When Freddie launched away from the door—barred from the outside by Morgan—panic infused her expression. Her brown eyes were wide. They seemed darker in the dim light. Her ivory skin blanched to such a degree that the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks stood out like flecks of paint. Her mouth thinned.

She bolted away from the ancient, solid door and stumbled into the old chapel. Her slipper caught on a chunk of rock and she nearly careened onto her face. From his position in the shadow of the tallest mound of rubble, Tristan fought the urge to help her. He clenched his fists.

Frederica Vale worked for Elias Harker, a man worse than scum. Tristan could afford to give her no mercy. She’d made her choice when she’d decided to come here and infiltrate a clandestine meeting.

Not that any such meeting would have occurred in a place like this. Frustration built in Tristan’s chest over the fact that he still hadn’t heard word from their contact at the party—whoever it was. No one had made an overture indicating that they were a friendly party. Not to Tristan, at the very least. Perhaps his and Morgan’s valets were having better luck ferreting out to whom they should pass along the book.

That person was certainly not Freddie, however beguiling an enemy she made.

As she stepped past him, her footsteps ringing in the vaulting chamber, Tristan silently detached from the shadows of the rock. He trailed her as she searched the length of the chamber for another exit—a futile effort. He and Morgan had settled on this place because there was no other way out. Everything from her posture to her movements was frantic, desperate, frightened. He could almost pity her.

He hardened himself to the emotion. She was the enemy. He couldn’t forget that.

He continued to approach even when she stopped short, staring at the rear of the chapel, encased in stone. When she whirled, he met her gaze unflinchingly.

Tears gathered along her lower lashes. Her eyes had reddened, granting her gaze a green tint. She stared at him, lips parted. Her chin trembled.

“You did this.”

Her words were so faint, he almost didn’t hear them. He crossed his arms, drawing himself up. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”

She stared at him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Myriad thoughts crossed her face, all of them indecipherable. Tristan matched her impassive demeanor, staring her down.

Tears swamped her eyes. They leaked from the corners, flowing like a river down her cheeks. Impatiently, she brushed them away. “Not now.” Her chin wobbled.

The look on her face cut him. He hated to see a woman cry. At that moment, she appeared more innocent than ever. What had he done? He stepped closer.

“Don’t!” Her voice was venomous as she recoiled. The tears continued to fall from her eyes, thicker now.

What kind of spy broke into tears at the first sign of opposition? He resisted the urge to rub his temple. He felt like a blackguard for forcing her into this.

Was she innocent or was it a ploy? His gut churned. Her cheeks were growing splotchy with color from crying. No actress was good enough to feign that. If she was so innocent, he didn’t understand how she’d found herself in Harker’s employ. Even if Harker had approached her with the notion of spying, a woman as inexperienced as she was should never have accepted. Freddie was many things, but bird-witted wasn’t one of them. She was smart enough to know better.

So why had she accepted?

As she wiped her eyes, she muttered under her breath. “I didn’t ask for this.”

His breathing hitched at the sad, broken quality to her voice. It barely met his ears. He doubted she meant for him to hear. The sudden desire—no, need—to encircle her with his arms, to protect her from the harsh realities of the world, surged within him. Undeniable.

He approached her like he might a skittish lamb. More tears bubbled up as he slipped within arm’s reach. He reached out, gently wiping the moisture from her cheek. When she didn’t shy away, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, drawing her close. She was a tall woman. He rested his cheek on the top of her head. She smelled like lavender.

“Shhh,” he whispered. “It’s all right. No one will see you here.”

She sobbed into his collar. Her shoulders shook. She rested her hand on his tailcoat, over his swiftly-beating heart. Her touch was light, delicate.

“When did my life get so complicated?” Her voice was thin and high. “All I want is to keep that blackguard away from Charlie.”

Tristan stiffened with jealousy. Who was this Charlie?

“Has Harker threatened you?” Tristan’s voice was soft. He mediated his tone, pretending as if he didn’t care for the answer.

Inwardly, he seethed. Slime like Harker shouldn’t be permitted to walk the street. But, despite knowing that he was the enemy, Tristan and his brother had been expressly forbidden to lay a finger on Harker. Considering that he knew about the code book and yet hadn’t made a move against Tristan directly, Harker must have similar orders from his superiors. If Harker got his hands on that book, hundreds of spies in England and abroad could be in jeopardy. Tristan couldn’t let that happen. Their cover was the difference between living and dying for many of the spies. In more than one case, Tristan had been put in a similar corner where exposure would have endangered his life.

But he couldn’t let Harker twist young maidens into unfavorable situations, either.

As Freddie thrust herself away, he became acutely aware of the absence of her curves against his body. An ache blossomed in his gut, one he tried to ignore.

She turned her back on him. “Harker has never issued a threat. He doesn’t have to. You wouldn’t understand.”

Desperate to touch her again, he grazed his palm over her shoulder. She jerked away and rounded on him.

“Maybe I might, if you gave me the opportunity to listen.” Tristan’s heartbeat quickened. The muscles in his throat worked, but he couldn’t think of another word to say. This was supposed to be an interrogation of sorts, to discover if he could deter her without harming her.

The alternative… Tristan didn’t want to contemplate it. Unlike Harker, he and Morgan had been given no instructions not to detain or even torture her if necessary. Details about Harker’s reach could help his superiors immensely.

If Freddie had any details to provide. She seemed too innocent, too inexperienced at the spy game for Harker to have used her before. He was playing her. Who knew the lies he had spread as motivation?

But Freddie didn’t strike Tristan as a woman easily tricked. He didn’t know what to think, but his gut told him she had no business being involved in Harker’s game.

Her gaze hardened, glittering like ice. Her tears had dried, but her eyes were still red, her cheeks still colored up. “You are the enemy,” she spat. “I will never tell anything to you.”

Her tone was lethal, her gaze direct. She believed with all her heart that she was his enemy. As she stormed past him—where she thought to go, he didn’t know—he turned and followed on her heels.

“I don’t have to be your enemy, Freddie.”

Her eyes flashed with anger. “I will never be anything else to someone like you.”

She spoke the words with such vehemence that he was struck dumb. What had Harker told her about him to make her hate him so viciously? He fisted his hand at his side, wishing he could plant it in Harker’s hideous face.

Freddie pounded on the ancient door with the flat of her palm. “Open this door immediately. If he’s in here with me, I know someone must be out there.”

Her words echoed throughout the lofty chamber, growing dimmer each time they were thrown back. They faded into silence.

From the other side of the door, wood scraped. A moment later, the door was yanked open from the other side. Morgan stood on the threshold, his expression forbidding.

Shock radiated through Freddie’s body. It was evident in the hitch of her shoulders, the way she turned reflexively to face Tristan, her eyes wide and frightened.

She feared his brother more than she feared him? For some reason, the notion mollified him somewhat.

He tried not to let it show. In a grim voice, he warned, “You won’t win. You’re playing for the wrong side.”

She firmed her chin and brushed past Morgan, out the door.