
Josephine stiffened. She knew she should send him away. She opened her mouth to do just that, but she couldn’t force herself to say the words. When he stood close to her this way, she couldn’t deny how much she still wanted him. How much she’d missed him.
She glanced up at him, and when her eyes met his, the frisson of heat that passed between them made her catch her breath.
Frederick’s jaw tightened, but that was the only indication that he’d felt the same sort of attraction she did. Of course, he’d have to be circumspect. They were at the British Museum, after all.
Perhaps seeing him in a public venue was for the best. If she found herself alone with him, she might not be able to resist the way he tugged at her heart.
The uniformed clerk gave a nod and turned to lead the way, completely missing the frown Josephine shot at Frederick. “You were supposed to call on me tomorrow,” she whispered.
“Your letter said I should feel free to call on you at my convenience. This is convenient.”
She let out an exasperated sigh. Trust Frederick to use her words against her. “I’ll let you come, but you must promise you’ll be on your best behavior. Mr. Beasley is a busy man. I was fortunate to schedule this meeting with him.”
“On my honor,” he said, holding up one hand. She couldn’t help noticing that the gloves on his hands fit snugly. There were no bandages beneath them. Apparently his healing was progressing well.
He tucked her hand around his right elbow and hurried to keep pace with their escort. “What is Mr. Beasley’s area of expertise?”
She tried to keep her gaze fixed on the back of the grayish-blue collar of their escort’s livery, but she quickly failed and found herself staring at Frederick’s profile. “Ancient Greece. He specializes in Lycia.”
Frederick grinned and glanced down to meet her gaze. “I’m a bit weak on ancient Greece. Where is Lycia?”
Ah, how she loved that man’s eyes. She swallowed before answering. “It’s a region in southern Anatolia.”
“Wouldn’t that have been part of the Persian empire?”
She blinked up at him in surprise. “I thought you were unfamiliar with this particular subject.”
His smile was slow, and only for her. He seemed to want to draw her into his world— to share his secrets. “I have an intense interest in the Persian and Ottoman empires.”
She blushed. “An intense—” It was difficult to think clearly when he gazed at her that way. Was he saying he was interested in the topic because of her? But no... his work as a spy would require him to pay close attention to those empires. That must be what he meant. She cleared her throat. “Of course. Your work for the Qu—” She stopped herself and glanced at their escort. She’d nearly alluded to Frederick’s role as a spy. She could hardly believe she could be so careless. He made her entirely too flustered.
He grinned, clearly relishing his ability to rattle her.
They descended the stairs behind their guide and followed him through a maze of corridors.
She cleared her throat again. “I’m here specifically to learn more about a relatively recent discovery. I’m interested in a particular Lycian tomb that a British archaeologist, Charles Fellows, unearthed in the early 1840s. The temple appears to be designed in the Greek style, but Mr. Fellows found it in Lycia. Experts from many fields are examining it. Mr. Beasley was generous enough to agree to meet with me today.”
“Not my field of knowledge,” Frederick said. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.
He seemed uncomfortable. Restless. Was it due to the confined space? “Perhaps the friezes of battle scenes from the temple will be of interest to you.”
A moment later their guide stopped in front of a door and rapped sharply on the frame. “Lady Harrington and—” he paused and glanced at Frederick.
“Mr. Woolsy,” Frederick said.
“— and Mr. Woolsy to see you.”
The door swung open, and Josephine found herself facing a man who was quite a bit younger than she’d expected. His skin held the healthy glow of a man who spent time outdoors, and he had an athletic build which led her to believe he wasn’t purely an academic, but also spent time at archaeological sites.
When Mr. Beasley smiled and took her hand, Josephine sensed Frederick stiffen. Frederick
flicked his gaze over the curator, blatantly assessing him, but Mr. Beasley seemed unaware.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Harrington,” Mr. Beasley said. He glanced at Frederick with interest. “I hadn’t realized you were bringing a guest.”
Josephine introduced the two men. “Mr. Woolsy has an interest in the Persian and Ottoman empires.”
“Oh,” he said, his interest fading. “Not really my field of expertise, but given the location of the tomb, I’m sure you’ll find this of some interest. I’m afraid I might not be able to help you regarding those empires. I know little about them. My specialty is in Greek antiquities.”
“Was a cache of items from ancient Greece found in Lycia?” Frederick asked.
“What?” Mr. Beasley wrinkled his brow. “Of course not. I thought you knew. Mr. Fellows’s discovery is an oddity. His monument is a place out of time. We think the structure dates from some 400 years after the nexus of Greek influence.” As he talked, he turned his back on them and locked the door to his office. “The statuary and frescoes are astonishing. Mr. Fellows dismantled the entire monument and shipped it here to the British Museum. We’re dedicating a permanent space where we can have it on display.” He began walking down the corridor and waved for them to follow him. “Lady Harrington asked to see the statues of the Nereids and the notes from the archaeological excavation of the site.”
Frederick glanced at her. “You mentioned you wanted to travel there. Is this why?”
She nodded, pleased that he’d remembered. “When do you expect to have the exhibit open to the public?” she asked the curator.
“That won’t be for quite some time. I doubt it will be before 1860. Perhaps not even until 1865, given the complexity of the task. One can’t rush this sort of work.”
Mr. Beasley pushed his way through a large door and into an enormous storage area. Josephine stopped momentarily, astonished by the immense size of the space. “Is this where you store museum items not currently on display?”
My Lady, My Spy (Secrets and Seduction Book 4) Page 12