He knew what it was like to live in the shadow of a sibling, but she didn’t seem as affected by Miss Charlotte’s beauty as he was by Morgan’s popularity. In fact, Freddie seemed perfectly content to wait in the eaves until her sister had taken the ton by swarm.
What, then? Did Freddie hold designs toward matrimony once her sister was taken off the market? The polite thing for a man to do would be to offer for Freddie first, but as she hadn’t tried to engage the affections of any man at this party—at least, not that he’d noticed—he had no doubt that Miss Charlotte would be the first to marry. If Tristan had been a woman, that knowledge would have stuck in his gob, made all the more potent by the fact that Freddie wasn’t a homely woman. She had a quiet sort of beauty that filled the edges of a room, rather than shining like a bright beacon in the center.
Lucy asked, “Would you like to take a walk with me to the portrait hall? Your sister is still abed and I have an idea I need to percolate. I’d love to have your company so I can talk it through aloud.”
Freddie opened her mouth, but Lucy wouldn’t let her get a word in edgewise.
She continued. “I’m sure you’d be able to give more insight into my idea, since you love books so much. Charlie, I’m afraid, doesn’t offer much advice on my plots, but she’s great fun and helps in other ways. In fact, I’m basing a character off of her.”
At this, a look of concern crossed Freddie’s face. It bunched her freckles together and created a little crease between her eyebrows. “Oh?” Her voice was weak, matching her expression.
Lucy didn’t seem to notice that her enthusiasm had waned. “It’s true! I’ve set her character—or rather, the character I created that most resembles her—to be the heroine in my next novel.”
“I…I’m sure she’s pleased.”
Tristan drained his coffee mug to keep his smile hidden. Freddie didn’t look as pleased. In fact, if anything, she seemed more worried.
A look which deepened when Lucy added, “I think she will be. I made her a swashbuckling princess.”
Tristan couldn’t hold back his amusement any longer. He chuckled and came to Freddie’s defense. “Don’t you base your books on personal experience, Lucy?”
She frowned at him. “I do…”
“You aren’t a princess.”
She raised her chin. “I’m the daughter of a duke. It’s almost the same thing.”
Drat, she might be right about that. “I didn’t know you learned to swordfight.” He let his tone and his gaze convey his disapproval, in case she had snuck behind his back to learn the dangerous sport.
She narrowed her eyes. “There are books about swordplay in the library.”
“Ah, but reading about it is not the same as doing it.”
She batted her eyelashes at him. “Does that mean you’re willing to bring Morgan around to granting me some fencing lessons?”
Lud, had she already broached the topic with him? “Indeed not.”
She sighed, overly dramatic. “And here I thought you might hold some sway over him. Oh, well.”
Tristan gritted his teeth. He knew she only aimed the barb because of his competitiveness with his brother, but it still cut him to the quick. Unfortunately for her, he and Morgan saw eye to eye on the subject of fencing lessons.
Before he mustered the ability to politely answer, Freddie jumped into the conversation. “Didn’t you say you wanted to visit the portrait hall?”
Lucy jumped to her feet, leaving half her plate of food uneaten. “Oh, yes, of course. Tristan, won’t you join us?”
From the look of pain that Freddie tried badly to hide, she clearly wanted him to decline. He took a perverse pleasure in disappointing her. With a grin, he stood. “I would love to.”
With a resigned expression, Freddie followed Lucy to the doorway. When he offered his sister his arm to be her escort, she gave him a sweet smile. “No need. I need both hands free to jot down my ideas. Why don’t you accompany Freddie instead?”
His stomach dropped. Blast! She had finagled for just such an eventuality.
He couldn’t very well decline. Keeping his smile pinned in place—although it had begun to feel forced—he offered his arm to Freddie instead. She didn’t have a notebook to hide behind, and had no choice except to lay her hand on his sleeve. The light, delicate touch seared through his jacket.
Lucy conducted a lively conversation as they made their way to the ancestors’ hall. Tristan barely heard a word. He couldn’t get his mind off the feel of the woman striding beside him. She kept enough space between them to please even the strictest of gossips. As he walked, he was acutely aware of that space. He burned with the need for her to lean closer. Even an inch…
By the time they reached the ancient door leading to the portrait hall, he was losing his mind. He nearly made his excuses and left them alone, but the thought of Morgan’s disapproval weighed on him. If nothing else, he would prove to his brother that he could do this. He could sway Freddie into aborting her quest to steal their code book.
If he was lucky, maybe she’d even be willing to give them something they could use to expose Harker and take him out of the spy game once and for all. The notion was appealing, but didn’t satisfy his desire. With Freddie’s touch muddling his head, he would gladly surrender to Harker if only he got to press his body against hers once more.
He’d never seen the appeal of having a wife, but if most men were as enamored with the thought of finding themselves alone with their wives as Tristan was with Freddie, then maybe the concept had merit.
Lud, had he just considered marrying Freddie? He couldn’t have.
It would be one way to ensure she was no longer subjected to Harker’s coercion.
No, the very idea was mad! He was definitely losing his sanity.
Lost in thought, he stepped through the old door, which Lucy held wide. The doorway was wide enough for him and Freddie to walk abreast, but in order to do so, she had to press closer to him. A whiff of her lavender perfume met his nose. The soft, gentle scent made his head spin.
They stepped into the wide, cavernous room. Before Tristan took more than three steps, the door slammed shut with a resounding crash that echoed throughout the room. As Freddie’s hand slipped from his arm, they both whirled toward the door. Lucy was gone.
Tristan bolted to the door. The light in the room, filtering through the rain-splattered glass high above, was thin and wan. He could see the outline of objects in shades of gray, but no more. As he reached the door, he grappled for the latch. It was stuck. Something was securing it from the other side.
He pounded on the door with the flat of his palm. “Lucy! Let us out this instant!”
“No!” Her voice was muffled. The tinkling of rain on glass, amplified by the echoes in the vaulting room, almost drowned her out. Tristan strained to hear. “You like her, she likes you. Talk about it! I’ll let you out when you agree to marry.”
Tristan fisted his hands. His leather gloves saved him from the pain of his fingernails, but barely. “We are not going to marry, Lucy. Give up the notion.”
She didn’t answer. Had she left? Tristan tried the latch again, but it still wouldn’t budge. He slammed the palm of his hand against the door.
Behind him, the crash of metal signaled that the suit of armor had fallen to the ground. From the rustle of fabric, Freddie must be caught under it.
“Bloody wretched thing,” she muttered under her breath.
He couldn’t agree more, though his sentiments leaned more toward their situation.
Balling his fists, he turned away from the door. Freddie flailed, half-trapped beneath the suit of armor. He crossed to her in ground-eating strides and bent to help. Within moments, she disentangled herself, but when he tried to lift the suit, the components fell apart and scattered on the ground. He left it there.
“Thank you,” Freddie muttered as she dusted off her dress. Judging from the way she was angled away from him, she didn’t care to meet his gaze.
“Think nothing of it,” he answered, his voice stiff.
“What are we to do now?”
He ran his hands through his hair. “We find Lucy and lock her in her room for the rest of the day. If only the abbey had a dungeon.”
Freddie laughed, a light and happy sound that pinched him in the gut. “I warned you this would happen.”
“You warned me that my sister intended to lock us in a dusty old hall where no one would come looking for us?” He crossed his arms. “Do tell when we had that conversation.”
“Don’t be a chucklehead. I warned you only last night that she was forming erroneous assumptions.”
“So I recall. If I’d thought she would resort to childish antics like this, I would have taken your warning to heart.”
Freddie sighed. “There’s no point in assigning blame now.”
Tristan shook his head. “Not unless we’re laying it squarely at her feet.” He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to get it to lie flat again, to no avail. “We may as well get out of here.”
“Oh. Right. The secret passage. She didn’t choose the most opportune location if she wanted to keep us locked away.”
To the contrary, his younger sister was more devious than he’d dreamed. In order to get out, he and Freddie would be forced into even more intimate quarters. If they were seen together in his family wing on the other side of the passage, he might, indeed, have to marry her.
He gritted his teeth and kept the foreboding to himself.
Given her penchant for clumsiness, he decided it better if he kept close by her. He ignored the strange, warm feeling in his chest at the thought. Reaching out, he groped for her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. Like him, she wore gloves.
“Tristan, what—”
“The door to the passage is this way.”
Her words cut off as he coaxed her forward. Her fingers tightened on his, but she didn’t try to break free.
Although he tried not to dwell on the fact that she’d called him by his Christian name, his ears rang with the memory of the word on her lips. He swallowed hard and ran his hand down the door to the ring serving as the handle.
When he opened it, he insisted Freddie enter first.
“Why?” she asked, her voice suspicious. “You aren’t going to lock me in here, are you?”
He snorted. “What good would that do me? I’d have no way to get out.”
“Maybe you crave the solitude.”
The mirth in her voice was infectious. His dark mood lightened somewhat. “With a sister like mine, would you blame me?”
“At the moment? I’m surprised you don’t swear off the world and live as a hermit.”
“Now, what fun would that be?”
He guided her into the passage and entered after her. He had to release her hand in order to do it. He flexed his fingers at the loss and pulled the door shut behind him.
Without the dim light cast by the windows, he couldn’t see anything. Not even Freddie’s form in front of him.
“I can’t see a thing. Can you?”
“No,” he answered. “Feel your way ahead but don’t go too far.”
“Why not?”
Her voice was edged with defiance, as if she lived to oppose his wishes.
He rolled his eyes. “We can’t come out in my family’s personal wing. At this time of day, someone might see us. We’ll have to take one of the other exits.”
“There are other exits?”
He frowned. “Yes, of course. Why have a secret passage that runs the length of the abbey if there is only one destination?”
“I didn’t see any when I was last in here.”
Ah, yes. In vivid detail, he conjured the night he’d found her in his room. She had smelled a little musty and he’d suspected she’d used the passage Lucy had shown her. Now, his suspicions were confirmed. Apparently, she hadn’t taken the time to investigate the passage.
“There are four other exits to the passage, that I’ve found, but they use hidden doors. You need to press a trigger to get them to open.” Even then, the passage had been there for centuries. Some doors had languished for too long and were in dire need of oiling.
When he stepped forward, he bumped the back of her. The brief press of her body against his ignited his desire. He took a healthy step back. “Forgive me.”
“It’s fine. What do I have to feel for to find this trigger?”
“I’ll find the door. Walk slowly and I’ll be right behind you.”
The soft click of her heels indicated her compliance. Tristan had to angle himself to the side in order to navigate the passage comfortably. He pulled off his gloves and kept his hand on the wall to his left, feeling for any shift in the rough stone. He’d never done this in the dark before. Would he miss the doorway?
He found one before too long. The crack in the wall was barely perceptible. “Stop,” he called, his voice soft.
The rustle of movement halted. “You found an exit?”
“I believe so. Give me a moment and I’ll push the trigger.”
The mechanisms were usually at the level of his shoulders. He felt along the wall until he found the familiar crevice. He delved his fingers inside, praying that he’d found one of the doors that opened easily. The longer he spent in the passageway with Freddie, the more the stale air started to smell like her. He couldn’t get her perfume out of his head.
He exerted pressure and the wall clicked as it started to move inward.
“Thank Heavens,” Freddie exclaimed.
He raised his fingers to his lips. A line of light entered from the other room, which could indicate that the room was occupied. Slowly, he pushed out the wall enough to peer past it.
He’d found a sitting room, and a lesser-used one if the hodgepodge of furniture was any indication. He released a breath. “We’re safe.” He pushed out the wall enough to exit and held it open for Freddie.
She dusted off the skirt of her dress, chasing dirt into the air. He battled a sneeze. She needn’t have bothered with the action; her attire was hopelessly sullied.
“I suggest you return to your room,” Tristan said.
When she straightened, she almost looked hurt.
He added, “I don’t know about you, but I could do with some tidying up.”
She raised her hand, patting her hair. Her questing fingers found the piece of cobweb near her temple. As she pulled it away, she made a face. “I think you’re right. Shall we meet back here in an hour?”
Tristan frowned. “Whatever do you mean?” She’d been trying her best to avoid him. Suddenly, she sought out his company?
The corners of her mouth twitched as she raised her eyebrows. “Surely you didn’t think I’d let you retaliate against your sister without me.”
He grinned. “What, exactly, did you have in mind?”
Her eyes twinkled, a brown that looked like expensive brandy in the light filtering through the window. “Let’s show Lucy how it feels when someone else plays matchmaker.”
Not precisely locking her in a dungeon, but judging by the mischief in Freddie’s eyes, the gratification was bound to be infinitely sweeter. Still holding the wall open, he captured her hand with his free one and lifted it to his lips.
“You, my dear, are brilliant.”
As he parted ways with her, he thought he noticed heightened color in her cheeks. The notion brought a bloom of satisfaction to his chest. She might pretend at indifference, but he had some effect on her, after all.
Chapter Seventeen
In the end, Tristan had only one rule for their revenge—Lucy had to be chaperoned at all times. He wanted to get even with his sister, but he didn’t want to send her into ruin or a forced marriage.
Seated side by side in the parlor that had been divested of its furniture in order to accommodate a ring of chairs large enough to seat every guest, Tristan and Freddie surveyed the prospects. Who would they throw into Lucy’s path to keep her occupied?
> Freddie leaned closer to him. The second walking dress she’d donned this morning—yellow, this time—had a lower neckline than the first. A small, flowery line of embroidery followed the swoop of her bodice over her breasts, just low enough for him to see a hint of cleavage. If she was going to wear gowns with lower necklines each time, perhaps he ought to lead her through the secret passage a time or two more. How many would it take before she wore the alluring green dress from last night?
Oblivious to the turn his thoughts had taken, Freddie whispered, “What of the young man scratching his chin?”
Tristan’s next deep breath brought the soothing scent of her perfume. He forced himself to attend to the conversation and searched the group for the man in question.
“Davenport? He’d be too frightened to talk to my sister.”
She let out a huff of impatience. “Perhaps you should suggest one, then. You seem to know them much better than I do.”
He bit his tongue to stifle a laugh. They scribbled on their papers, folded them over, and passed them down the line as they contributed to the game of Consequences that his mother had arranged. Whispers eddied around the circle as various couples spoke in low tones—including Lucy and Miss Charlotte.
Tristan’s stomach jumped, as if trying to escape out his throat. He tore his gaze away. He didn’t like their pointed examination of him and Freddie, no more than he liked their sly expressions as they spoke in heated whispers. They were concocting a scheme. He doubted he would care for it.
He folded his page, cutting off the line he’d written and waited for his mother to make the rounds to collect the completed papers. He leaned his head so close to Freddie’s the teasing curl at her temple brushed his cheek. It was soft, like silk.
“We may have to find someone to occupy your sister. She seems to be scheming with mine.”
Freddie grinned. She raised her gloved hand to cover it, keeping the expression for his eyes alone. His chest warmed at the twinkle in her eye.
“Such scheming things our sisters are. Mine certainly didn’t inherit the habit from me.”
Kissing The Enemy (Scandals and Spies Book 1) Page 14