Jenna Petersen - [Lady Spies] (5 page)

But then…very little did when she actually met him face-to-face.

“Your expression is very harsh,” Lady Carmichael said with a furrowed brow. “I hope you aren’t judging my son for his earlier behavior.”

Meredith glanced at the other woman in surprise, but shook her head. She didn’t add any comment to her silent denial. She had learned long ago that often it was better to let others do the talking. Without realizing it, they often gave away vital facts when met with silent attention.

Constance sighed. “Some say Tristan is arrogant. Proud, even. But that isn’t true. The last few years have changed him.”

Meredith drew in a short breath of anticipation. “I admit I have seen some changes in him myself,” she said with hesitation. Garnering evidence was a fine art. It had to be undertaken slowly and with careful precision.

Lady Carmichael looked out over the garden with a faraway look that didn’t take training to decipher. It was clear she was thinking about all the beloved men in her life who had tended this garden and were now gone. And about her one remaining son.

“I sometimes feel Tristan would have done better to be an irresponsible youth for a few years, as his brother took every opportunity to be. But life and his father didn’t allow for that. My husband was a good man and loved all of our children deeply, but he had such high expectations for Tristan. And he demanded excellence and control from him his whole life.”

Meredith nodded, drinking in the information she was being given.

“Sometimes I fear Tristan took his father’s words too much to heart.” Lady Carmichael sighed. “He was so young when my husband died. Tristan became Marquis over a large estate with many tenants who depended on him. And surrogate father for his two youngest siblings.”

Meredith thought of what she knew about that part of Tristan’s past. He had taken over his father’s holdings and position when his youngest sister, Celeste, who had just been married very well the last Season, and his brother Edmund were still living at home. She could well imagine how difficult such a task must have been.

Was that why he’d become involved in such twisted dealings? To sow some kind of long wild oats?

No, that didn’t make sense. If Tristan wanted to go wild, there were far better ways than to betray his country. Something else must have pushed him toward a life of criminal leanings.

With a glance for Lady Carmichael, she said, “Certainly the death of a parent would alter any man. Even harden him.”

Constance sighed with a shake of her head. “No, not Tristan. Though I worried about his loss of youthful pastimes, he never seemed to mourn them. In fact, he thrived as Marquis. The deepest changes in him are more recent. Since the death of my youngest son.” Her breath caught and she removed a lacy handkerchief from the pocket of her pelisse to dab at the tears that suddenly glimmered around the edges of her eyes.

Meredith nodded sympathetically while her mind searched for more missing facts. Edmund Archer was seven years Tristan’s junior. He’d been killed in military service. If Constance was correct,
Tristan’s involvement in dangerous activities might be related to his brother’s death. She would need more information from London before she could move forward.

Meredith slipped a hand onto Lady Carmichael’s arm and squeezed gently. “I’m so very sorry for your family’s grief.”

The other woman smiled, but the sadness stayed in her expression. “Thank you. The loss was difficult for us all, but Tristan took it hardest. His anger bubbled forward and he’s never been the same.” Her gaze slipped to Meredith. “I hope he’ll settle down, take a wife. Perhaps that would give him his smile back.”

At the pointed focus of the other woman’s stare, hot blood rushed to Meredith’s cheeks. She had become so accustomed to a covert world, such directness was uncomfortable now.

Lady Carmichael glanced away, giving Meredith a welcome reprieve from the statement she didn’t know how to properly address.

“It probably seems odd to you that I’ve told you so much about our family’s trials.”

Meredith shrugged one shoulder, even though she agreed with the assessment. She had hoped for, rather than expected, such candor.

“I only give you these details because I know you experienced the same kind of loss when your parents died.” Lady Carmichael smiled. “You were once quite fond of my son, were you not?”

Meredith sucked in a harsh breath. “Y-Yes, my lady. I suppose you could call us childhood playmates.”

Lady Carmichael nodded. “Perhaps a renewal of that friendship would do him some good.” The lady patted her hand. “I’m sure you are tired and wish to rest before supper. Shall we go back inside?”

Meredith nodded weakly as relief rushed through her. Of course, the spy in her wanted to be disappointed that the conversation had ended. Lady Carmichael was a font of information about Tristan and had opened her eyes to several possible motives for his turning to underground criminals. But the woman in her had a different reaction. The conversation, with its topics of family loss and old feelings, long forgotten, awoke emotions in her she did not wish to face.

As they strolled toward the house, Meredith cast a side glance at Lady Carmichael. Her thoughts drifted to long ago summers when Constance patted her on the head or gave her a kind smile or word. As a lonely girl, she devoured those moments like sweets. Years later, Constance was still everything she remembered. A lovely, compassionate woman.

Guilt stabbed her. She was using the other woman’s kindness against her and her beloved son. Even worse, she was keenly aware that this woman was considering her as a possible mate for Tristan.
All while she had no idea what a blackguard he might be.

The entire situation made Meredith’s head ache.

Lady Carmichael smiled as they entered the house. “Simpson will show you to your room. Please don’t hesitate to ring if you need anything at all.” She squeezed Meredith’s arm gently. “I’m very glad you’re here, my dear. I shall see you at supper.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Meredith stammered. “I look forward to it.”

But she didn’t. As she followed the footman up the stairs and down a long hallway to her chamber, all she could focus on was the bloody task at hand. And how many lives it would destroy if she found the evidence she sought.

She nodded to the man as he bowed away, leaving her alone in a lavish room she hardly took the time to examine. As her lady’s maid came forward to help her remove her pelisse and bonnet, she sighed. Back to work.

First, she had to write home and obtain more information about Edmund Archer’s tragic death. Then she had to get a grasp on her senses and concentrate on her case, not the ramifications her investigation would have on this broken family…or the man who led it.

“T
ristan, did you hear me?”

Tristan glanced up at his man of affairs, Philip Barclay, with a start. “What? Yes, of course.”

His old friend quirked an eyebrow. “Really? Because I just told you we would be dyeing the sheep housed in the southern fields a vibrant blue and you agreed.”

Tristan pursed his lips. “Very well, I was
not
attending. No blue sheep.”

Philip chuckled as he closed his ledger, but when Tristan didn’t join in the laughter, his friend’s face lengthened with concern.

“The situation is weighing on you.”

Philip’s words were a statement, not a question. Tristan turned away. There were very few people in this world that he trusted completely, but the man in his office was one of them.

Philip was the youngest son of a wealthy baronet. The two boys had attended Cambridge together and become best of friends during their wild years of school pranks and polo matches. But Philip’s fortunes changed when his father died. After Tristan inherited the title of Marquis, he hadn’t hesitated to offer his old friend the position of his closest advisor and confidant.

Philip had never failed him. And he was the only one who knew the truth now.

“Perhaps it’s the lovely Lady Northam who makes you so reflective?”

Tristan glanced at his friend. Philip stared back evenly, arms folded. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tristan lied.

Philip’s eyes widened. “Hmmm, you mentioned her ladyship at least three times since your mother invited her to the party. For most men, that wouldn’t seem out of the ordinary, but since you haven’t mentioned any woman in your acquaintance
once
in the last two years, let alone three times, it stood out in my mind.”

Tristan rose from his chair and paced away. There were few subjects he wouldn’t broach with his friend. Surprisingly, he found Meredith was one of them. If he stated his attraction out loud, he
might lose the wire-thin control he had over the desire that made itself known whenever she was within a touch’s distance. Doing that could open a Pandora’s box he might not be able to close.

“What does this conversation have to do with my business?” he asked quietly.

Philip shrugged. “Absolutely nothing, but then again, my ledger is closed. I’m not asking you as your man of affairs, I’m asking you as a friend.”

Tristan gripped a fist at his side, but didn’t answer.

“I don’t have to tell you that involving yourself with a woman could be a dangerous distraction at present. Especially with Augustine Devlin here, watching your every move.”

Tristan winced. “You think I’m not aware of that? Of course Meredith—” He broke off with a curse. He’d slipped and used her first name. That familiarity destroyed any chance he had of denying interest in her. “Of course Lady Northam could be a distraction. And if I were to pursue her, I’d risk putting her in danger, as well as threaten my plan.
I’m
the one with everything to lose. I don’t require your interference or reminders on that score.”

Immediately, Tristan wished he could take back the words and the emotions laced in them. Not only did they reveal too much, but they were unfair. Philip was only reminding him of facts he too often forgot when he caught the sensual whiff
of Meredith’s perfumed skin or felt the tingling pleasure that accompanied her laughter.

“My apologies,” Philip said softly. “I didn’t realize the subject was such a sensitive one. I know how difficult this is for you, but I wasn’t trying to interfere.”

Tristan winced as he waved away his friend’s concern. The subject wasn’t one he wanted to pursue. “Has Devlin arrived?”

Philip nodded once, and it seemed he was willing to let the subject of Meredith go…at least for the time being, though Tristan was aware his friend had marked the topic. He was sure it would come up a second time. He would have to be more prepared with answers when it did.

“Devlin arrived nearly an hour ago. I made sure he was situated in a room exceeding the demands of a man of his station. He was pleased by that.” Philip frowned. “I worry about this, Carmichael.”

With a sigh, Tristan paced to the sideboard to prepare himself a drink. He swirled the sherry in his tumbler. “So you’ve told me, numerous times. But I have no other choice. I need the information Devlin can provide and he desires the item I procured. This party is the best place to make an exchange without arousing suspicion like that we encountered in London.” He took a sip of his drink. “My mother isn’t aware of anything out of the ordinary, is she?”

Philip shook his head. “Devlin’s name was quietly added to the roster of guests with the notation that he is a business associate. Lady Carmichael hasn’t inquired about his presence.”

Tristan let out a sigh of relief. “I doubt she’ll ask anything if she hasn’t done so already. Good. I don’t want her involved in this beastly business.”

He shuddered to think what her reaction would be if she discovered the truth. It would break her heart to know what lengths he’d gone to. She certainly wouldn’t be pleased by what he’d done, even if she understood his reasons.

“Be careful of Devlin, Carmichael,” Philip said with a frown. “He’s a treacherous bastard in more ways than one. If you push him too far—”

Tristan shook his head to interrupt his friend. “I know. But if I want to end this, I must follow the path I laid out over a year ago. The only way to best Devlin is to let him believe he has the upper hand.”

“There are always other ways, Tristan,” Philip said as he quietly made for the door.

Tristan watched his friend’s retreating back. When the door closed behind Philip, he sighed.

“Not this time.”

Meredith’s eyes darted around the table as she took in each person’s face and memorized their every word and gesture for analysis later. It was part of her assignment, yes, but also a good way
to ease her distraction whenever she glanced to her left. Tristan sat at the head of the large table, overseeing the first dinner party of the gathering with a less than pleased expression.

She turned away from the stunning appeal of his angular face and found herself locking eyes with Lady Carmichael. Constance tipped her glass slightly in acknowledgment and Meredith forced a smile. Under any other circumstances, she would have laughed at the lady’s blatant designs to have her as a daughter-in-law, but her case kept her from enjoying Constance’s sweet attempts. Having the lady’s attention only made Meredith’s job all the more difficult.

Not to mention that it made her feel like the worst heel in England.

“Augustine Devlin. I believe he has some business with Lord Carmichael.”

A whispered comment from a gentleman to a lady at Meredith’s right brought her from her reverie. With reluctance, she let her gaze fall on the man in question. Devlin was seated about halfway down the table on the opposite side. He was dressed impeccably, as usual. His blond hair and stunning gray eyes drew attention to him wherever he went. But his mere presence was damning evidence against Tristan.

The faction Devlin belonged to had long been suspected of weapons smuggling, passing pertinent information to enemies in France and in
America, as well as having some part in several attacks on high-ranking political figures. But no agency, neither hers nor the male equivalent in the War Department, had ever come close to proving those allegations. So the man walked free, allowed to continue whatever fiendish plots he was concocting at present.

She looked at Tristan again. Those plots might involve him. The idea gave her an unpleasant shiver.

Devlin glanced down the table toward her, then past her. He examined their host carefully before a small smile turned his lips. Triumphant and utterly foul, despite residing on one of the most handsome faces in England. Devlin’s almost angelic good looks were part of his arsenal. He could disarm nearly anyone with a smile. Those who he couldn’t, he found other ways to dispose of.

“Lady Northam, you have some sort of charity society, do you not?”

Meredith started. She’d been so focused on Devlin and her wandering thoughts about Tristan, she wasn’t prepared for conversation. She blinked at the young lady seated across from her as she searched for a name to match the pretty, but not particularly friendly, face.

“Uh, yes, that’s correct,” she stammered.

Georgina Featherton, wasn’t that it? A second-year debutante. And by the way she looked at Tristan, a second-year debutante with an eye
toward becoming a marchioness. The thought made Meredith’s stomach tighten even though she hadn’t witnessed him make any special effort toward Georgina.

“Something about widows or orphans or some such thing?” the woman continued, saying each word as if it were dirty.

Meredith nodded. “Yes, The Sisters of the Heart Society for Widows and Orphans. It’s a cause close to my heart, as I lost my parents when I was young and my husband just a few years ago.”

As the members of the party who were within earshot murmured their sympathies, Georgina’s eyes narrowed. “You do not look like you need the charity of others, my lady.”

A woman three seats down, apparently Georgina’s mother, if the matching blonde hair and widening blue eyes were any indication, gaped, but she couldn’t force her daughter to meet her stare.

Meredith arched a brow. Was this young woman
challenging
her? She had all but forgotten the ridiculous pettiness sometimes associated with courting.

“The Society does not raise funds for women of my station, my dear,” she said with just the lightest touch of condescension. “But for those far less fortunate who find themselves in such a tragic circumstance.”

Again those within earshot nodded their approval, but the young lady didn’t seem content to
finish with her strange interrogation. “Certainly those less fortunate could find some comfort in the church poor boxes. Why in the world would a lady wish to lower herself so?”

Tristan’s eyes flashed up. Meredith was surprised by how much fire lit within the normally cool green. She hadn’t thought he was even listening to the conversation, yet now his jaw twitched and his gaze pierced Lady Georgina with a coldness Meredith never wished to see focused on herself.

“Lady Northam uses her position to host events the church could never dream to hold. Like the ball a fortnight ago. Certainly you do not disapprove of that, do you? You told me you enjoyed it, did you not?” he snapped, loud enough that several heads pivoted.

The young lady’s cheeks flushed dark with color. “Y-Yes, I did,” she finally managed to stammer. “I had forgotten.”

Tristan stared at the girl for a long moment, then his gaze flitted to Meredith and held there. Her heart stirred with unexpected flutterings. He was defending her, in public. Over something important to her. Never mind that she hadn’t required him to “save” her from Lady Georgina.

Lady Carmichael cleared her throat and rose with a smile. Her expression didn’t reflect the uncomfortable silence that filled the room. “Perhaps
the ladies would join me in the Rose Room for tea while the gentlemen retire for their port?”

The murmurs of the crowd returned as they rose from their seats and began to split apart. Tristan got to his feet more slowly than the rest, his gaze lingering on Meredith’s face as the others faded away. Her stomach flipped as she realized he intended to escort her. Which meant touching him.

Which was very, very bad.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he offered his arm. “I should not have been so harsh, I hope I didn’t embarrass you.”

She smiled as she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. At even this slight contact, her heart began to pound. His masculine scent, clean and spicy, filled her senses, and her knees went weak. Damn, but the man continued to affect her. She cursed herself as she fought for control.

“Embarrass me?” she managed to say lightly. “No. It was very gallant of you to ride to my rescue. Though you may have to apologize to the debutante. She looks as though she may never recover.”

Tristan winced as he watched the younger woman walk down the hallway ahead of them. She was on the arm of a handsome army officer and looked anything but devastated. In fact, it seemed she’d forgotten all about the incident.

“It will only bolster my current reputation of
being a proud, arrogant bastard,” he sighed. “No harm done to anyone.”

She frowned. “I’ve never heard such rumors.”

“Then you do not listen, my lady.”

He smiled as he released her arm. Meredith knew she should walk away, but somehow she couldn’t leave things as they were. She struggled for some way to chase the hardness from his eyes, to comfort him.

Bringing herself up sharp, she barely managed to hold back a gasp.
Comfort
him? What in God’s name had come over her?

With a frown, she said, “Perhaps that is true. Until later, my lord.”

“Until later, Meredith.”

He turned and walked away. It was only when he was no longer in sight that she realized he had called her by her given name. And that the sound of it sent her heart pounding with more excitement than she had felt in an age.

Tristan hadn’t sipped a drop of his port, though a few of his counterparts were already finishing their second snifter. He couldn’t afford to lose himself in the warmth of an alcohol haze. Not with Augustine Devlin watching him from across the room, ever analyzing, ever judging whether Tristan met his standards. He had made all the correct moves over the last year. Now it was imperative to be very careful.

“Gentlemen, I believe it may be time to rejoin the ladies,” he said without taking his eyes off Devlin.

The men in the room muttered their agreement, some more willingly than others. Slowly, they set down their glasses, put out their cigars, and moved toward the sitting room where the women were gathered. None of them seemed to notice that their host didn’t stir to follow, nor did Devlin.

The two continued to stare at each other as the last man disappeared through the door. Tristan carefully regulated his breathing and didn’t allow emotion to move to his face.