Page 7 of A Lady Most Wayward (The Queen’s Deadly Damsels #5)

Philippa’s life was not immune to intrigue.

As a secret agent of the Queen, one expected a certain number of clandestine meetings in the middle of the night.

But she didn’t anticipate receiving a note from Ivy instructing Philippa to meet her at a coaching inn on the outskirts of London.

According to Ivy’s note, Reading had made an important discovery, and if they hoped to catch Olivia before she slipped away entirely, they must make haste.

Upon arrival at the bustling inn, Philippa instructed her driver to feed and water the horses but stay ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

She climbed the steps of the inn, ignored the stares of several travellers, no doubt awed to see the infamous Duchess of Dorsett gracing such a plebian establishment, and inquired as to the location of Lady Ivy Worthington.

The innkeeper blushed to the roots of his thinning blond hair.

‘She booked the private dining room, Your Grace. Just through ’ere.

’ The man bowed repeatedly as he led Philippa past the common room, down a narrow hall, and opened a scarred oak door to reveal a dimly lit sitting room.

The room was crowded with a small dining table and four rickety chairs, a faded settee with the stuffing coming out of busted seams, a crackling fire in the far corner boasting a dusty hearth, and a side table covered in various plates and bowls of steaming food.

None of this was particularly noteworthy, but what did stop Philippa in her tracks were the two occupants of the room.

Ivy stood near the fire, her finger tapping incessantly against the teacup in her hands. A clear sign she was anxious.

She bloody well should be anxious.

Because standing behind the table, a glass of sherry in her beautiful fingers, wild ringlets catching the warm light of the fire, her full bottom lip caught between blunt teeth, was Olivia Smithwick.

A wave of something hot, forbidden, and unwanted washed through Philippa.

Damnation.

‘I suppose it’s too much to assume you are delivering her to me.

’ Philippa directed her words to Ivy, but she didn’t look away from Olivia.

She didn’t trust the woman not to run or try and attack.

Philippa removed the fan from her pocket and thwacked it against the palm of her hand.

Most assumed it was merely decorative; few knew it was also deadly.

The frame was steel, and lace hid a razor-sharp edge that could easily cut through any number of things.

Cloth, rope, flesh. Whatever might be impeding Philippa’s progress.

‘You have every right to be angry, but I’m asking you to listen.’ Ivy’s voice was calm even as crimson splotches appeared on her neck.

‘I have every right to be angry? What about you? It was your life she risked when she abandoned you to her husband. You could have died.’ Philippa realised her voice was becoming shrill.

She also acknowledged her emotions were spiking.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to calm down.

‘How could you let her trick you once more, Ivy?’

‘I told you she would never listen. She’s far too stubborn to hear reason.

Especially if it contradicts what she thinks is true.

’ Olivia glared daggers at Philippa. As if she had the right to be incensed about anything.

The bloody woman should be kissing the ground Ivy walked on and singing her praises for not immediately handing Olivia over to the Bobbies.

Rage spiked once more, and Philippa took three sweeping steps past the table to face Olivia. The woman’s eyes widened. She stumbled back. Philippa felt a thrill of power. ‘What I know is true.’

‘You aren’t right about everything all the time, Duchess,’ Olivia fairly hissed, regaining her composure and stepping forward until she was almost nose to nose with Philippa.

The sweet aroma of honeysuckle washed over Philippa, tempered by warm vanilla.

It was an oddly comforting scent, and she hated that it emanated from Olivia.

‘I was false with Ivy. I admit that. I put her at risk, and I hate myself for it. But I had no choice.’

Caustic mirth bubbled up within Philippa. ‘Please. There is always a choice.’ She leaned closer, expecting Olivia to back away. But she held her ground, green eyes blazing, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

‘Perhaps for lofty duchesses with more money than wit. But not so for me. If I did not betray Ivy, I would lose my daughter forever. I did what I had to do. I can accept that. But I won’t accept your judgement of me, Lady Winterbourne. You know nothing about me or the torture I’ve had to endure.’

Despite her best efforts, a crack splintered in Philippa’s confidence.

What pain have you suffered?

No. She didn’t care. It didn’t matter. The why of Olivia’s choice was not nearly as important as the actual decision.

‘I don’t care what you’ve experienced, Lady Smithwick. I care about protecting the innocent.’

‘Exactly. Just as Olivia is trying to do for her daughter.’ Ivy jumped in, placing her cup on the table as she drew closer to Philippa. She squeezed Philippa’s arm. ‘I think, given time, you might both realise you are more similar than different. Which leads me to my proposal.’

Philippa ripped her gaze from Olivia to blink at Ivy. ‘What possible proposal could you have for me and this woman that doesn’t end in her death?’

‘You taught me not to back down from bullies, so I won’t let your words dissuade me, but I will remind you that jumping to conclusions is never a wise strategy, Philippa.’

Ivy’s censure stung, even more so because she had a point. Philippa battled with annoyance and pride. It was glorious to see Ivy stepping into her own power, but she would prefer the woman didn’t use her newfound confidence to contradict Philippa.

Trouble, thy name is woman.

‘Fine.’ Philippa stepped away from Olivia and exhaled. ‘Tell me your idea, Ivy. I can’t promise to agree, but I will at least listen.’

Olivia rolled her eyes. ‘Oh my. What a gift you’ve bestowed upon us. You’ll listen. How shall we ever show our gratitude, Your Grace?’

‘You could start by losing the sarcasm, Lady Smithwick. Much like that dreadful frock, it hardly flatters you.’

Which was an absolute lie. Even in the plain clothes of a working woman, Olivia was stunning.

Her figure rivalled that of Venus. Cheeks flushed a rosy pink that only highlighted the pale glory of her wild curls.

Her full lips distracted Philippa every time she bit the bottom one, and her emerald-green eyes flashed with defiance, begging Philippa to meet her on the battlefield and pit her will against Olivia’s.

Olivia narrowed her eyes and rested a hand on her hip. ‘Have you any suggestions on what might improve my appearance, Lady Winterbourne?’

Bloody hell. She caught me out on that one.

Rage and a disconcerting excitement she only felt when warring made it difficult to devise a witty reply. Thankfully, Ivy saved her from having to try.

‘We are getting off track. Philippa, we need to uncover the identity of the remaining leader for the Devil’s Sons. Olivia, you need to be guaranteed safe passage away from England for you and your daughter. These goals are not mutually exclusive. I think we can help each other.’

‘Letting this woman get away with her crimes is the antithesis of our goals, Ivy. If you are so remorseful for your previous choices, Lady Smithwick, then make up for that now by revealing the Crow.’

‘Not until I know my daughter is safe. Help me get her away from England, promise me she will remain hidden and protected, and then I will tell you everything. You can take me into custody, march me in front of the House of Lords and subject me to their judgement, or execute me yourself if you wish. My life means nothing to me once Hyacinth is safe. This is my bargain, Duchess.’

Philippa’s spine stiffened. Never before had someone used her title as an insult, but the disdain in Olivia’s tone was sharper than the edge of Philippa’s fan.

‘You would willingly turn yourself in?’

The infuriating woman’s throat constricted, drawing Philippa’s eye to the hollow of her neck. How soft was her skin, just there, in the dip between her clavicles?

I don’t care about her skin.

But guilt washed through her at the rogue desire to know if Olivia tasted salty or sweet.

‘Yes. Once my daughter is safe, it doesn’t matter what happens to me.’

Something tight squeezed around Philippa’s ribs. Much as she despised Olivia, it seemed wrong for the woman to so easily sacrifice herself.

‘How do I know you’ll hold true to your bargain?’

Olivia raised a pale brow in a close imitation of Philippa’s signature look.

Not bad. Quite intimidating.

‘I suppose you’ll have to trust me. Just as I must trust you won’t betray my daughter’s safety for your own pursuit of glory.’

Philippa narrowed her gaze. ‘I pursue justice, Lady Smithwick. Glory tends to find me all on its own.’

Olivia muttered something sounding suspiciously similar to ‘Arrogant prig.’

‘Do we have a deal?’ Ivy asked, a smile tipping up the corners of her wide mouth.

Philippa rarely agreed to deals she hadn’t carefully brokered. She certainly didn’t join with enemies, even if they were focused on a shared goal. But mayhap Olivia was right. Sometimes, there was no choice. Even for a duchess.

Olivia knew the identity of the Crow. She also agreed to willingly turn herself over to Philippa once her daughter’s safety was guaranteed. Wasn’t that worth joining forces for a time? And the fact she didn’t trust the woman only made it more imperative to join with Olivia and watch her every move.

Keep your friends at a distance and your enemies close.