Jenna Petersen - [Lady Spies] (8 page)

Her heart fluttered. What if
Barclay
was really the man behind the missing painting?

She stopped as wild hope blossomed in her chest. That made so much more sense. After his father’s death, Philip lost his fortune. Certainly, he would profit more from an affiliation with a rich traitor like Devlin than Tristan could.

Her smile felt like it would crack her cheeks as
she walked the last few steps to rejoin the party. Her heart felt lighter than it had since she first heard of Tristan’s involvement in this plot.

Still, a nagging voice in her head pulled at her. Told her she was searching for ways to prove Tristan’s innocence. Searching for reasons to ignore the evidence already collected against him.

She shook her head, squelching the voice with violence. Yes, Tristan still acted suspiciously, but that could easily be explained away. Barclay and Devlin could be blackmailing him or threatening his family. There were hundreds of explanations far better than that he was involved in something so dark and sinister, it tore a hole in her soul.

“There you are, my dear,” Lady Carmichael said as she approached. “Are Tristan and Mr. Barclay not with you?”

Meredith shook her head, taking the lady’s arm with a smile she couldn’t suppress. “No, they were called to business of some kind, but I’m sure we shall see them at the house.”

Lady Carmichael tilted her head with a questioning glance. “It’s nice to see you smile, my dear. Has something happened?”

Meredith squeezed Constance’s arm and barely held back the urge to bounce with glee. “It’s just a beautiful day, my lady.”

As they walked back to the estate, Meredith steadied her nerves. She had to rein in her emotions. She could be wrong about Philip Barclay.
But the possibility gave her hope. Hope that Tristan wasn’t the villain she feared he’d become. Hope that she didn’t feel such powerful longings for a treacherous criminal.

Now she only had to support those hopes with evidence. Evidence Augustine Devlin could provide.

T
ristan watched the party from the balcony above the ballroom, yet he hardly saw the gaiety in his midst. Disappointment wracked him. The evidence he hoped to obtain had been snatched from his reach yet again. He had tried to create a money trail, but Devlin’s shrewdness kept him from his objective: discovering the man Devlin reported to.

In addition, Philip had informed him that Meredith continued to press about Tristan’s connection to Devlin and the “art” the bastard had alluded to the night before. Without even knowing it, she was putting herself in terrible danger. The kind that could lead to injury…even death.

Tristan fisted his hands. No. He wouldn’t allow that to happen. He would not lose one more person he cared for.

The thought startled him. Care for Meredith? He desired her, yes. He was more than willing to admit that. Pushing his shoulders back, he slowly released his fists. He had denied himself before, he would need to do so again. Men in his position couldn’t afford to lose control, give in to temptation. Meredith was temptation embodied, but until this was over, he couldn’t touch her. Not if it meant endangering her. Not if it meant he was distracted from his goals.

“What a lovely view.”

His fingers clenched again at the grating sound of Augustine Devlin’s voice over his shoulder. Wiping emotion from his expression, Tristan turned to face his “partner”…his enemy.

“Thank you,” he managed through clenched teeth. It was becoming increasingly difficult to mask the burning hatred this man inspired in him. “I’m surprised you aren’t enjoying the festivities.”

Devlin stepped up beside him, looking over the railing to the dancing party below. “Hmm, I bore of these things after a bit. Most of the ladies aren’t willing to entertain the idea of anything more than conversation.” He glanced at Tristan. “I’m sure you must feel the same frustration when you are out of London and the pleasures found there.”

Tristan ground his teeth. “I suppose.”

Devlin’s smile was wide and lewd. “But then, it seems you are having more luck with a particular lady than I.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Tristan forced calm, clenching the terrace railing until he feared the wood would splinter in his hands.

Devlin’s eyebrow arched with amusement. “Are you not involving yourself with Lady Northam? I thought I sensed a spark there last night, and then today at the picnic you slipped away together.”

Tristan counted to ten in his head. He needed the pause to appear nonplussed by Devlin’s observation.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about. Lady Northam and I have no special relationship. We knew each other as children, yes. And today when her kite was lost, I helped her retrieve it.” He shrugged as he scanned the party below.

He found Meredith instantly. She was standing along the perimeter of the dance floor talking to a fat earl who was well-known for his boring monologues on current politics. Yet she smiled as if he were the most charming man she’d ever encountered. She wore a striking icy blue gown. Pearls were draped around her neck and a diamond headpiece sparkled in her chestnut hair. She looked like a princess from a fairy tale, only he couldn’t seem to muster the chaste thoughts of a prince sent to awaken her from eternal slumber.

No, his thoughts were of a sinful nature.

Devlin cleared his throat, and Tristan moved his gaze away from Meredith. “You, of all people, are aware I have no time for anything but work, Devlin. Certainly her ladyship is a beautiful young woman, but as you said, women of my class are rarely interested in anything less than a lifetime of commitment.”

Devlin glanced down. “I don’t know. Lady Northam seems different to me. There is a fire beneath her exterior that I find quite intriguing. If you’re not pursuing her, then I am free to do so.”

A red curtain of pure rage slid in front of Tristan’s vision. For the first time in a long time, he lost control of the anger that constantly bubbled beneath the surface of his emotions. He wanted to tear Devlin apart, dangle him over the balcony until he squealed like the pig he truly was. He wanted to destroy him.

“Carmichael?” Devlin cocked his head.

Tristan carefully shoved the anger down deep, back to the dark place where he normally kept it, along with his grief, his wants, his love…anything that could distract him from matters that required his attention. He breathed as he collected himself. This was another test, that was all.

“You wish to pursue Lady Northam?”

“You don’t approve of that idea.” Devlin’s mouth twitched with a grin. “I thought you said you had no interest in her.”

“I don’t,” Tristan said quickly.

“Good.” Devlin was watching him with every word. “You see, my lord, I
want
to trust you. I
want
to give you access to the man who leads our organization, but I cannot do that if you’re going to be unreasonable.”

“
Unreasonable?”
Tristan barked, louder than he’d intended. He controlled his tone. “I have done everything you asked. I put myself at risk because you required it. How can you call me unreasonable now?”

The snakelike smile on Devlin’s face twitched. “You say you have no relationship to this woman, yet you obviously do not want me near her. Don’t you trust me, Carmichael?”

The smug tone of the other man’s voice hit Tristan in his chest. There was no way out of the trap Devlin had laid for him. Either he had to allow Devlin to pursue Meredith—and he had a feeling the other man wouldn’t take no for an answer if he truly desired her—or he had to admit wanting her for his own. Having her by his side would endanger her by the mere fact that
he
was always in danger now. If she was his, she would be walking in a field of hidden steel traps and not even know it.

But which was the lesser of the two dangers?

Tristan looked evenly at Devlin, into eyes that were as cold as any impenetrable block of ice. He had seen what this man could do to those who
crossed him. He could only imagine what he did to the women in his life, what he would do to Meredith if she resisted…or even if she acquiesced.

His mouth thinned into a harsh line. “All right, Devlin, you’ve found me out. I do desire Meredith Sinclair. My resistance to you pursuing her has nothing to do with a lack of trust. I have certainly shown loyalty in the past year. You cannot deny that.”

Devlin’s face relaxed, though his smirk remained as smug and unpleasant as ever. “No, I cannot deny you have done everything I’ve asked. And I promise you that your loyalty will be rewarded soon.” He turned to the entryway that led to the staircase. “I’ll respect your claim on Lady Northam, but I do hope you’ll bed her as soon as possible.” His mouth twitched. “I would sorely like to know how she tastes, but I’m willing to live vicariously through you.”

Tristan barely kept himself from lunging for Devlin. Once the other man had gone, he let loose with a string of curses to echo in the air around him.

This was exactly what he had feared. By letting emotion in, he’d ceded some control to Devlin. Now he was forced to alter his plans. In order to protect Meredith from threats she didn’t even perceive, he had to get closer to her. And that opened them both up to a world of other dangers.
Physical…and those of the heart, which sometimes cut deeper.

Meredith cast a last glance over her shoulder as she slipped away from the party and down the long, dim hallway leading to the servant backstairs. Her steps were careful, silent, as she crept through the labyrinth that took her to the guest quarters.

From a seemingly innocent talk with the young lady who brought her tea that afternoon, she had devised a spotty blueprint of which guest was in which room, as well as where certain servants were housed. Now it was just a matter of searching the correct chambers.

She’d already started Ana and Emily on research with a hastily penned, encoded note that went out the moment she was alone long enough to scribble it. Within a day of hard riding, her partners would be using Charlie’s resources to look into the affairs of Mr. Philip Barclay. She only prayed her instinct would be proven correct, that
he
was the one truly responsible for the robbery of the painting, not Tristan.

She froze at the thought. That wasn’t the way she’d been taught to perform an investigation. The truth had no bias, no desire for one person to be guilty or innocent over another. If she were performing her duties properly, personal feelings would not be an issue.

“But I can’t this time,” she whispered, raising a hand to her lips as she remembered Tristan’s kiss. “I don’t want him to be guilty.”

Shaking her head, Meredith moved to the door she’d been searching for. With another careful glance around, she turned the knob. Locked. Scowling, she lifted a hand to her hair and pulled out one of the long, diamond-encrusted pins that held her complicated style in place. She depressed a hidden button on the underside of the diamond decoration. There was a click, and she was able to pull away the outer covering of the pin to reveal a sharpened, slender lock pick hidden beneath.

“Thank you, Ana,” she muttered as she slipped the pick into place and snapped the lock open with little effort. With a grin, she replaced the pin sheath and returned it to her hair.

Shutting the door behind her, she locked it again, both to ensure that she would rouse no suspicion and to give her time for escape if the occupant of the room returned.

The chamber was dim. The fire had been allowed to burn low while the party was in full swing. She stirred the embers until the fire leapt and filled the room with brighter light. Carefully, she lit a candle from the mantel to carry with her and looked around, taking in every detail.

“Very well, Augustine Devlin,” she muttered as she stepped to a large cherrywood armoire. She
set her flickering candle on top and opened it. “Let’s see what secrets you’re hiding.”

Methodically, she skimmed over coat pockets and waistcoat lining, searching for any hidden weapon, note, or other evidence. Nothing. She ran a hand over the back of the armoire, looking for secret hiding places, then carefully moved the clothing back to its original position.

Next, she went to a little table beside the window. Papers were scattered across the surface, but none were of interest. Just sketches of the garden view Devlin had out his window.

“Bastard is talented too,” she muttered as she rearranged the drawings back to their original chaotic piles and made a note of his designs as an artist. Perhaps that was why his organization was transferring sensitive information via a painting. If nothing else, it was one more fact to add to The Society’s ever growing list of Devlin’s attributes.

She turned to face the bed along the back wall of the room, beside the door that led to Devlin’s private dressing room. On either side were two bedside tables. She went to the one closest to the window and opened it. Nothing of interest aside from a few sketch pencils.

Coming around the bed, she tried the other drawer. Locked. Her intuition pricked. She pulled the pin from her hair a second time, then stared at the table. This was delicate business. The last thing
she wanted was to arouse Devlin’s suspicions by leaving evidence of her presence behind. If he realized someone was spying on him, he might alter his behavior, and then she wouldn’t be able to determine his purpose or accomplices.

Tucking a loose curl behind her ear, Meredith crouched in front of the locked drawer to give her a better view of her work. The pick slipped into place with a rattle, but the lock was old and didn’t budge immediately. She felt the catch loosen with each twist, but couldn’t force it open.

“Just a bit more,” she murmured. “Come on.”

The sound of footsteps in the hall brought her to full attention. Were they passing by? No. She drew in a sharp breath. They stopped outside the door and she could hear two voices as a key was slipped into the lock.

She immediately went into the routine her training laid out for her. She blew the candle out with a puff of breath and pulled at her hairpin to remove it from the lock. To her horror, it didn’t budge. She pulled again, twisting as calmly as she could even as she listened to the rattle of the door handle. She was out of time. There was no choice.

Abandoning the lock pick, she set the candle on Devlin’s nightstand and dove under the bed just as the door came open and two men entered. Meredith held her breath as they walked closer, talking about the party. She could only see the men’s boots, but she recognized one voice as Devlin’s.
The other she didn’t know. Disappointment filled her. If only it were Philip Barclay. Then her hopes could be proven and she would no longer have to suspect Tristan.

“Good God, Elsworth why is this room so blasted hot?” Devlin snapped.

Meredith watched as the less expensive pair of boots hurried around to the other side of the room.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the man said. “I thought the fire would have burned down by now.”

“It hasn’t. Open a window, man.” Devlin sounded in ill humor. Why?

They headed for the door that led to Devlin’s dressing room, and Meredith held her breath. They would pass by the table with her hairpin sticking from its lock. She could only pray they would be too distracted to notice.

The door opened and the two men went into the adjoining room. Immediately, Meredith slid out from under the bed and grabbed the lock pick. With a yank, she forced it free and looked to the door. To get there she would be forced to pass the other room. Since she couldn’t see inside, she would have no way of surmising if Devlin or his servant were turned in her direction. It was too big a risk.

The window. Scrambling over the bed, she made for the open window. But just as she was about to put her leg outside, Devlin’s voice came from the other room.

“Tristan Archer—” came his broken statement.

She froze, heart lurching. She strained to hear their words as the men approached the door leading back to the bedroom.

“—send the message tomorrow. Either his lordship will be a great help to us”—She could hear Devlin’s smug sneer—“or I’ll be forced to kill him. Either way, he’ll serve a purpose.”