Kissing The Enemy (Scandals and Spies Book 1)

by Leighann Dobbs

  “Miss Vale.”

  Oh. That’s me. Gathering her skirts, Freddie dipped in a curtsey. Her toe slipped on the polished floor and she nearly introduced herself to the floor. She clenched her fists as she righted herself. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Lord Graylocke raise his eyebrows as he exchanged a glance with the duke. Blast! He’d noticed her clumsiness.

  Lucy, to her credit, pretended Freddie didn’t resemble a Fanny Royds doll. She nudged Freddie forward as she said, “May I introduce my brothers, the Duke of Tenwick and Lord Graylocke?”

  A round of curtseys and a chorus of ‘Your Grace’ and ‘my lord’ ensued. This time, Freddie managed to do it without drawing attention to herself.

  When she straightened, she found herself pinned beneath Lord Graylocke’s stare. His gaze flitted between herself and Charlie. “Sisters?”

  She didn’t take offense at his incredulous tone. Most people were surprised to find that the plain Frederica Vale was related to the beautiful Charlotte.

  Freddie raised her chin. “Indeed.” She took a small step to the right to shield Charlie from his interest. With any other man, she would have done the opposite, but she didn’t want that traitor to bat an eyelash in her sister’s direction.

  Without Charlie to lavish with attention, Lord Graylocke caught Freddie’s gloved hand. He raised it between them. “It is my pleasure to welcome two such lovely sisters into our home.” He bent, ghosting his lips across Freddie’s knuckles. An antiquated gesture. One that made her hand tingle as if she’d stuck it in a bush full of nettles.

  He lifted his gaze to find hers. His eyes weren’t black, as she’d originally thought, but a deep velvety brown. Her heartbeat stuttered. The world spun around them, Lord Graylocke—Tristan—her only anchor.

  She had agreed to steal a book from him? Impossible. At the moment, she couldn’t even reclaim her hand. If she did, the spinning world might induce a swoon.

  Every muscle in her body urged her to flee. At that moment, Tristan Graylocke wasn’t staring at her as if she were another debutante arriving to the house party. He stared at her as if he knew exactly what she meant to do—with a fierce determination to stop her.

  Chapter Three

  “Isn’t this room magnificent?” Charlie straightened from the task of transferring her dresses from her trunk to the bed. She twirled, her sunny yellow skirts whipping around her as she drew attention to the lavish surroundings.

  Royal blue velvet curtains—the color matching that of the yellow and blue toile wallpaper—framed the large French windows. The two beds, set on either side of a carved granite fireplace, were loaded with thick blue and yellow quilts. The room surely was much more splendid than their room in Harker’s townhouse.

  And this was only the guest room.

  “It is,” Freddie agreed. She perched on the edge of her bed. With a teasing smile, she added, “Imagine, if you marry a duke, you’ll have a house full of rooms this luxurious.”

  But not the Duke of Tenwick.

  Charlie wrinkled her nose. “Marry a Duke? I don’t intend to marry this Season…maybe not even next. I’m much too young. I want to have some fun.”

  Freddie’s heart clenched. “And you should.” She swallowed heavily, trying not to think of the fact that they couldn’t afford to give Charlie another Season. She might yet change her mind before the ton retired to the country this summer. More bizarre things had happened. “Marry someone you love no matter what his title or how much money he has.”

  The excitement drained from Charlie’s face. Softly, she admitted, “If I marry a man with money, I can make life easier for you and Mama.”

  Freddie stood. She found her sister’s hand and squeezed it. “Why do we need life to be easier? Everything is fine as it is.”

  “Is it?” Charlie’s blue eyes hardened. “Sometimes I wonder about mother and Lord Harker.”

  No. Freddie had worked so hard to try to hide that from her. She smiled, but it felt forced. “Lord Harker has been very kind to us. Mother helps him with his accounts, is all.”

  Charlie tugged free and crossed her arms. “I’m not a child. Don’t lie to me.”

  I don’t want to. The words stuck in Freddie’s throat. She couldn’t venture into this conversation with her sister. If she did, it would inevitably turn to the fact that Harker’s eye seemed to be wandering away from Mama, of late. If Freddie wasn’t careful, she—or her dear sister—might be the next recipient of his unwanted attentions.

  She changed the subject. “Why don’t we meet Lucy? We don’t want to keep her waiting.”

  Charlotte’s expression lightened. She straightened her dress, then peeked in the mirror to make sure every curl was in place. “I’m ready.”

  In the hall, Freddie rapped on the door next to theirs, the one given to Mama. When she opened the door, she found the room inside as opulent as the one Freddie and Charlie shared, though Mama’s was decorated in emerald green. Mama sat next to a small vanity, wringing a handkerchief. Was she nervous about something? When Freddie cleared her throat, Mama glanced up in surprise. She must not have heard the knock.

  “Charlie and I are meeting Lucy for a tour of the abbey.”

  “Of course.” Mama batted at a lock of hair that had strayed from her coiffure. She managed a tight smile. “Have a nice time. Shall we go down to dinner together?”

  “Yes. We’ll meet you here at half five this afternoon?”

  “Absolutely. Have fun, dear.”

  Her voice was strained. Tight, like the muscles in her cheeks.

  Freddie frowned. “Would you like to come with us?”

  “No, of course not. I have some…business to attend.”

  “We’ll see you later, then.” With a troupe of acrobats doing flips in her stomach, Freddie shut the door. What business could Mama possibly have in the middle of a house party?

  “There you are!” Lucy’s excited voice pierced the air along with her clipped steps. Her expression was radiant as she bustled down the hall. The contrast of her inky black hair against her porcelain skin was stunning. Her deep brown eyes sparkled, alight from within as she stepped abreast of Freddie.

  She has her brother’s eyes. Freddie pressed her lips together at the uncomfortable reminder of Lord Graylocke. Whereas Lucy’s eyes shone with exuberance, his were dark with danger.

  Deftly, Lucy wedged her way between Freddie and Charlie, linking one arm in each of theirs.

  “Your mother doesn’t care to join us?” Lucy tugged them toward the end of the hall toward the staircase as she spoke.

  Freddie shook her head. “She begged leave to rest after our long journey.”

  Charlie, who hadn’t stood close enough to hear what Mama had really said, didn’t contradict.

  As they reached the staircase, they passed Lord Harker. Lucy’s expression turned icy. Harker inclined his head toward them and stood to the side to let them pass. When Freddie glanced over her shoulder, she watched him turn right instead of left. Toward the women’s guest quarters, rather than the men’s. She stiffened. Could he not leave her mother alone even at a house party? Tongues would wag. The gossip would cripple Charlie’s chances of a match.

  As he peeked over his shoulder, he gave Freddie a pointed look. A spark of disgust flared in her belly. It fueled her determination to find the code book. With luck, the tour would provide a clue as to where that book might be.

  Lucy took them through the kitchen, dining hall, four salons, and a ballroom while she explained the history of the abbey. Once a monastery, it had been acquired by the family in the 1400s. Her ancestors had lived there ever since. Freddie marveled at the carved marble and wood fixtures, the rich tapestries and opulent furnishings.

  They left the ballroom and Lucy led them down a dark hall. At the end stood a wooden door with gigantic scrolled iron hinges, ancient if the streaks of discoloration along the boards were any indication.

  Lucy confirmed Freddie’s suspicions as she said, “This is one of the ori
ginal doors of the abbey.” She reached for the handle. “Over the years, most of the abbey was modernized, but this section has been kept intact. I like to use it as a secret passage because it leads back around to the west wing.”

  The door opened to reveal a long, narrow room with walls of gray stone. The ceiling towered two or three stories over their heads. Enormous cathedral-shaped windows marched along the tops of the walls, their bottoms starting high above Freddie’s head.

  “This was one of the original cathedrals when this was a monastery in the middle ages. Now it’s my second favorite room in all of Tenwick Abbey—a wonderful place to absorb the energy of the past and use it in my writing.” Lucy tapped the notebook in her reticule. “You might think all the dead ancestors a bit eerie, but I find them inspiring.”

  Portraits lined the wall opposite the windows. Each frame must have been as tall as Freddie, if not larger. The light shining through the windows illuminated painting upon painting, all of which depicted the strong Graylocke chin, chiseled cheekbones, and black hair. Several past dukes even had a white streak, like the current one.

  Lucy pointed to an oak door set into the stone wall between two portraits, a smaller version of the one they’d entered by. It blended with the frames so completely, Freddie almost didn’t notice it.

  “This door is the secret passage to our private quarters.”

  “How intriguing,” Charlotte exclaimed. “But what is all this?” She waved her arm to indicate the opposite side of the hall, beneath the windows, where various artifacts were on display.

  “Oh, these are old family heirlooms. Things nobody cares to keep around, anymore.” Lucy stepped over to a suit of armor that stood in the corner and rapped on its chest. The hollow ring echoed in the lofty room. “This is the armor my great-great-great-grandfather wore when he fought in the Thirty Years’ War.”

  Lucy rambled on about the various artifacts. Her voice faded into the background as Freddie’s attention turned to the door leading to the family’s private quarters. Did Tristan Graylocke keep the code book in his bedchamber?

  Freddie bit her lip. She stepped back, as if by distancing herself from that door she could deny the need to infiltrate his private abode. She gasped as she bumped something solid and cold.

  She swung around in time to watch the Neoclassical pedestal rock on its foundation. As it righted itself, the bust of a Graylocke ancestor tipped toward Freddie’s chest. She yelped as the aristocratic nose of the sculpture buried itself in her bosom. Blast! It was too heavy. She couldn’t hold it!

  A pair of strong, male arms snatched the bust from her grip and righted it. Freddie sighed in relief. Opening her mouth to express her thanks, she raised her gaze from the large, tanned hands to their owner. The words caught in her throat.

  Lord Graylocke.

  He braced a palm on the pedestal to ensure it wouldn’t tip before he released the bust. When he turned to her, his eyes were dark with accusation.

  “Miss Vale.”

  I didn’t mean to.

  “Lord G-graylocke.” Freddie chided herself for stammering. He’s only a man.

  A traitor and a spy, but a man.

  If she was going to divest him of that book, she had best get her reaction to him under control.

  For once, her invisibility worked to her advantage as he turned to his sister. His eyebrows dipped in a disapproving V. “Lucy, what brings you to this section of the abbey?”

  Undaunted, Lucy smiled. “I was showing my favorite guests around the abbey. You know this is my inspiration room.”

  Tristan’s laugh startled Freddie. It had a deep, pleasant timbre—not the evil cackle she expect from a traitor. Perhaps she spent too much time reading fanciful novels.

  “Is it? I would never have known.” His gaze, so disapproving a moment before, danced as he teased his sister. “Somehow, I doubt these young ladies have any interest in dead dukes and old armor.”

  Lucy shrugged. “I think the room is fascinating.”

  “And I think you need to remember what we talked about when it comes to your novel writing.” Tristan shot Lucy a look of warning as he expertly herded all three ladies through the open door by which they’d entered.

  Lucy shot him a sweet smile as she stepped past him. “Would I ever disobey your wishes, brother dear?”

  His expression soured.

  With a skip in her step, Lucy left the room. “Come now, I saved the best part of the house for last.”

  Charlotte dipped a small curtsey to Lord Graylocke before she followed in Lucy’s wake. Reluctantly, Freddie followed suit. As she left, her shoulder blades tingled with the weight of Lord Graylocke’s gaze. It’s your imagination. She willed herself not to look back.

  But it clearly wasn’t her imagination that Tristan Graylocke had very much wanted them to stay away from the family’s private quarters. Did he insist due to privacy—or because he kept something in there he didn’t want anyone to find?

  The moment they turned the corner, leaving Lord Graylocke far behind, Charlie danced closer to Lucy. “Don’t your brothers want you to write?”

  Lucy pursed her lips, as though searching for the right words. “They encourage my writing, but take quarrel with my method of research. A good novelist needs to experience things before they write them and, well, that can be a bit dangerous. My brothers tend be overprotective.”

  A traitor, overprotective? Freddie pressed her lips together at the incongruent image. She didn’t trust herself to speak a word.

  Meanwhile, Charlie’s eyes sparkled with interest as she linked arms with Lucy. “Dangerous? How so?”

  “One time, I climbed out on the ledge of the turret so I could experience the vertigo. Another time, I dressed as a boy and walked the streets of London at night. I got into quite a bit of trouble when my brothers found me out.” Lucy stopped at a large, round-topped door. Shaking her head, she added, “How do they expect me to write with authority if I haven’t experienced the same things as my characters?” She pulled the door open. “Enough about me. What do you like to do, Frederica?”

  “Call me Freddie, please.”

  Lucy pinned her beneath a sunny smile. “Of course.” Lucy guided them down a grand hallway, one side a wall of marble bricks, the other a wall of glassed in windows.

  To answer her question, Freddie said, “I suppose I like reading and learning, mostly.”

  “Then you’ll love the last stop we make—the family library.” With her free arm, Lucy gestured to the windows. “These windows used to be open archways when this was an abbey. The room ahead was constructed later to match, then glassed in to be used as an orangery.”

  She pulled open a foggy glass door at the end of the hall. The moment she entered, Freddie was bombarded with a wave of warm, moist air. Inside the room on long tables and planted in the mounds of dirt heaped between a narrow stone walkway was an array of tropical plants the likes of which she had never seen before. The humidity was so thick, Freddie felt her hair battle its pins. She held out her hand, palm up half, expecting to feel raindrops.

  The afternoon sun filtered in through the glass walls and ceiling. Somewhere in the distance came the soft murmur of trickling water. A black-haired man stood on the other side of a potting table in the middle of the room. He was bent over a plant, his hair sticking up in disarray. His greatcoat had been tossed carelessly on the table and his white shirtsleeves were pushed up to the elbows.

  “Giddy, I brought some guests,” Lucy called.

  The man’s head jerked up.

  “What?” His eyes narrowed with confusion for a moment, before clearing. “Oh, right. Mother is having another one of her infernal parties. I forgot.”

  “This is Miss Charlotte and Miss Vale.” Lucy linked her arm through Freddie’s and drew her forward. “My brother, the Honorable Lord Gideon Graylocke.”

  He was younger than Tristan, if the honorary title and the youthful softness to his cheeks was any indication. Unlike the two eldest G
raylocke brothers, Lord Gideon wore at least a day’s worth of dark stubble on his jaw. A hank of his hair dropped limp onto his forehead as he nodded.

  Freddie and Charlotte curtsied. For once, Freddie managed it gracefully.

  Wresting her arm from Lucy’s hold, Charlie approached the potting table. “What have you got there?” She leaned over the table to get a better look.

  Lord Gideon stared at her warily, as though she might bite. “It’s an orchid. An exotic species. My friend Catt and I are trying to cultivate different variations of it.”

  “Don’t orchids have green leaves?”

  He ran his hand through his hair, causing it to stand up even more. “It will, as it matures. It’s a very young plant.”

  Beaming, Lucy stepped closer to draw Charlie away. “Gideon is quite the botanist, you know.” Her voice radiated pride in her brother. “We’ll leave you to your work, Giddy. Shall I see you at dinner?”

  “Huh? Oh, yes. I suppose I don’t have much of a choice. Join in the festivities or suffer Mother’s wrath.”

  The women drifted away. Lord Gideon returned his focus to the flower before they so much as turned their backs. On the way to the door, they stopped to admire an assortment of tropical plants and flowers.

  “So, you have three brothers?” Charlotte asked as they stepped into the same windowed hallway they had passed through earlier.

  “Four,” Lucy said. “Anthony is away in the Royal Navy. He’s a captain, now.”

  “Oh, how patriotic.” Charlotte smiled.

  Bizarre, in Freddie’s opinion. One brother in the navy, but two others spies for France?

  Charlie continued. “I always wanted a brother, but I wouldn’t trade Freddie for anything.”

  Freddie’s chest warmed. She exchanged a smile with Charlie. I wouldn’t trade you, either.

  “I always wanted a sister,” Lucy exclaimed. Her exuberance dimmed as a cloud crossed her face. “My cousin Cecily was close, but since she married, we never see her.”