Charming the Spy (Scandals and Spies Book 4)

by Leighann Dobbs

  Although she delivered him a lecture on the subject, her expression and tone were almost indulgent. He looked properly chastised, though Rocky suspected this was an act and he was unrepentant. The easy manner with which he held himself indicated that much.

  Lady Belhaven concluded her lecture by asking, “Did you have a moment to look in on Mrs. Draper? I am confined to the house due to this blasted weather and haven’t heard from her.”

  Kenneth, disgusted, made a disgruntled sound, swung on his heel, and stormed from the room. In the process, he knocked into a fern and toppled it. The dirt spilled onto the floor. He jostled Rocky as he stepped out of the room.

  “Don’t stand there gaping. Make yourself useful, wench,” the big man snapped.

  Rocky’s spine turned to steel. She bit her tongue to keep from pushing her luck. At Tenwick Abbey, the duke would never allow anyone to treat his servants with disrespect, let alone a member of his family.

  It was one more reminder that Rocky was in a different world, a dangerous world.

  She crouched to right the plant and clean up what dirt she could. The rug would need to be beaten of the rest. She’d have to find one of the maids and tell them.

  Behind her, Stanley answered, “She has that well in hand, Grandmother. Indeed, I did visit Mrs. Draper on your behalf. She is in good health, aside from the flaring of her gout now and again. She gave me a letter for you. Shall I read it so you don’t tax your eyes? I can transcribe a response and deliver it when next I go out if you’d like.”

  Rocky stood, dusting off her skirts. When she straightened, she found Stanley staring at her as he unfolded a letter from his pocket. He cast her another warm smile.

  Frowning, Rocky swept out of the room before she had to wonder what that was about. Did she still smell like Felicia’s perfume?

  Catt nestled himself in the furthest corner of the hothouse, out of view of the doorway. This drew him close to the hot brick wall as he worked, but he shucked his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and endured the discomfort. While Rocky was away, he meant to take advantage of the solitude. Someone in the house had planted that poppy in the hothouse. If he was in luck, he might discover who it was.

  Not that luck appeared to be on his side. Despite the fact that he’d jumped upon the excuse Rocky had given him—that he’d only kissed her due to the perfume’s effects—the tension between them was palpable. She despised him for the liberties he’d taken. Worst of all, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. He relived that kiss every time he shut his eyes.

  With a sigh, he crouched to tend to the plants situated beneath the shelving, in pots on the floor.

  The hothouse door opened while Catt continued his task. He twisted to glance over his shoulder in case the person who entered was someone other than Rocky. Although he wanted to catch whoever had hidden that poppy, he didn’t want to leave the hothouse unattended for Monsieur V to tamper with. Morgan still hadn’t deciphered that code, last Catt had checked the exchange point, and until he did, Catt wanted to be vigilant. If he didn’t know what was being said he could, at the very least, discover who was saying it.

  With the deliveries of the morning over with, none of the footmen had any business entering the hothouse. Lady Belhaven often arrived to ask after their care of her plants. Sometimes she even inspected their work, but she had yet to find fault in it. In fact, Catt suspected that she only checked to make herself feel useful. Given the conversations he’d had with the staff, Lady Belhaven hadn’t relinquished her position in the hothouse willingly. If not for her poor eyesight and the fact that she could no longer physically keep up with the demand of the orders that arrived every day, she might have never hired Catt and Rocky. Catt even suspected that Morgan had had a hand in convincing the old woman to retire. The Duke of Tenwick could be very persuasive, upon occasion.

  The person who entered was neither a footman nor Lady Belhaven. It was Mr. Dowden, the cook. Catt froze, holding his breath. What business could he have in the hothouse? Ever since Rocky had caught Eliza attempting to poison everyone, none of the kitchen staff had entered save for the scullery boy fetching bouquets for Hollander to deliver. Even he entered only rarely, when everyone else was engaged in a task and couldn’t be spared.

  Was Rocky right in her suspicions of the seemingly jovial man? Could he be Monsieur V? Catt waited, partially hidden in the leafy foliage of the plants, as Mr. Dowden crossed the hothouse. He didn’t pause to tamper with any of the plants, but made a beeline directly for the poppy. He crouched, stretching his arm out, a bit red in the face as he stripped a few leaves from the plant. He held his tongue between his teeth. When he retracted his arm, he glanced up and discovered Catt staring at him.

  His expression turned hostile. Catt straightened quickly, bracing himself in case this got ugly. Part of spy training was in the dirty, underhanded fighting that took place in London’s underbelly. If he needed to, he could defend himself, even against an opponent who weighed more than him.

  Catt held his hands loose and ready at his sides, his feet spread. He tried to mimic Morgan’s ducal stare, even though his insides were quivering. How long would Rocky be away? He would have felt better to have someone nearby to witness the altercation, especially if Mr. Dowden had killed his wife. At the same time, he didn’t want that witness to be Rocky. She was too easily riled, too quick to jump into a fight. He didn’t want to see her in danger, especially against an opponent so much bigger than she was.

  He tamped down the irrational fear. They were spying partners, not lovers. She had been taught how to handle herself just as well as he had. If she knew of his protective thoughts, she would not be happy about them.

  Catt took a deep breath and said, “Perhaps you’d care to explain why you’re keeping an opiate in Lady Belhaven’s hothouse?”

  The cook’s neck flushed with color. The infusion of red climbed up to fill his ears and face. Despite the color, he didn’t look embarrassed or guilty. He appeared…hostile.

  Bloody hell. Catt tensed, preparing for a fight. He wanted answers, not for this to come to blows!

  Mr. Dowden seemed to deflate as he breathed a gusty sigh. He clenched his fist around the poppy leaves. “The opiate is my secret ingredient in Lady Belhaven’s calming tea. It’s the only thing keeping my job.”

  Catt didn’t understand how those two statements could possibly be connected, but he forced himself to relax. He kept his fists balled at his sides just in case. “Perhaps you ought to explain.”

  “I know my daughter has been trying to oust me from my position in order to claim it for herself.”

  He did? Interesting.

  The big man shrugged. “It’s been going on for quite some time. Little mishaps or errors that seem to lead back to me, only I know I didn’t make them. Lady Belhaven’s grandson has even taken it upon himself to reprimand me and warn me that if the errors continue, Lady Belhaven will turn me out.”

  Catt narrowed his eyes. “Which of her grandsons?”

  “The barrister. Lance.”

  Interesting. Catt would have thought him to be more distant from his grandmother, given the infrequency of his visits. After all, whereas Stanley had been in residence at the house since the moment he and Rocky arrived, and Kenneth had visited on multiple occasions, Lance had only visited once. Or at least he’d only made himself known once. But if he’d threatened the cook and been to the hothouse more than once this week as Faulker had insinuated, then maybe Lance was up to something.

  During his visit, he’d appeared to have a greater than necessary interest in the servants staffed in the house. Rocky seemed to find him suspicious and, to be honest, so did Catt. But he couldn’t discount the possibility that the man in front of him was Monsieur V. He had to be vigilant, and explore all avenues.

  Mr. Dowden continued. “I’ve been with Lady Belhaven since she could first afford a cook. Eliza grew up in this household. I don’t want to deprive my daughter of anything, but Eliza is more like her mother than
like me. She’s cold, calculating. And she dislikes me. If Lady Belhaven turned me out of the house, I can’t count on Eliza to support me.”

  Catt steeled himself against a wave of sympathy. He knew what it was like to be turned away and left in the cold. If not for his uncle, the only person in his family to have nurtured Catt’s scientific curiosity, Catt might have wound up a soldier instead of a spy. Somehow, he didn’t think that he would have survived long past his first battle.

  Oblivious to the emotions Catt battled, the cook continued. “The only reason Lady Belhaven hasn’t turned me away is because I am the only person in the household able to brew her calming tea correctly. No one knows about the poppy leaves I add in. If they did, I would be expendable.”

  Was he asking Catt to keep his secret? Catt pinched the bridge of his nose as he thought. It was immoral. But it had nothing to do with his quest for Monsieur V.

  Or did it? Simply because he had uncovered one of Mr. Dowden’s secrets didn’t mean that the cook wasn’t hiding another. What of the matter of his dead wife? If he’d killed her…

  The cook added, “I’m doing nothing wrong. My tea helps Lady Belhaven overcome her nervous spasms. And it eases the pain in her joints.”

  “Shouldn’t she have all the facts so she can make an informed decision? She doesn’t know she is being dosed with opium.”

  The cook’s mouth firmed. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “It’s helping her, not hurting her. I’m careful to only give a medicinal dose. What’s the harm?”

  Catt didn’t know how to argue with him. He didn’t even know whether he wanted to. He needed to discuss this with Rocky. Waving a hand, he said, “It’s none of my concern.”

  Mr. Dowden looked hesitant. “You won’t tell Lady Belhaven.”

  “I won’t tell.” For now.

  With a curt nod and a flash of relief, the man strode briskly from the hothouse. He shut the door behind him. Catt paced, unable to concentrate on the work he should be attending in the hothouse. When he’d taken up the assignment to find Monsieur V, he hadn’t expected to be confronted with so many other secrets and given the choice of whether or not to reveal them. Was it really his decision to make? He was hunting a traitor.

  He craved Rocky’s decisiveness. She would know what to do. What was taking her so long?

  When the door to the hothouse next opened, Rocky entered. Catt had made several circuits of the room and happened to be idling in the same position as he had been when Mr. Dowden had left over half an hour ago. The moment Rocky shut the door, she frowned.

  “Finally,” Catt said with feeling. He beckoned her closer.

  Hesitantly, she crossed to him. A small furrow formed between her eyebrows as she studied him. “Did I miss something?”

  “I discovered who has been hiding the poppy.”

  She looked surprised. “Who?”

  He told her of his confrontation with Mr. Dowden and everything the cook had confessed. When he finished, Rocky nibbled on her thumbnail. A thick lock of her hair, shorter than the rest, had fallen free of her coif to curl against her cheek.

  “What should we do?” he asked.

  Her frown deepened as she dropped her hand. “You truly want my opinion?”

  “Of course.” Why wouldn’t he?

  That teasing lock fell into her eyes, half-obscuring them.

  Squaring her shoulders, Rocky said, “We don’t need to make a decision regarding the poppy use just yet. He could still be Monsieur V. If he is, we’ll have stopped this subterfuge as well.”

  Catt nodded. Her words made sense, as he’d known they would. He felt better going along with what she said than having to think of the right course of action himself.

  That lock of hair was driving him mad. He liked to look into her eyes when he spoke to her. She didn’t appear to notice it. Giving in to instinct, he reached forward and tucked the strand behind her ear. His fingers grazed her soft cheek on the way. Why did her skin have to be so smooth? It made him wonder how soft she would feel in other areas. That only made him ache for something he couldn’t have.

  His gaze dropped to her mouth. They were utterly alone in the hothouse. He could kiss her again, and no one need ever know.

  But this time, he didn’t have the excuse of the perfume to hide behind. If Rocky didn’t feel the same pull toward him that he did to her…

  She’d kissed him back the other day, without any influences clouding her mind such as Felicia’s perfume. Could she feel the same attraction to him as he did to her? Was she fighting it, too?

  He started to lower his head to find out when the door to the hothouse opened.

  Chapter 17

  Rocky froze the moment she heard the door latch jangle. Her heart hammered in the base of her throat, a painful and insistent beat. Her eyes widened as she stared up at Catt. What were they doing? No one could see them like this.

  They shouldn’t even be like this. This…close. This…wanting.

  Her instincts kicked in and she urged Catt back into the corner. A space between the work table where they arranged the bouquets and the shelving unit against the wall provided some cover. The leafy fronds spilling from the pots camouflaged their forms. She pressed herself into the space after him.

  Her back pressed against him. His heat surrounded her, different from the warmth radiating from the brick wall next to them. This heat came with a sizzling awareness that traveled up her spine. When she squirmed, Catt snaked his arm around her and pinned her to his body.

  What was he doing? She was afraid to turn and ask.

  A figure entered the hothouse. A leaf obscured Rocky’s view of him. She squinted, tilting her head to get a better view.

  The scullery boy? Why would he be in the hothouse at this hour? The time to deliver bouquets was long past.

  The adolescent scratched at his face and checked over his shoulder to ensure the door was shut. He didn’t appear to notice Rocky and Catt in the corner. As he tiptoed into the room, his shoulders hunched and his expression guilty, Rocky fought an inner battle. He couldn’t be involved in their hunt for the spy—he was little more than a child! If anything, he was being taken advantage of, and that notion didn’t sit right with Rocky at all. Who was bullying him to help in something he didn’t want to do? When she tensed, Catt caressed her a bit with the hand over her stomach. A flood of awareness drenched her. For a moment, she’d forgotten he was there.

  Although she half-expected the scullery boy to produce a needle and start poking holes into the fauna, he tiptoed to a shelving unit mere feet away from Catt and Rocky’s position. He crouched, pulling out the poppy plant. He stripped off more of its leaves. It was starting to look quite bare, indeed.

  Rocky twisted, raising her gaze to Catt’s face. He turned his face down to look at her.

  With her eyes and a jerk of her chin, she asked, Should we interrupt him?

  He looked hesitant for a moment, then nodded and dropped his hand.

  Relief gushed through her that he’d understood what she was asking despite the fact that she hadn’t said a word. Would anyone other than him have been able to understand her like that? But they’d spent so much time together over the past week—not to mention the years they’d known each other—that she didn’t have to think about it. She knew instinctively that he would understand her.

  She slipped through the gap between the shelving unit and the work table. It was a tight squeeze, requiring her to turn sideways, but she managed it without snagging her dress. She planted herself in the scullery boy’s path and raised her eyebrows.

  “Are you certain you should be doing that? Perhaps you ought to tell us who put you up to it.”

  The boy blanched, turning whiter than the lily on the shelf behind him. He thrust the poppy pot away from him. It teetered and fell as he stood. Rocky crossed her arms, waiting for an explanation.

  Instead, the boy fled.

  When the scullery boy, Eric, fled around the shelves lining the middle of the hothouse, Cat
t could have headed him off near the door. However, Rocky bunched, dropping her arms as she prepared to run after him. He stopped her, grabbing her arm before she did.

  The scullery boy bolted out the hothouse door. It fell shut after him.

  Rocky yanked her arm free of Catt’s hold. She rounded on him. “What did you do that for?”

  If he hadn’t been used to the fire in her eyes and her stinging tone, he might have been offended. Ignoring her accusatory demeanor, he kept his stance and tone carefully neutral. “The boy is shy of you. It’s been obvious since we arrived. Will you let me speak with him? He might open up to me more.”

  “Why?” Her mouth twisted. “Because you’re a man.”

  “Yes.” He knew this was a sore spot with her, so he spoke over the top of her when she opened her mouth. “This has nothing to do with your capability and everything to do with the fact that young boys relate better to their own gender. It isn’t a reflection on you.”

  She said nothing, but her mouth flattened into an unhappy line.

  “May I try to get him to talk, at the very least?”

  Angrily, she waved her hand to the door. “Quickly. Before he runs too far.”

  Where did she think he would go? Lady Belhaven’s manor wasn’t so big, and even if the boy was scared, Catt didn’t think he would forfeit his position in the house by running away.

  Nevertheless, he didn’t argue with her. He nodded curtly and strode out of the hothouse and into the corridor.

  At this time of year the sun swiftly set, leaving the corridor awash in shadow despite the window at the far end. Light glimmered from the kitchen, where the cooks were hard at work preparing the night’s meal. Would the scullery boy have returned there to continue his work? Catt checked, but he saw only Eliza and her father. He pulled back before either party noticed him.

  So where was the boy? He would be missed soon enough if he didn’t return to work. Catt could wait for him, but he sensed that the boy was in a delicate state at the moment. Not only would he be more likely to spill his secrets to someone with a gentler touch than Rocky—not that Catt would ever imply that she was inadequate in anything—but he likely could use some reassurance. Catt’s stomach clenched as he combed the manor for the adolescent.