TemptedByHisKiss (24 page)

T
wo weeks later Cade sat in a rough tavern in an even rougher part of London, a place none of his acquaintance would ever think to visit. People who came here liked their privacy, preferring not to draw attention to either themselves or their questionable—and quite likely unlawful—activities. In keeping with his surroundings, he had taken care to dress for the occasion in his plainest, most well-worn set of clothes. He’d also found a seat in a dimly lit corner of the room where he could keep an eye on the door and also make sure his conversation was not being overheard.

Ignoring the scent of old onions, stale cigar smoke, and flat beer, he glanced across the scarred wooden table at the man who’d joined him there only moments ago. With a medium build, thinning brown hair, and unremarkable features, Thelonious Ferrick made the perfect informant since, like the tavern itself, people rarely noticed much about him.

As Cade watched, Ferrick drew his dingy white shirt cuff out from under his coat and used it to wipe the rim of his ale glass. Blowing at a sad tuft of foam, the older man took a sip of the brew that resembled dark Thames sludge more than alcohol. Cade had no difficulty resisting the urge to drink, although he’d bought what he suspected was a well-watered whiskey in order to appease the tavern owner’s preference for paying customers.

“So what have you discovered?” Cade asked, pushing his glass with its set of greasy finger smudges another inch away from him.

“Nothin’ much so far, milord. I’ve been on ’im like a terrier after a rat, but he’s keepin’ ’is nose clean from what I can tell. Sticks with the toffs and to his fancy digs and parties. Pretty borin’ stuff—not that I’m complaining, mind ye.”

“No, of course not.”

Ferrick scratched his bulbous nose. “Thing is, if he’s passin’ the goods off to another toff at one of them high-tone parties, I can’t get in ter see much of anythin’. Seems ye’d have an easier time doin’ that yerself, considerin’ ye’ve got an invite to them dances and all.”

“Quite true, but Everett would never be fool enough to make contact at an entertainment at which I am also present. He’s far too aware that I am watching and waiting for a chance to catch him out.”

Considering Everett’s arrogance, though, Cade wouldn’t put it past him to try something. The man would love to slip information past him, right under his very nose, as it were. Which is why Cade had taken the extra precaution of asking Adam Gresham to keep his eyes open for any unusual action on Everett’s part. Before family obligations had drawn Gresham back to his
estate, he’d agreed to watch for any suspicious activity. After a while Gresham became convinced that Everett would not make a move in the open but choose instead to meet his contact at some secret location.

Cade was inclined to agree. Still, he wasn’t about to underestimate Everett or his ruthless determination to gain his objectives. The man had to show his hand sometime, and when he did, Cade would be ready to expose him for the traitor he was.

“Jest as you say, yer lordship,” Ferrick agreed, drinking more of the swill in his glass. “Shall I keep on ’im then?”

“Most definitely. I trust that little maid in his town house is still feeding you information?”

A crooked smile curled over Ferrick’s lips. “Oh, Janey, aye. She’s a right handful, with a tongue that’s good for more than talkin’, if ye knows what I mean. Though she does love to babble afterwards.”

“Yes, well, if Everett so much as changes the color of his chamber pot, I want to know.”

“Aye, and so ye will.”

Cade nodded. “Send me a note by the means we agreed, should you learn anything new. Otherwise, I think it’s best if we don’t meet again for a while. I’m not the only one who can hire watchers.”

He’d taken precautions today to make sure he hadn’t been followed. Then again, even good spies could be outwitted on occasion. To his everlasting shame and misery, he had the scars to prove it.

Rising to his feet, he tossed down a coin, which he knew Ferrick would pocket. Without another word he left the tavern.

“Which one do you like best, Meg?” Mallory asked from her perch on the padded stool in front of her dressing table. “The pearl and diamond teardrop or the gold and aquamarine cross? The cross is somewhat plain, I suppose, but seems to go well with so many of my gowns. I just cannot decide.”

Meg forced aside her wandering thoughts to focus on the question, a frown puckering her eyebrows as she looked between the two items in Mallory’s hands. “The pearls, I believe.” She frowned harder. “No, the cross. Yes, definitely the cross, since you’re wearing the cream satin tonight. It will be simple and elegant without being overdone.”

“Major Hargreaves likes the cross. He’s complimented me over it on more than one occasion. He says it matches my eyes.”

“Well, in that case, why did you even bother to ask?”

She and Mallory traded smiles before hers fell from her face.

“Is everything all right?” Mallory asked, laying the necklaces aside.

Meg forced another smile. “Yes, of course. What could be wrong?”
What indeed? If only everything could be as easy as choosing the right jewelry for a gown
. But lately nothing seemed easy, the uncertainty of her situation dragging on her like a leaden weight.

“Because if there is something you’d like to talk about, I would be more than happy to listen,” Mallory added, her interest clearly genuine, and meant in the spirit of kindness and friendship.

Meg gazed at her for a long moment, sorely tempted to confide. What a relief it would be, she thought, to
unburden herself, to share her secrets and concerns, her fears and worries, instead of keeping them all bottled up inside. But as much as she longed to let the words flow unchecked, she knew she couldn’t, not when all her difficulties centered around Mallory’s dearly loved brother Cade. She could only imagine how round Mallory’s eyes would get if she told her the truth.

Cade comes to my bedroom each night and makes the most intense, passionate love to me. I know it’s a terrible risk and that I should turn him away, but I cannot. I love him too much. I continue to hope he feels the same, but I worry that he does not, since he never says the words. I’ve told myself to live each day as it comes and not trouble about the future. Yet this limbo in which I am living preys upon my mind and stabs at my heart. Oh, and one more thing…Cade and I aren’t actually engaged!

No, telling Mallory was completely out of the question. Just as it was equally impossible for her to reveal her feelings to Cade. In her mind, she’d told him a thousand times, but if she were to actually do so, she feared what he might say. Worse, she was terrified what he might
not
say.

And so she held her silence, sacrificing her pride and her principles for another chance to be in his arms. Though in all honesty, being his lover was far from a hardship, and was a circumstance over which she had no regrets. She cherished those hours in the dark and the quiet when he held her close, his kisses and caresses building her passion, his possession slaking her needs.

Afterward, as they lay together with sleep hovering just out of reach, she knew no greater pleasure or peace,
able to forget for that brief span that there was anyone but the two of them in all the world.

Come morning, though, she always awakened alone, the side of the bed where he’d lain grown cold to the touch. She knew he left in order to preserve her good name. Even so, she could never seem to banish the feeling of loss she experienced at his absence.

As for her days, they continued in a normal if frenetic pattern. Nothing was different—not on the surface anyway. Which is why she was sitting here in Mallory’s bedchamber discussing what clothes and jewelry both of them planned to wear at this evening’s ball.

Thinking again of Mallory’s offer to listen, Meg gave her a genuine smile. “You’re sweet to ask,” she said, “but really, there’s nothing to tell. I am a little tired from dancing so late last night, is all.”

And from staying up afterward with Cade, while he introduced her to yet another new sexual position. Her blood burned at the remembered ecstasy.

“Well, if you are sure,” Mallory said.

“I am,” she affirmed, using the moment to shake off all thoughts of Cade. “Now, which gown do you think I should wear? The primrose satin or the white silk with the embroidered, Greek key design?”

Several hours later Meg slipped out of the crowded ballroom, the music and sound of chattering voices dimming by a full octave as she left the room behind. The air grew cooler as well as she made her way down the staircase, through a nearby corridor, and into an unoccupied portion of the house. The change came as a welcome respite after the warmth and closeness of too many bodies packed into too confined a space.

Spying a conveniently located chair, which stood partially hidden on the other side of a huge, potted fig tree, she moved down a long hallway to claim the seat. Whoever placed this chair here is a genius, she decided as she sank down upon it. After she did, she realized that her presence in the hall was concealed by the plant’s mass of luxurious green leaves—especially since she’d decided to wear an evening gown of spring green sarcenet, rather than one of the other two dresses she had been considering earlier.

Five minutes,
she told herself, and then she would go back to the festivities. Five minutes away from the constant small talk and thinly veiled innuendos of all the people who were forever speculating about one bit of gossip or another.

Actually, she was growing weary of the Season, especially now that Lieutenant McCabe and Lord Gresham were no longer around to amuse her with their keen observations and wry wit. Not that the lieutenant would likely have wished to have anything to do with her now, considering her refusal of his offer. And though she did not regret her decision, she nevertheless missed his company.

She could have sought out Cade or one of his brothers, she knew, but a peek into one of the adjoining salons had revealed the men deep in debate about politics and the war. Mallory, on the other hand, was enjoying the supper dance with her major, to no one’s great surprise, while Ava was busy playing cards with a set of her friends.

A couple more hours, Meg thought, and I can go home. A couple more hours and she could be alone again with Cade. Closing her eyes, she let herself dream.

A minute or so later she heard a door open at the other end of the hallway. Glancing toward the sound, she watched as a man exited some unknown room. Her brows rose when she realized it was Lord Everett, his golden hair and lean physique unmistakable even from a distance. She held still while he paused to scan his surroundings, his gaze moving past the potted fig tree with no evidence that he had noticed her presence behind it. Apparently satisfied, he turned and walked on silent feet down the corridor toward the rear of the town house.

Where is he going? she wondered. And more important, why? Without giving herself more than a few seconds to consider, she rose to her feet to follow.

Cade would be furious if he knew what she was doing, she realized, but she couldn’t in all good conscience sit idly by while Everett might be committing some infamous deed. Of course, he could just as easily be indulging in an assignation with a lady, but her instincts told her otherwise. And if she was right and he was passing secrets to the French, well, wouldn’t it be brilliant if she could catch him at it? Not that she dared let him see her, since doing so would be idiotic on her part, as well as dangerous. But if she could witness him together with his contact, perhaps it would be enough proof for Cade to not only clear his name, but capture a pair of traitors.

Moving with as much stealth as she could muster, she crept after Everett, her thin slippers skipping over the polished marble floor in a soundless whisper. When he stopped ahead, she pressed herself into a well-shadowed niche in case he turned around to look behind him. To her relief, he opened a door to the last room in the corridor and, without glancing back, went inside.

Meg cast a look over her shoulder to make certain she wasn’t being followed herself. The hallway, however, was blessedly empty. Luckily, it was also swathed in heavy pools of shadow where candlelight from the party did not reach. Careful to stay inside those darkened areas, she continued toward her goal. Edging as close to the door as she dared, she stopped and pressed her back to the wall, her heart thudding against her ribs in an anxious beat. Striving for calm, she listened.

For a long moment she heard only silence, as though Everett were in the room alone. But then it came, a deep, sibilant murmur from another man. Sliding another inch forward, she strained her ears to hear more.

“…far too risky and I won’t take a chance like this again.”

“…but what better place?…never be suspected,” Everett drawled.

A lengthy pause ensued.

“So what do you have for me?” Everett asked.

To her immense frustration, she wasn’t able to hear the other man’s reply, their voices growing indistinct again, as though they had moved farther into the room. Ignoring the obvious risk, she left her place against the wall and eased closer. As she did, she noticed that she could see a portion of the room through the narrow space that ran along the edge of the door frame between the hinges. Through it, she could see Everett standing in the center of a dimly lit library, his body angled to the side, in order to face his compatriot. As for the mystery man, he remained tantalizingly out of sight, only his shoulder and one arm visible, his face obscured by shadows.

As she watched, he extended a hand with a small
piece of vellum held inside his grasp. Reaching out, Everett accepted the missive and paused to scan the contents. “You’re certain of this information?”

“Only as certain as my source. Gaining his corroboration might prove rather difficult, however, seeing that he’s dead.”

A gasp rose in her throat, which she only just managed to silence by pressing a fist against her lips. Trembling, she listened as Everett gave a soft laugh, a chill running over her skin like the stroke of some ghostly hand. If she’d ever harbored even a sliver of doubt regarding his guilt, she certainly had none now. In her estimation, he was as wholly without conscience or remorse as his companion apparently was.