“We should never have let her go.”

Tristan clenched his jaw to keep from snapping at his brother. They’d been having some variation of the same argument ever since the encounter in the abandoned chapel earlier this afternoon. Throughout the evening, the guests had kept Morgan from harping on him, but even then, Morgan had shot Tristan pointed looks.

To save himself the need of answering, Tristan took a sip of brandy. He savored the burn as it slid down his throat.

Morgan paced the length of his study. Although the long, narrow room seemed large when he was ensconced behind the massive desk taking up one corner, as he strode down the middle, his face set in disgust and frustration, the air in the room seemed to shrivel and compress. Tristan set his tumbler down on the sideboard. Maybe he should stop drinking. He stepped to the side, out of his brother’s path.

“She’ll tell Harker.”

Tristan gulped a deep breath before he answered. “What will she tell him? The entire debacle was arranged to trap her. She knows nothing.”

Morgan glared. His grey eyes pierced like a blade. “She knows we’re spies.”

“She knew that before this afternoon.”

“If she exposes us…”

Tristan released an exasperated breath. “She would be exposing herself. She has no proof and she won’t find any.”

Morgan crossed the length of the room again, his long-legged stride devouring the space. When he turned, his gaze settled on Tristan. It was assessing, maybe even accusing. “I suggested the trap today so we could interrogate her, discover what Harker knows about us and our efforts.”

He knows about the code book. At least, so Tristan thought. It seemed to be what Freddie was after.

Blindly, Tristan reached for his tumbler. He swallowed the last sip. “I think…I think Harker is coercing her into spying for him. He must be.”

Morgan’s posture stiffened, as though he turned to stone in front of Tristan’s eyes. Even his expression was as immovable as one of the busts in the portrait hall. “You have no proof.”

I have her crying into my shirt. Tristan gritted his teeth.

Ever since their father had died ten years ago, Morgan had taken over as the head of the household. He’d been heaped with responsibility and looked toward for answers. Growing up, Morgan had been the golden boy to Tristan’s black sheep, but they had been close. By the time Morgan had become the Duke of Tenwick, that closeness was nothing more than a memory. Tristan had had to live in Morgan’s shadow, never being noticed except as the duke’s younger brother. It had put him in an ideal position to become a spy—but Morgan had entrenched himself in that, as well.

Tristan clenched his fists. The empty tumbler in his hand squeaked against his glove. He set it down on the sideboard.

Anger unfurled in his chest, but he tried to keep a tight rein on it. Being at odds with his brother wouldn’t help their mission, even if it would give him some measure of satisfaction.

Keeping his voice low and controlled, Tristan said, “You don’t venture into the field, brother. I have years of experience. I think by now, I’m able to tell when someone is making an enemy of us of their own free will.”

For a moment, the study was so silent, their breaths trumpeted in contrast. Tristan locked gazes with Morgan. He refused to look away.

The duke grimaced. “Does it make a difference whether or not she was coerced? She is still spying on us.”

“Ineptly. I’m sure she hasn’t been trained. And now that we know about her we can monitor her.”

Morgan shook his head. A lock of his black hair curled onto his forehead. “Our resources are focused on Harker, as they should be. While she’s engaged in party activities we can keep an eye on her, but there is still a chance she could break away, and in a stroke of luck uncover our secrets.”

“The book is well hidden,” Tristan snapped. “And I change the location regularly. She won’t find it.”

“You’ve earned her attention. If she follows you…”

“I’ll send my valet.”

Morgan’s lips thinned, but he said nothing.

“Miss Vale isn’t a threat,” Tristan insisted. “I didn’t get into this game to harm innocents.”

The duke turned away. “Bloody hell if I did, either, but we may not have a choice. She isn’t doing this with her eyes closed. She knows the dangers.”

Does she? Tristan had tried to warn her, but in her obstinacy, he doubted she’d taken his warning to heart. He envisioned her oval-shaped face, pale and awash with freckles, the parted bow of her lips as he confronted her. Something primitive surged at the image. He didn’t want to hurt her, directly or indirectly.

“Maybe I can change her mind.”

Morgan’s gaze sharpened as he pinned Tristan beneath his stare.

Tristan fought the urge to swallow. Why did he say that?

Because there’s no other way.

“How?” Morgan’s voice was thick with disbelief, disdain even.

Tristan’s hackles rose. His brother didn’t think he could do it. That, more than anything, made Tristan determined to succeed. He straightened, thrusting his shoulders back.

Freddie’s curvaceous figure and pretty face flashed across his mind again. The memory of her pressed against him mounted.

“Seduction.” The word left his mouth before he thought twice. He swallowed, but didn’t take it back. He didn’t want to.

He met his brother’s gaze. “No woman betrays a man she’s fallen in love with.”

Morgan’s mouth twisted in a wry smirk. “I suppose we’ll shortly find out.”

* * *

Freddie wove through the throng of people meandering up the wide, grassy lawn toward Tenwick Abbey. To her right, the small shed was dwarfed in the shadow of the giant oak tree. Ahead, up a small incline, loomed the abbey, a magnificent sight cutting up from the manicured lawn, carefully cultivated garden, and smaller trees beyond. The stone edifice seemed to rise in tiers, the windows fitted with glass that sparkled in the intermittent sunshine. It was a lofty, regal building perched on the edge of the Tenwick estate, like a benevolent overlord keeping an eye on his subjects.

The guests meandered toward the edifice like pilgrims, taking slow and plodding steps. Freddie elbowed her way between Mrs. Biddleford and Miss Maize, muttering her apologies. They glared at her as they closed ranks, blocking the path of the man who dogged her steps.

Tristan narrowed his eyes. As the sun hid behind the clouds, his dark gaze turned stormy. He pressed his lips together. Freddie turned her back, quickly slipping in and out of the other guests as she made her way toward the manor as quick as she dared. The entire way, she felt his hot gaze on the back of her neck.

He hadn’t given her a moment’s peace all day. From the moment she’d descended to the breakfast table, early as usual, he’d been waiting. Thankfully, they hadn’t been alone. He hadn’t spoken a word to her, but his gaze had bored into her while he methodically buttered a piece of bread from corner to corner, filled a cup with a strong, bitter coffee judging from the smell, and consumed it, alternating in sips and bites until he finished both at once.

He’d escorted his sister on his arm down the lawn to the church. The party had opted to walk rather than drive, given the mild spring weather. Even with Charlie and Lucy to serve as a buffer between Freddie and Tristan, she’d still felt his presence like the heat of a furnace.

He’d sat in the pew behind hers during Church, and although Freddie hadn’t dared turn her head during the sermon, she’d sensed that his gaze was fixed to the back of her bonnet.

His message was clear: I’m watching you.

Freddie couldn’t help but shiver at the thought. It was bad enough that, in a moment of weakness, she might have shared too much information with the enemy. Now he wouldn’t let her alone. How was she to accomplish her task and lift her family from Harker’s eye when Tristan stuck himself to her every move like a burr?

So don’t do it.

That wasn’t an option. Although Harker had been conspicuously absent from the festivities last night, along with Mama, and hadn’t approached her yet today, his beady eyes were upon her as well. The moment she managed to separate herself from Tristan’s side, she would have to answer to Harker.

A shudder crawled up her spine at the thought. If she’d only managed to get the book yesterday, this would have all been over. But no, she’d managed to become a watering pot, too bacon-brained to even probe Tristan for the book’s location while he confronted her.

She stiffened her spine. She had to do better. I promise, Mama. Harker won’t touch you again, not if I can help it.

As she reached the front of the group, Charlotte’s voice called her name from behind. Freddie ducked her head, pretending not to hear as she stepped beneath the shadows of the manor. The doors loomed, a beacon. She quickened her step and crossed the threshold.

The butler waited to one side, his stiff posture encased in azure livery with silver trim. He accepted her bonnet and shawl. Freddie’s shoes clicked, echoing along the long antechamber as she stepped away from the door. Behind her, the guests deluged the butler with garments. Bodies clogged the entryway as they impatiently waited their turns. With a smirk, Freddie hurried farther into the manor.

Her gaze rose to the balcony overlooking the antechamber. She’d first laid eyes on Tristan on that very spot. Had it only been two days ago? Her weariness reached down to her toes. She felt as though she’d fought a battle.

But she hadn’t won yet. She hadn’t found the book. If her sense of direction was correct, that balcony bordered the west wing. Were the family’s quarters connected to it?

You already checked there. You found nothing. She bit the inside of her cheek, even as she acknowledged the truth of the words. If she was going to find the book, it would be in someplace she hadn’t looked.

Like the library.

A gentleman and a young lady murmured softly as they left the butler behind. The guests thickened as more poured into the manor. If Freddie wanted to avoid Tristan, she had to hurry. Her heart in her throat, she looped her hem over one arm and bolted from the room. The echo of footsteps and the chatter of voices followed her, growing dimmer.

As she turned a corner, she came face to face with Tristan. Her mouth dropped open. He must have entered by another door. But how had he known she would come this way? The glint in his eye left no doubt that he’d expected to find her.

She shut her mouth with a snap. Glancing over her shoulder, she spotted a few ladies lazily crossing the corridor she’d traversed. Halfway down, they turned up a staircase toward the guest chambers.

Before anyone spotted her, Freddie stepped around the corner and out of sight. Tristan remained rooted in spot, a wall of solid muscle. Even in his conservative, gray Church clothing, with his hair neatly combed and his cravat tied simply, he looked dangerous. Her heart thumped faster. She wiped her clammy palms on the skirt of her flower-patterned yellow dress as she dropped the hem from her arm.

“Are you following me?” She kept her voice low, afraid of it carrying.

Tristan had no such qualms. He laughed, a deep, rich chuckle. They stood so close together, she could feel the air ripple from the vibrations.

“Why do you sound disapproving? It’s what you’ve been tasked to do, isn’t it? Keep an eye on me—follow me.”

The fabric of her skirt scraped against her palms as she fisted them. Not even close. In fact, she expressly tried to avoid his interest. By now, it was impossible.

He leaned closer. His cologne filled the air around her, a sultry whiff of sandalwood.

“In a way, I’m making your task easier. You don’t need to search for me when I’m right in front of you.”

He leaned his palm against the wall in a casual pose. His biceps strained against the tight sleeve of his jacket. Her gaze darted to that display of muscle. She swallowed, but couldn’t find words.

With a charming smile, he added, “Go on. Report on my movements to your master.”

She pressed her lips together, but even that couldn’t stem the tide of outrage that rose in her. “Harker is not my master.”

“No? He seems to be able to get you to do his bidding.”

If she were prone to violence, she would have kicked him. “What I do with my time is none of your concern.”

“No?” He cocked one eyebrow. “It is when I find you places where you don’t belong.”

She gritted her teeth. “I’m in the middle of a public corridor. I’m on my way to the library. You can’t possibly be so arrogant as to tell me that I’m not permitted to read.”

He chuckled, a deep sound that matched his eyes. His gaze seemed to envelop her, dark with promise. “You know what I mean.”

She took a step back. Without her hem draped over her arm, she tripped on her train. A sickly tear rent the air. Her heel slipped across the fabric of her hem. She lost her footing. She yelped before clamping her lips shut.

In the next instant, strong arms wrapped around her as Tristan kept her from falling. He pressed flush against her from belly to knee, his hands splayed across her back. His gaze dropped to her mouth.

Freddie’s ears rang with a steady click, click, click.

A moment later, twin gasps punctured the air behind her. While clutching Tristan’s biceps for support, she peered over her shoulder.

Mrs. Biddleford, her gaze sharp despite the lack of spectacles perched on her long nose, beheld Freddie with unrestrained glee. Miss Maize, only as tall as her companion’s shoulder, fought a smirk. With her cheeks heating, Freddie faced forward, only to be confronted by Tristan’s panicked gaze.

He released her with alacrity. Freddie leaned against the wall for balance. Turning his gaze away from her, he said stiffly, “Yes, Miss Vale, the library is this way. Just down this hall. If you’ll excuse me, ladies?”

Without waiting for a response, he shouldered his way between the two older women and continued down the hall. His posture was stiff, his movements jerky. Had she noticed some heightened color in his face?

Her cheeks felt like a furnace as she met the two gossips’ examining gazes. As their attention roved over her, taking in every aspect of her from her staid coiffure to her modest walking dress, she felt as though they could see through to her very soul. She shifted in place, hoping her secrets weren’t shining on her face.

She cleared her throat. “I hope you’ll excuse me as well. I seem to be especially clumsy this afternoon. I believe I’ll go to my room and lay down.”

Mrs. Biddleford cackled as Freddie stepped forward. “Yes, I imagine you are…clumsy.”

Miss Maize beamed, her gaze sly. “I imagine I would be too, if I had Lord Graylocke’s strong arms to catch me.”

When the taller busybody nodded in answer, it looked a bit like the bob of a chicken’s head. “Yes, a sight better than the menfolk you’re usually accustomed to, isn’t it, Miss Vale?”

Freddie’s heart pounded faster. Were they talking about Harker? Surely they didn’t believe that she…entertained him the way her mother did. Freddie’s stomach swished at the thought. She would rather be cast out onto the street.

Ah, but would you rather Charlie was cast out? Freddie swallowed hard. That was a future she dared not contemplate. It wouldn’t come to that. She would find the code book for Harker, and that would be that. However clever Tristan thought he was, he would not outsmart her.

She wiped her hands on her skirts. Throwing back her shoulders, she said in a prim tone, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Her eyes gleaming, Miss Maize pounced on the topic like a cat offered catnip. “If you’ll forgive us for saying so, that Lord Harker is hardly a pleasant one to look at.”

Freddie offered a tight smile. It was the closest to a pleasantry as she could come. “I hardly employ my time staring at him.”

When she tried to step past the pair, they shifted to block her.

Mrs. Biddleford added, “He does seem rather odious. One might wonder why you find yourself in his company at all.”

Freddie’s head spun. She bit the inside of her cheek to grant clarity. “I hardly have a choice. Lord Harker was kind enough to take my family in when we had nowhere else to go. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

She stepped past the pair, her heart beating faster as she heard the rustle of muslin that indicated movement. Would they try to stop her?

Mrs. Biddleford called after her, “Is that why you’re so adamant in pursuing Lord Graylocke? To provide another choice.”

Breathing became difficult, like she tried to inhale sludge. She swallowed hard, but even then, couldn’t come up with something to say. Instead, she beat a hasty retreat. Her legs shook by the time she reached her chamber.

I’m not pursuing him. He’s pursuing me—and not for the reason you think.