“Certainly.”
“I should expect nothing less from a woman so eager to engage in…battledore.”
Freddie narrowed her eyes. Did he reference her spying abilities? If he did, none of the other guests appeared to attend the conversation.
As the shuttlecock circled back around, she caught it easily and continued it on its journey around the ring before she answered.
“You say that as if you disapprove, but it is the very sport you chose to engage in.”
The corners of his mouth turned down, though he battled to keep the scowl off his face. “That’s different.”
“Why? Because you are a man and I’m a woman?”
Freddie’s voice carried. To Tristan’s left, a young woman snorted behind her hand. She pretended not to listen, but her eyes twinkled as she followed the path of the shuttlecock. On the other side of the ring, a young man missed the cone and it fell to the ground. He relinquished his racket with what looked like relief. Freddie suspected that he’d lost on purpose, for the excuse to return inside. The game resumed with one less player.
Tristan sidled closer, lowering his voice. “Far from it. I disapprove because you are innocent of the rules.”
Freddie tightened her grip on her racket. “I’m a quick study.”
“I don’t think you realize how hazardous the game can be.” As the shuttlecock reached him, he batted it with an elaborate flick of his wrist. The cone whizzed to the ground near Freddie. She lunged forward and barely managed to position her racket beneath it in time. Once the shuttlecock buoyed through the air on its way to the gentleman on her right, she glared at Tristan.
He shrugged.
“You weren’t born knowing the rules,” she said, her voice stiff.
He met her gaze, his eyes glittering and cold. “No, but I was a sight older than you are when I learned them.”
Across the ring, his mother exclaimed, “What lies are you telling? You’ve been playing battledore since you were a boy.”
His expression tightened.
We aren’t talking about battledore.
He didn’t admit as much, however. With a thin smile, he said, “Maybe so, but I didn’t fully comprehend the rules as a child.”
“What rules?” His mother laughed. “It’s a simple enough game. You must keep the shuttlecock in the air for as long as possible. If you drop it, you’ve lost and must forfeit your spot. The last person standing wins.”
Freddie fixed Tristan beneath a falsely sweet smile. “See? It sounds simple enough to me. If you can do it, so can I.”
A few chuckles emanated around the circle.
The game continued. More debutantes, chaperones, and gentlemen exited from the abbey to form rings of their own. Occasionally, those who had lost in Freddie’s ring but still cared to play went over to other groups. Their group shrank to only four members—Tristan, his mother, Freddie, and the gentleman to her right. Tristan’s hits grew steadily more challenging as he tried to trip Freddie up. When his toss combined with her clumsiness nearly earned her a mouthful of grass, she glared at him.
Tristan didn’t seem bothered by her animosity. “I don’t know what lured you to play battledore. You can barely keep your feet.”
Were they still talking of spying? As the shuttlecock swiftly came around again, Freddie lobbed it toward the gentleman next to her with a bit more force than necessary.
“Circumstance.” She bit off the word.
“I don’t know of any circumstance that could lure me to join.”
On his left, his mother frowned. “If you don’t like the game, Tristan, by all means, you don’t have to play. You can return to sleeping the day away whenever you’d like.”
Tristan rubbed at his temple. “That isn’t what I meant.”
Of course it wasn’t. They were speaking about the war again. At least they seemed to do it in such a way that no one else seemed to catch on.
“Then what do you mean?” Lady Graylocke’s voice was clipped.
“Nothing. Please, forget I said anything. I withdraw the comment.”
Freddie lifted her eyebrows. “Forfeiting to a woman?”
He made a face. “I have done it when my opponent is worthy.”
“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind when I emerge the victor.”
He made another elaborate pass, which Freddie caught easily, for once. She was growing accustomed to the give and take of the game. She’d staked out a steady little square of even footing and had managed to work out a way to move about without stepping on her hem.
In a blasé tone, Tristan said, “I will never forfeit to you.”
“Tristan,” his mother exclaimed, aghast. “I didn’t raise you to insult my guests.”
She focused the full brunt of her attention on him and missed the shuttlecock. It fell to the ground by her feet. She made no move to pick it up. Although she was a small woman, her displeasure was like a sharp-edged weight on the air. Freddie was glad the hostess didn’t turn that look on her.
Tristan cringed. He bowed stiffly in Freddie’s direction. “Please forgive me. I meant no offense.”
Lady Graylocke harrumphed. “I should hope not. If you insult one of my guests again, you can hie yourself back to London and your whores.” She stormed away from the group. The air rang with her departure.
Freddie’s mouth fell open at his mother’s crude words. Her cheeks flushed, even though she wasn’t the person to whom the words were addressed. Freddie didn’t have any comparison, but the kiss he’d delivered her had felt masterful. Did Tristan pay for the privilege of enjoying a woman’s…company?
It isn’t any of your business if he does. Their kiss aside, she had no intention of surrender to him again. In passion or in any other way.
The conversation’s abrupt tone scared away their last competitor. With a muttered excuse, the man dropped his racket and left to join the line of those practicing archery. At some point during the morning, the servants must have set up the targets, two of them facing each other fifty yards apart.
His cheeks ruddy, Tristan bent to scoop up the shuttlecock. “I suppose the game has run its course.”
Freddie raised her chin. “Why? Because it’s only the two of us?”
His dark eyes glimmered with an unspoken emotion. “My dear, this game has been between the two of us from the beginning.”
“Then let’s play. I won’t forfeit to you.”
His chiseled features hardened. “Nor I to you.”
“Throw the shuttlecock.”
He did. The game rapidly devolved into a heated match between them as they each tried to force the other into submission. They were evenly matched. When Freddie grew hot, she doffed her shawl and removed her sleeves.
Tristan’s face was set with determination. He watched the shuttlecock, never faltering a step, but also kept Freddie pinned beneath his examining gaze. What was he thinking? Beneath that shrewd stare, she was much less graceful than she’d hoped, but she held her ground.
“What circumstance leads you to align with the wrong ally?” He still spoke in cryptic terms, in case the ladies and gentlemen strolling past listened in. Their match drew quite a few gazes.
Freddie wiped the sweat off her upper lip. “You’re the one who is allying themselves with the wrong side.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You can’t possibly seek to defend your relative.”
From his dark tone of voice, she gathered he meant Harker. She gave a one-shouldered shrug, but her next volley at the shuttlecock was weak. “You can’t choose your relatives.”
“No. But that doesn’t mean you have to follow them blindly.”
Freddie bit her lower lip. That was exactly what she suspected he’d done with his brother. He had no right to comment on her decisions, when he’d clearly chosen to do the same. At least she aligned herself with Britain instead of with the enemy.
“You don’t know the decisions I’ve made. I’ll thank you not to condemn me because of choices yo
u don’t understand.”
He lobbed the cone back in her direction. She stumbled as she lunged to catch it in time.
“If you expect me to look the other way and let you win, you’re in for a disappointment.”
She scowled. “I don’t expect you to change your tune.” Even if it would make her life easier. “But don’t expect me to give up, either.”
He met her gaze for a moment as he bounced the shuttlecock lightly on his racket. “Then, Miss Vale, may the best man—or woman—win.”
The hour must have grown close to two of the afternoon by now. The guests had begun filtering off the lawn and into the house to change their clothes and search for vittles. Freddie’s arms ached from holding up the racket for so long. Given the beads of sweat on Tristan’s forehead, he was just as uncomfortable beneath the blazing sun, which had departed from its bed of clouds near to an hour ago.
Their tense battle of wits had grown quiet, though neither was willing to surrender. Freddie’s heart throbbed with the urgency to leave the match and make her way to the abandoned chapel in the north of the abbey. If she left soon, she still had a hope of reaching the location before the duke and his spy contact.
Unfortunately, Tristan seemed determined to stop her. His jaw was set, his eyes hard. He focused more on her than he did on the game, though he seemed to have more difficulty hitting the shuttlecock after so long. He was sluggish to respond, though her weaker hits didn’t give much of a challenge. Between volleys, he tugged at his cravat, as if he dearly wanted to remove it.
His single-minded focus on her convinced her that he wouldn’t let her out of his sight long enough to sneeze. She needed a distraction or an excuse even he couldn’t refute.
Arm in arm with Lucy, Charlie approached. Freddie watched her sister from the corner of her eye, but couldn’t greet her without forfeiting the match. She continued to play.
“I’m going to change and sit down to lunch. Will you two be joining us?”
A burst of relief radiated through Freddie as she grasped on the opportunity. She made a half-hearted attempt to catch the next throw, but purposefully let her racket fall short. The shuttlecock buried itself beneath the trampled grass.
“Oh, dear. It looks like I’ve lost.” Dropping her racket on the ground in defeat, she bit her lower lip to keep from smirking. “Charlie, I might as well accompany you.”
Tristan snatched the shuttlecock from the ground and held it aloft. “Wait. I call foul. You missed that on purpose.”
Lucy rolled her eyes. “Tristan, give the poor woman a break. You’ve been at it for hours.”
“But—”
Freddie linked arms with her sister. As the three women walked away, she wiggled her fingers over her shoulder at Tristan. He stood on the green, his hands clenched around his racket and the shuttlecock.
She expected to feel relieved to finally leave him behind. Instead, her shoulder blades tingled with the weight of his gaze.
And with the urgency of what she had to do next.
Chapter Eleven
The moment the shadow of the abbey fell across Freddie in a cool wave, her heartbeat sped. She’d escaped Tristan’s eye, but now she had to slip away from her sister’s grip. Her mind’s eye wandered to the north side of the abbey, which hadn’t been included in Lucy’s previous tour. How much longer did she have to reach the meeting place?
They entered a side door into a smaller antechamber than the main entrance. Between two doors directly ahead was a grandmother clock. It read a quarter past one of the afternoon. Freddie tried to relax.
Twin staircases climbed the edges of the cavernous room, one leading to the east wing and one to the west. Charlie dropped Lucy’s arm and started to walk toward the east staircase.
“Freddie, might I have a word alone, please?”
Freddie’s grip on her sister’s arm went slack as she met Lucy’s eager gaze. She exchanged a glance with Charlie, who frowned, but shrugged. “I’ll meet you upstairs.”
“Of course,” Freddie murmured, an instinctive response.
Lucy’s gaze trailed after Charlie as she mounted the marble steps. The click of her heels echoed in the room. At the top of the stairs, Charlie dawdled. Clearly, her curiosity won out.
Turning her back on the staircase, Lucy leaned close to Freddie and lowered her voice. A furrow of concern deepened in her forehead.
“I hope you’ll forgive my brother. I don’t know what came over him.” She sounded contrite, almost ashamed at Tristan’s competitive behavior.
Freddie couldn’t help but grin. “I believe it was my fault for provoking him.”
Lucy wrung her hands. “Still, he doesn’t have to act like such a boor. He isn’t usually so competitive, not unless he’s pitted against Morgan.”
So the Graylocke brothers had a competitive relationship. Is that why Tristan had joined Morgan and the French, to prove himself a better spy? Freddie chased the notion away. No answer would satisfy her. In her eyes, betraying her country was unforgivable.
“Consider it forgotten.”
“He’s usually a delight to be around.” Her dark brown eyes, so reminiscent of Tristan’s, bored into Freddie’s, as if willing Freddie to believe her.
Delightful…for a French spy. Freddie managed a thin smile. “I’m sure he is.”
Lucy’s mouth twisted. “Except when he’s being overprotective.”
The smile came easier to Freddie’s lips. “I can understand that. He loves you.”
Her gaze drifted to the second level, to Charlie. Freddie’s breath stalled as she realized Charlie wasn’t alone. Harker was standing next to her.
When Freddie returned her attention to Lucy, she must have managed to hide her alarm, because Lucy seemed relieved, rather that worried.
“Then you won’t hold it against him?”
Hold what? Freddie’s head spun as she tried to recollect the conversation. “I promise I won’t hold his competitiveness against him.”
In regards to his allegiance, Freddie made no promises.
Lucy squeezed Freddie’s arm. “Thank you. I’ll see you at lunch.”
Freddie’s ears rang as she returned her attention to the staircase above. Harker still stood with her sister. Even closer, in fact. Charlie’s back was pressed against the wall.
As she mounted the steps, Freddie’s lungs burned like she’d inhaled fire. She stamped down the sensation, hurrying to her sister’s side.
The moment she stepped within earshot, Harker gave an oily smile. “Ah, Frederica. Precisely the woman to whom I’d hoped to speak.”
Charlotte stiffened her back. Her fists balled at her sides, as if she hoped to step in.
Freddie relaxed her shoulders from around her ears and tried her best to appear nonplussed. “Why don’t you hurry to our room and change, Charlie? I’ll be along shortly.” For all Freddie’s efforts, her voice was stiff.
The whites showed around Charlie’s brilliant blue eyes. She cocked up her chin and licked her lips. “Are you sure?”
Harker’s gaze dropped to Charlotte’s pretty mouth.
Freddie’s stomach swished. “Quite sure,” she said, her voice clipped.
Reluctantly, Charlie slinked down the hall. Freddie held herself tall, waiting until her sister was out of sight before she turned to Harker.
“What are you doing here?”
He raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t know it was a crime to speak with my own ward.”
Freddie’s fingernails bit through her gloves and into her palms. “I’m doing your bidding. You can have nothing to say to her.”
Inspecting his fingers, Harker drawled, “Now that you’ve mentioned it, let’s talk about that.”
Freddie gritted her teeth. “What about it? I put my life on the line last night searching the Graylockes’ quarters. If I’d found anything, you would have it.”
His eyes glinted, like cold, glittering pieces of ice. The temperature in the corridor seemed to cool. Gooseflesh rose on Freddi
e’s bare arms.
“You seem to be getting yourself acquainted with Tristan Graylocke.”
Freddie made a face. “He…suspects me. I can’t help that.”
Something convinced her to hold her tongue on how Tristan’s supposed ‘suspicions’ had been verified.
Harker leaned closer. He must have eaten beans this morning with his breakfast. His breath reeked of them. “You appear to be getting awfully cozy with him. Almost like lovers.”
Freddie’s hand itched to slap him. She bit the inside of her cheek. Violence wouldn’t help her situation.
“I assure you, that isn’t the case.” Her voice was high and thin. She pressed her lips together, unable to muster another word.
Harker narrowed his eyes. “I wanted to make sure you know what’s at stake here. Your future.” His gaze traveled down the hall, where Charlie had escaped. “And your sister’s.”
Freddie stiffened.
Almost as an afterthought, Harker added, “Many more lives hang in the balance, too. This is a matter of national importance.”
Freddie gritted her teeth. “I know that. I’ve been trying to slip away from Lord Graylocke’s side all morning. I know where the book will be at two o’clock this afternoon.”
She expected Harker to demand details. Instead, he waved his hand in the air dismissively. “Then go and retrieve it.”
Retrieve it yourself. Freddie clenched her fists. “Don’t you want to do that yourself? Of the two of us, you are the trained operative. You have more experience.”
His cheeks puffed out in affront. “I told you, I’m under too much scrutiny while I’m here. It’s the reason I recruited you.”
I’m under scrutiny now, too. Freddie held her tongue. “Very well. Then I shouldn’t dally any longer.”
Without waiting for Harker’s response, Freddie strode away. She stormed blindly down the hall, soon finding herself in front of the room she shared with Charlie. Mustering some semblance of serenity, she opened the door.
Charotte sat on the plush settee. Lisane must have neatened her appearance, because she wore a fresh placket-front dress in blush pink, patterned with roses no bigger than Freddie’s thumb. The moment Freddie stepped into the room, Charlie jumped to her feet.
Kissing The Enemy (Scandals and Spies Book 1) Page 9