Page 6 of His Wife, the Spy (His Enterprising Duchess #4)

“I ’m sure you’d rather be on the dance floor, Miss Pearce.”

“I’ve never cared for ballrooms, Madame Theodore.” Annabel looked down the row of chaperones. “Though I do enjoy the fashions. Miss Wallace looks particularly lovely this evening.”

“Belinda is a beautiful girl, but it is amazing how much the dresses have changed from the last two Seasons.” Madame Theodore raised her spectacles to her nose for the briefest moment as she assessed Annabel.

“They have,” Mrs. Linden said. “Though I’ve always found it odd that we dispose of entire wardrobes based on Paris fashions. Especially since we’ve been at war with France more years than not.” She gave Annabel a discreet wink. “Elizabeth looks quite elegant this evening.”

Elizabeth wore a dark blue dress that matched her eyes, and the simple lines enhanced her figure. Her blonde curls cascaded from the crown of her head over one shoulder, balancing the teardrop-shaped diamonds dangling from her ears. The matching necklace, one large diamond on a silver chain, stopped at the center of her chest and did not draw the eye to her cleavage.

Madame Theodore flicked her spectacles again. “She is lucky her mother was aware of current fashions and could guide her before she took ill.”

The dress’s neckline was too low for a girl Elizabeth’s age. Annabel suspected Elizabeth had visited the seamstress for alterations once her mother left for Bath. However, she took pride in the influence she’d been able to wield this evening. Elizabeth looked properly fashionable, as any Society beau would expect. She also danced well, and she’d had two sets with Garret Spaulding, heir to the Earl of Dunraven.

“In Paris, the young ladies benefit from the experience of older women who have had successful Seasons of their own.” The Frenchwoman raised an eyebrow as she swept a critical eye over Annabel’s dress. “Women who have excelled in Society understand the importance of first impressions.”

If they’re so successful, why are they not raising daughters of their own? Annabel knew better than to utter the sarcasm-laced question. How many times had her brain alienated her in a ballroom?

“Some ladies will take every opportunity to make their mark, however they can.” Mrs. Danforth, the companion to Charlotte Bainbridge, speared a hard-eyed looked down the row toward Annabel. “They certainly don’t need dresses to do it.” Her smile twisted. “It might help not to have one at all.”

Annabel sucked a breath deep into her lungs. It didn’t matter if she was dancing or sitting on the sidelines, and the age of her companions made no difference. Women in a ballroom were nasty competitors—even if they were seconds in the duels.

Her cheeks and ears heated. “How dare—”

Mrs. Linden reached for Annabel’s fingers. Her grip was warm and firm as she faced the other chaperones. “Ladies, we are above such nastiness. At least we should be.”

“Come now, Mary,” Miss Danforth said. “You can’t ignore that Ramsbury has spent far too much time with Miss Pearce.”

“It has damaged Belinda’s prospects as well as Charlotte’s,” Madame Theodore hissed. “The only one not affected is your Miss Allen, but we know she’s had her hooks—”

“That is quite enough.” Mrs. Linden thumped her cane against the floor. “Miss Allen’s relationship with Lord Ramsbury is no one else’s concern but mine, and I am convinced of its propriety.”

“Mary—”

“I will not hear another word against her or against the marquess. He has always treated me as a guest in his home. I suspect what you’ve witnessed this past fortnight is nothing but his wicked sense of humor.” Mrs. Linden chuckled. “He likes nothing more than taking self-important people down a peg or two.”

She released her grip on Annabel’s hand but patted it for good measure, as though she was apologizing for dashing a romantic dream.

Annabel gritted her teeth to keep from screeching about Jasper Warren’s kindness and wicked sense of humor . For the past two weeks, he’d had great fun making her a spectacle at every game, ride, or after-dinner musicale. Even a midday visit to the library had become fodder for gossip.

“If you’ll excuse me, ladies.” She stood and turned on her heel, circling the dance floor on her way to the punchbowl. She wasn’t surprised to see the party continuing as if the argument had never happened. No one ever paid attention to chaperones at a ball.

Not even their host. Jasper was dancing with Belinda Wallace. The candlelight cast his hair in a halo-like glow, and his crooked grin made him look as wicked as the devil himself. He cut a fine figure in his black tailcoat and white waistcoat and cravat.

“He’s difficult to miss, isn’t he?” Fiona asked.

Annabel glanced over her shoulder and at Fiona’s doting smile. It was no wonder she and Jasper were friends. They clearly shared the same perverse sense of humor and distaste for social rules.

It was freeing to be surrounded by people who were at ease being themselves.

“Anyone with his height would be difficult to miss.”

Fiona tilted her head back in a deep, honest laugh that had several people staring as they left the dance floor. “Oh, I like you,” she said.

“You two seem to be enjoying yourselves,” Jasper said as he came to Fiona’s side. “Did someone miss a step?”

“Miss Pearce was just commenting on your height,” Fiona said. Her eyes danced over the rim of her glass.

Jasper accepted the sarcastic compliment with a slow dip of his head and a twisted grin. “I’m glad to see you away from the spectators, Miss Pearce. Are you up for a dance?”

“No, thank you, Lord Ramsbury. I’m not dancing.”

“But I insist.” The way he leaned forward to whisper, the laughter dripping from his words, sheared the last thread of Annabel’s temper.

Every night before she fell asleep, she promised to avoid him and to not rise to the bait. Every day, he never paid her enough attention to be scandalous but just enough to cause whispers, knowing she wouldn’t be impolite.

“Insist all you want. I won’t be dancing.” Annabel struggled to keep her voice low as she glared into Jasper’s mocking eyes. “If you wish to prove yourself egalitarian enough to treat paid help as honored guests, go ask Madame Theodore to join you in the next quadrille. I’ve had quite enough.”

She turned her back on both of them, intent on retrieving a drink to calm her nerves and using the darkness past the crowd to mask her escape. However, the break in dancing meant a crowd had gathered for refreshments. Belinda and Charlotte cast cutting glances her way.

It would be like entering a nest of snakes.

“Would you like me to fetch you something?” Jasper’s question echoed over the crowd.

She had already been rude to him. Nosing through his house and eavesdropping on conversations was the height of impoliteness. Asking their assigned maid about life in the house, encouraging her to gossip, was improper. One more time wouldn’t matter.

Annabel closed the distance so she didn’t have to shout. “I would like for you to leave me alone. I am tired of being shunned simply because you find humor in tweaking everyone else’s noses.”

Fiona looked between them, her frown deepening. “Annabel…”

She put up a hand to stop the charade. Spencer could go to the devil and take his threats with him. Jasper Warren was nothing more than a bored gentleman skirting scandal for fun.

Elizabeth would throw a tantrum, but if they packed tonight and left first thing in the morning, they could be in Bath by teatime.

Annabel swept her gaze across the crowd, all of whom were being far too obvious about ignoring her. Elizabeth wasn’t in the room. “Where is Miss Spencer?” She counted the heads of every man at the party, only relaxing when they were all accounted for.

“I believe she and Charlotte had words. Their heads were together for several minutes before she left the room.” Fiona’s voice had lost its sparkle. “Elizabeth’s color was quite high.”

“Thank you.” Annabel strode into the hall without looking back to meet the gazes she felt at her back. She ignored the whispers hissing behind her.

At the top of the stairs, she found their maid in the hallway. “Follow me, Ruth.”

Wide-eyed, the girl curtsied before hurrying forward. Annabel followed at a quick pace. Perhaps Elizabeth would be more circumspect if there was someone else in the room, especially if she’d had another row with Charlotte.

The maid waited at the door, and Annabel swept in without knocking. “Elizabeth?”

The room was empty. So was the adjoining dressing room. There was no one on the balcony. Annabel’s heart hammered against her ribs. Where else would Elizabeth go? Had she arranged an assignation while Annabel had been too busy fighting a battle she’d been lured into? Had that been Jasper’s plan all along?

She turned to the maid. “Have you seen Miss Spencer on the upper floors during the dancing?”

The pale young girl bobbed her head in a near fit. “Yes, miss. She was h-heading down the other h-hall.”

Jasper’s private rooms were in that direction.

“Where?” Annabel grabbed the girl’s shoulders and shook her. “Explain.”

“She b-begged me not to tell. Sh-she said it was a surprise.”

Blast. “Pack everything but our night clothes and traveling dresses for tomorrow. Miss Spencer and I are leaving in the morning.”

Annabel raced from the room and across the landing. The candles sputtered in their holders, casting irregular shadows across the dark-paneled walls. The thick carpet muffled her steps.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, making it possible to see the glow under the door at the end of the hall. She lengthened her stride and pushed the door open with a whoosh that ended with a bang as the latch hit the wall.

Elizabeth stopped wrestling with the ribbons at her back and spun with a shriek.

“Get out of this room.” Anger and fear added an unfamiliar gravel to Annabel’s voice. “Now.”

“I will not.” Elizabeth tilted her chin at a stubborn angle. “Charlotte has done nothing but tease me for weeks, that I was too young for Ramsbury to notice me, that he only invited me so you would come. She said he wouldn’t even kiss me if he found me naked and waiting. I’m going to prove her wrong.”

Annabel couldn’t believe her ears. “You are going to ruin yourself to spite Charlotte Bainbridge?” She gathered Elizabeth’s slippers and shoved them into her hands. “Are you daft?”

She pushed Elizabeth’s shoulder, urging her to the door. The girl dug in her heels.

“You just want Ramsbury for yourself. You’ve spent the last two weeks turning his head, teasing him, and keeping him from us when we’re the ones he’s meant to choose from. He will never choose you for anything honorable.” Her eyes widened. “Is that why you’re here?”

“You foolish, foolish girl. I am here to keep you from making the worst mistake of your life.” Annabel shook Elizabeth until her curls trembled. “Do you really want to marry a man whom you’ve trapped? To have every woman in Polite Society either cut you directly or whisper behind your back? To walk into a ballroom and wonder how many of the women in attendance have warmed your husband’s bed?”

“They wouldn’t dare cut a marchioness.” Despite the tears in Elizabeth’s eyes, her mouth was still set in a stubborn line. “I would be—”

“A laughingstock? Married to a man who only takes you to bed because he needs a legitimate heir and exiles you to the country once you’ve given him one? Who spends his nights away from home because he doesn’t love you, will never love you because of what you forced him to do?”

Tears slid down Elizabeth’s cheeks as she shook her head, either in agreement or denial. Annabel wasn’t certain of which, but she took advantage of the weakness and shoved the girl toward the door. “Go to our room and have Ruth get you ready for bed. Wash your face. We’re leaving as soon as it’s light enough to travel.”

“No. There’s not a reason—”

Charlotte would make sure this tale was well known before breakfast began, and Elizabeth wouldn’t be able to fight it. “There is every reason, Elizabeth. Go to our room now. You were never here.”

The girl was halfway out the door when her hand flew to her ear. “I’ve lost an earring, Annabel.” Her eyes widened. “I don’t know where.”

She’d been wearing them both in the ballroom, and Annabel hadn’t seen one sparkling on the stairs or in the hallway. Granted, she hadn’t been looking. But now she’d have to search this room to make certain it wasn’t left behind.

“Go. I’ll find it.”

Annabel closed the door and dropped to her knees, sweeping her hands over the carpet and looking for the sparkle in the firelight. She found nothing where Elizabeth had been standing, but flattened herself to look under the bed to be certain the diamond hadn’t rolled there.

A dark box caught her eye. Her heart thumping in her ears, Annabel pulled it to her and out into the light. The metal was warm against her fingers, and the latch gave easily.

Guilt spread over her skin like ice on the Thames as she lifted a letter from the top of the papers and coins—francs and gold.

Dearest Jasper, Though I am nervous of my role in Cardiff, I will do as you ask and hope it makes a difference. Please tell Kit that his work has reaped rewards in Spain, and I look forward to sharing the tales with him. I hope your mission in London is bearing the fruit you hoped for. With all the love I can spare, Claudette

It was just enough of a love letter to make reading it embarrassing, and it contained enough hints of work and missions to be concerning.

Annabel rifled through the box. Hand-drawn maps were well creased and heavily marked with notes and runes. Were they really spies?

Tears clouded her vision. She would have wagered money she didn’t have that Jasper was more bored than treasonous. She would have lost everything because of a respectable title and a winning smile.

Just like her father had done.

“Kit, I’m not going to get lost going to my room,” Jasper grumbled. His voice was muted by the door and the long hallway.

“Lost is the last thing that worries me,” Yarwood grumbled back.

Annabel dithered, staring at the letter and the map, knowing they might be the proof Spencer needed, and that Jasper would go to ground if he found them missing. He’d also know who took them. There would be no hiding from him.

The floorboards creaked under their steps, growing louder with each word.

She put everything back the way she’d found them, shoved the box under the bed, and stood facing the door. She locked her trembling knees and straightened her spine as the latch turned.

“Given yesterday’s incident, you should have locked your door,” Yarwood said.

“I’m not locking my door in my own house.” Jasper’s voice grew clearer as the door opened. He glanced inside, and the eye she could see widened. “And I don’t need you anymore tonight.” He looked back for a moment, giving her a glimpse of his tense jaw and the way his hair curled around his ear. “Thank you, Kit.”

Annabel held her breath as he entered the room and the latch snicked behind him.

“There’s a rumor downstairs that a young lady is waiting in my room.” He stepped forward. “You aren’t who I expected.”

Annabel stepped back and gulped as the back of her knees struck the mattress. “I heard the same rumor.” She cleared her throat to rid it of the tremor. “I came to make sure Elizabeth wasn’t here.”

Jasper sipped his drink but kept his eyes on her. “That’s the only reason?”

Annabel refused to blink as she held his stare. Her neck ached from looking up at him. “What other reason would there be?”

He set the empty glass on the table near the door before stepping toward her. “Every other young lady in London wants something from me. Why would you be any different?”

He removed his tailcoat and loosened his cravat, his muscles moving under his shirt in a way that warmed her insides as much as the fire in the hearth warmed her skin. “Why are you undressing?” she asked.

A lazy smile spread across his face. “I always undress in my rooms, especially after an evening of being trussed up like a Christmas goose.” He removed his cuff links. “But you didn’t answer my question. What makes you different than any other lady in London?”

After two weeks of bantering and baiting, he’s learned nothing about me. He tormented me for nothing more than sport, and I’ve received nothing but empty words from a self-important rogue who believes himself special because of a title. Annabel shoved her disappointment and anger aside. Neither would do her any good. They never had. “I’m smart enough to know better.”

“Are you?” He loomed over her now, one hand on the bedpost, close enough she could see the shadowy stubble on his jaw and smell the spice of his cologne. For a man who’d had a drink in his hand all evening, his eyes were unusually sharp. His stare pricked her skin.

Or her conscience.

“I’m taking Elizabeth back to London tomorrow.” She stepped past him and walked to the door, willing herself not to run.

“That would be wise,” he murmured.

The latch gave easily under Annabel’s fingers, and the door opened without a sound. She had one foot in the shadows and the other still in the warmth of the room when he caught her from behind and ran his hands from her shoulders to her hips.

She wriggled for freedom, but it was futile. “What are you doing?”

“Making certain my things are still mine.” He pushed his fingers through the folds of her skirts.

She spun on him, put her boot in his foot the way her father had taught her, and put her hands flat against his solid, warm chest. “Get your bloody hands off me.”

Though he winced in pain, he didn’t budge. “Every young lady has a place to hide a handkerchief.” He lowered his head until they were nose to nose. “Turn out your pocket.”

She did as he asked and glared at him. “Empty as when I arrived, your lordship.”

“I believe I saw someone walking this way.” Charlotte’s sly words were accompanied by the glow of candles at the head of the hallway.

Annabel pushed herself free but lost her footing when her boot tangled in the carpet. Jasper’s hold on her arm, and then her waist, kept her from crashing to the floor.

“Miss Pearce?” called Madame Theodore in a squeal that was too practiced to be shocked. “Is that you?”

“Blast,” Annabel whispered as she fought to stand upright.

“Double blast,” Jasper muttered as he stepped between her and their audience.