Kissing The Enemy (Scandals and Spies Book 1)
Page 22
Tristan drew away. “I’ll leave for London posthaste.”
She tightened her hand on his, keeping him near. “Why?”
One side of his mouth raised in a rueful grin. “My dear, we’ll need a special license if we’re to have any hope of not anticipating our wedding vows.”
Her cheeks flamed and she bit her lower lip, as much in expectation as modesty. “Perhaps we ought to announce our engagement first.”
“More delays,” he bemoaned, but he offered his arm to her nonetheless to escort her from the room.
She rested her cheek against his shoulder. “The reward will be that much sweeter.”
He raised his hand to cover hers where it perched on his sleeve. His presence beside her was soothing and strengthening. They walked in companionable silence, the noise of the abbey mounting the closer they came to the guest wing. This time, instead of feeling overwhelming, it was a storm she could brave. No doubt they were about to give the rabble something else to squawk about, in any case.
She canted her head to admire the line of his jaw as she asked a question that had much weighed on her mind over the past week. “Where did you hide the book, by the way?”
He grinned at her. Butterflies batted at her stomach. He had no right to be so handsome.
Then again, considering she would be the sole object of his affections, perhaps he had every right.
“I can’t tell you, or I’ll never be able to hide anything from you!”
She turned her face to press her lips into his shoulder. “You won’t need to hide anything from me, remember? We aren’t enemies anymore. We’re on the same side.”
“So we are.” His gaze softened. “In that case, I would be more than happy to show you my every hiding place, my dear. After the wedding.”
Freddie had the feeling that that would be a rather wicked exploration, indeed. She couldn’t wait.
Epilogue
Morgan Graylocke had never been so happy for a moment alone. With a sigh, he abandoned the candle-lit corridor in favor of his study.
He stopped short as the candle he held shed light on a man by the sideboard. His hand reached automatically for the butt of the pistol he didn’t carry while in Tenwick Abbey.
Perhaps, given the events of the last few weeks, he should start.
As the man turned, granting Morgan the knowledge of his identity, Morgan relaxed somewhat. He shut the door to his study and crossed to his desk.
“Tristan isn’t here. He’s on honeymoon touring the Lake District with his new wife.”
A strange sensation enveloped Morgan’s chest. Though he’d suspected some attachment between the pair, his brother’s plunge into marriage had taken him by surprise. Not too long ago, Tristan had been adamant that he wouldn’t marry. What had changed?
Frederica Vale. Or Frederica Graylocke, as she was now known. Did that mean Morgan would one day meet a woman who would spin his world on its axis?
That was a notion he didn’t care to contemplate.
As he turned back toward the stout man by the mantle, the unexpected visitor said, “Yes, I know. You conveyed the news in the same letter you used to announce Elias Harker’s death.”
Morgan gritted his teeth and fought the urge to flinch. The man, Lord Clement Strickland, spoke in a tone designed to eviscerate. In person, the Lord Commander of the spy network wasn’t very threatening. His hair thinned on top and he carried a bit of a paunch, though not enough to hamper his mobility. His eyes crinkled at the corners like a benevolent grandfather, though he couldn’t be much older than Mother. When he offered a friendly, jovial mien, he could coerce enemies into becoming loyal friends overnight. When he was livid, like now, he had been known to reduce grown men to tears.
Strickland stepped closer, his face a mask of outrage. “Harker was our biggest link to the French intelligence network in London. Now we are operating blind!”
Clenching the corner of his desk to steady himself, Morgan answered calmly. “The situation was far from ideal. I almost lost a man. He may never recover the full mobility of his arm.”
Strickland snapped, “You’ll have to find us Harker’s replacement. We need to know what the French know, and for that, we need to have eyes on their man inside the ton.”
Frustration beat at Morgan’s chest. “I just told you Tristan is in the Lake District. He isn’t at liberty to accept a mission at the moment.”
“I’m not talking to Tristan, am I?”
Morgan’s breath fled. Something surged within him, something that felt uncomfortably like hope. Eagerness. Excitement. Surely Strickland couldn’t mean…
He cleared his throat. “Are you…are you assigning me to field duty?”
Strickland’s eyes flashed in the candlelight. “I am. We can’t wait for your brother to return from his honeymoon. We need this information now.”
Morgan opened his mouth. He didn’t know what to say. Thank you. I won’t let you down.
Strickland had already turned his back. “Get your noble arse to London. Your man can keep up with the paperwork until you return. It sounds as though he isn’t fit for field duty, anyway.” At the door, Strickland turned, his eyebrows raised. “I expect to see you at your townhouse within the week.”
Morgan straightened. “Yes, sir.”
This was it. He was finally going to get out from behind his desk and make a difference.
Maybe he ought to thank Tristan for falling head over heels in love and getting married. It seemed to be working out to everyone’s advantage.
****
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About Harmony Williams
Harmony Williams has always longed for the adventurous life of a spy. Unfortunately, she's even more clumsy than Freddie, so she's had to make do with writing out exciting tales instead of living them. She lives in rural Ontario, Canada with her 90-pound dog, who proves to her every time he squeezes himself onto her lap that all it takes to accomplish your goals is determination! Visit her online at www.harmonywilliams.com or subscribe to her newsletter at http://eepurl.com/bUWU0f
This is a work of fiction.
None of it is real. All names, places, and events are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to real names, places, or events are purely coincidental, and should not be construed as being real.
KISSING THE ENEMY
Copyright © 2016
Leighann Dobbs
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner, except as allowable under “fair use,” without the express written permission of the author.
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