The Heiress and the Spy (The Friendship Series Book 2) Page 7

  He whisked them inside a confectionery shop. A lift of his hand brought someone to escort them to a warm corner table. After they were seated, he ordered hot chocolate. There seemed to be nothing to say for the first few minutes. When Elizabeth looked up, she discovered him staring at her. For an instant, she imagined yearning in his gaze.

  “Thank you, Elizabeth, for not using my title. It makes up for my use of your given name without permission.”

  His gruff tone started a trembling in her hands. She slid them under the drape of the table linen and clenched her fists. “After so many years of Devon writing about you in the most familiar terms, it seems natural to forgo formalities. You look tired. Are you well?”

  “I’ve been pressed for time the last while. Sleep hasn’t been a part of my schedule.”

  Before he could explain, he turned in his chair to hand a coin to the girl delivering steaming cups. A customer came through the front door and a gust of freezing air swept inside. Elizabeth shuddered, and Asterly pulled his chair closer to hers to block the breeze.

  The solid warmth of his leg now pressed against her thigh. His heat seeped through the thick merino wool of her carriage dress and underskirts.

  His voice still sounded rough when he gently ordered, “Drink up, like a good girl. Your lips are blue with cold.”

  After a quick smile, she wrapped her stiff fingers around the cup and sipped. The hot chocolate seared going down, and she shivered again.

  Peregrine unwound the scarf from his neck and draped it around her shoulders. “What you need is a warm fire.”

  He placed his arm around the back of her chair and leaned into the chill of her cold-stiffened body. Elizabeth felt smothered, surrounded by his presence. His scent was everywhere—in the scarf, in his nearness. His breath warmed her cheek and one side of her neck. More than anything she wanted to grab his coat lapels and pull him down to her mouth for a kiss. She felt on fire inside, roasting in his body heat and the steaming chocolate. The combination made her feel languid and sleepy. She imagined them married and sitting like this in public. No one could call her to account, if she snuggled closer to her husband.

  Seated on his right, the placement forced him to use his left hand to drink. He’d removed his gloves and hat when they came inside and appeared unaffected by the piercing cold. He radiated heat. With her head bowed, she covertly watched when he reached for his own chocolate.

  An old wound—a long slash on his left wrist and the back of his hand—had healed into silvery scars. She frowned and chided herself for needlessly worrying about past injuries, while another part of her studied the shape of his hand and began to think indelicate thoughts.

  The sharpness of his impatient tone near her ear jarred her to the present. “Curse my selfishness for keeping you here. You look flushed enough to have contracted a fever. Let’s get you back to your carriage.”

  She could only nod and take a last sip of her chocolate. He held her chair, and she was so overwrought she almost stumbled. The roughness in his voice made her think she’d done or said something to displease him. Perhaps he was bored with her company or impatient to be elsewhere.

  They left the shop and went out into the slicing cold of winter wind. Asterly set his hat at a jaunty angle and tugged on his gloves. He seemed impervious to the rapidly dropping temperature.

  Elizabeth’s heart sank when she saw her town coach waiting at the curb. They’d been together so short a time and had said little to each other. There was so much she wished she had the courage to say.

  Asterly gestured for the groom to stay where he was and opened the coach door himself. After assisting her inside, he didn’t release her hand. He stood on the curb, looking grim.

  Elizabeth pushed down the urge to cry and fixed a smile on her face. “Thank you for the rescue and the chocolate, Asterly.”

  Distracted, he abruptly asked, “May I ride with you as far as your house? There’s something I should tell you.”

  “Certainly. Please direct Coachman and come in out of the cold.”

  The coach rolled away from Pall Mall at a sedate trot. Peregrine arranged a lap robe over her knees, removed his gloves, and placed his hat on the seat.

  Elizabeth searched for something to say. “You seem not much affected by the weather.”

  “I lived in the mountains. This isn’t the worst cold I’ve felt.”

  “There was something you wished to tell me. Did you want to say it now or wait until we get to Cavendish?”

  “Now. I have an appointment in an hour. I was unable to tell you this before. The shop was too public.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “You once mentioned that you were surprised I wasn’t involved in the Congress. It seems others have also noticed. I leave for Vienna in the morning. The last few days have been hectic, what with completing the arrangements in a rush. I planned to call on you—to talk to you before I left.”

  But he didn’t talk, and neither did she. They sat looking everywhere else but at each other.

  Elizabeth felt so stunned she could only blindly stare out the window. He was going away—perhaps for a long time. She vaguely recognized the streets that passed by the windows. There was so little time left until they reached Cavendish Square. Then he would leave her. She had these few minutes and no courage to say what was in her heart.

  Asterly moved in the highest circles and dealt with England’s most influential people, and soon, the most powerful people in the world. She dared not give herself away by looking at him; she swallowed to ease the tightness in her throat. She was only a banker’s daughter—a nobody. Whatever made her think that she could be a part of his life or ingratiate herself with the highest reaches of London society?

  Chapter 9

  The tightness inside Peregrine’s chest felt like the grip of a vise. The silence inside the coach grated his lack of patience, lack of sleep, lack of knowing how to handle the unexpected—an anxiety he’d never experienced before. He dreaded being separated from Elizabeth.

  She kept her face averted and expressionless. Did she care that he was leaving? How had Devon managed to be away from her so long? If Peregrine had married Elizabeth in his youth, before the war, he wouldn’t have been able to leave her. The last five days without her would have been unbearable if he hadn’t been so busy.

  Why was she so quiet? Perhaps something he’d said or done put her off. He regretted behaving in a forward manner at the sweet shop. He’d noticed how she kept a discreet distance between herself and male guests. What had possessed him to behave like a country clod? He shouldn’t have succumbed to the opportunity to get closer.

  He shoved his hands into his gloves when the team halted in front of her house. He got out and allowed the groom to assist her to step down. He followed her to the door and stood on the bottom step, while the coach rolled away to the mews.

  Elizabeth gestured for the servants to go inside. She looked down at the toes of her boots peeking from under the hem of her carriage dress. The tip of her nose glowed and her lips were beginning to chap. He wrestled down the urge to kiss her good-bye. She extended her hand. He wished she would look up. Wished he didn’t have to attend that damned Congress.

  Elizabeth swallowed around the ache in her throat. She couldn’t look him in the eye without exposing her feelings. She stared at a brass button on his greatcoat. “May God keep you safe, Asterly. Thank you again for the timely rescue.”

  “You’ve already forgotten my first name?” His voice sounded constricted, impatient.

  The increasing tightness in her throat made it hard to answer. “Of course not.”

  “Elizabeth, may I have your permission to write?”

  Unable to speak, she jerked her head in a nod. They stood awkwardly quiet until she willed herself to ask, “Will you…do you know how long you’ll be away?”

  “I haven’t been told. I’ll write as soon as I know. Take care of yourself, Elizabeth.”

  She tried to smile but her stiff lips refused to res
pond. He strode away before she could offer him the use of her coach. She numbly watched, shivering on the doorstep as his brisk stride carried him away, until he disappeared around the corner. Why hadn’t she called a footman to fetch him a hackney, spent precious, last moments together while waiting?

  She went inside and sank down on a bench. The reticule slipped from her chilled fingers and fell to the floor. A maid came and started to remove the fur-lined cloak. Elizabeth clutched Asterly’s scarf, still around her neck, when the maid tried to take it away. She held the soft wool to her cheek and fled up the staircase.

  She sent everyone away and stretched out on the divan by the sitting-room fire. Slow tears slipped down and dripped into his forgotten scarf. Forgotten—as she would be. She lifted the soft merino to her face and inhaled deeply, while he was still a part of the material. Would she ever see him again?

  Her eyes flew open. She bolted upright. She was going north for the holidays and forgot to tell him her direction in Manchester!

  She began to cry in earnest, tears of self-recrimination and anger at her lack of confidence. What could be the harm in letting him know something of her feelings? He wasn’t an ogre. He would be considerate. The worst that could happen was an awkward confession that he couldn’t return her regard. An honest airing would have relieved the burden of her roiling emotions. Too late now.

  But a letter arrived a month later, the wax deeply impressed with Asterly’s seal. She didn’t stop to wonder how this missive had found her in Manchester, having come all the way from Paris. She tore open the letter, the first of many. By the end of the year, they came from Vienna—every one filled with the sort of political news that only a member of the Congress would know.

  His letters came throughout the gloomy months of January and February. Elizabeth compared the slanted accounts in newspapers with Asterly’s more accurate version of what transpired in Vienna.

  The last week in February brought the news he’d be returning to London the beginning of March. Would she be in London or could he presume on her hospitality to visit her in Manchester?

  Elizabeth had her baggage and household on the road to London the following morning. The hasty journey displeased Crimm. She pushed the three coaches in her entourage to a frenetic pace, leaving no time for rest stops, only changes in teams.

  Oblivious to conditions Crimm described as shabby, Elizabeth shivered with excitement. She didn’t mind that no one had been sent ahead to warn the housekeeper to prepare the house. Getting to London as quickly as possible was uppermost in her mind, and when they arrived at midnight, she was more than satisfied with the simple meal of bread and butter, especially since it was her favorite.

  The moment they rolled up in front of the house in Cavendish Square, before a single box could be taken down, she dispatched a footman to Asterly’s rooms in St. James Street. Exhilarated and yet weary, she slept soundly for the first time in weeks. She woke long before the staff and stared out the window at the city’s shadowy fog and constantly falling grit from coal dust.

  How could this day be gloomy when Asterly might already be in town?

  She greeted her still exhausted dresser and maid with a merry smile. “What a splendid day! I’ll be going out this morning.”

  Too excited to sit, she paced, sipped hot chocolate, and nibbled on a wafer of toast, while waiting for the coach to be readied.

  She was in the foyer, donning a fur-lined cloak, when the brass knocker rapped a brisk tattoo. Elizabeth paused in the act of drawing on her gloves. How did anyone know she’d returned to town? The doorknocker had been replaced only minutes ago. She waited for the door to open and peered around the footman’s back.

  Peregrine stood on the step. She momentarily thought he wasn’t real until he smiled and removed his hat.

  “Good morning! I see by your carriage that I’m just catching you on the way out.”

  “Nonsense! I’m not going anywhere. Come in, Asterly. Welcome back to England! Crimm, where are you? A tray, if you please, in the green withdrawing room.”

  Elizabeth pulled at the cloak, knotting the strings. She impatiently gestured to a maid to remove her outerwear as Peregrine stepped inside.

  “If I may suggest?” Crimm murmured.

  Elizabeth turned to the butler with a wide smile. “Yes?”

  “The withdrawing rooms are still under covers. The book-room fire was started earlier and is quite warm. If his lordship wouldn’t mind a more informal setting?”

  How naughty of Crimm. He was practically throwing the baron into her lap. She’d see to increasing his wages.

  Still grinning like a fool, she asked, “Asterly, do you mind the informality?”

  He handed his hat and cane to a footman. “I shall endeavor to withstand the come down. Crimm, does Cook have any of those scones lying about?”

  “Yes, but unfortunately a day old. We shall provide something from today’s oven.”

  Elizabeth started talking before they settled on a couch near the fire. She gestured for him to sit beside her. “I can’t believe you’re here! How did this come about?”

  “After a great deal of persuasion and outright harassment, Wellington let me slip the noose.”

  “You may not have appreciated the time you’ve spent attached to His Grace’s service, but I certainly have. Your letters were so exciting. I felt as if I were there. I especially liked your comments about Prince Metternich. Does he know they call him le _inister papillon?”

  “Yes. I think he secretly revels in being a subject of gossip.”

  “You describe him in a sentence. What will you do now?”

  He paused when the tea tray arrived, his surprise obvious. Elizabeth asked, “Crimm, you’ve returned so quickly. I hope you haven’t made up this tray from the staff’s breakfast.”

  Crimm asked, “Would you like it taken back downstairs?”

  Elizabeth’s shoulders slumped. “Certainly not. In my excitement, I forgot about the servants having their breakfast. Please leave the tray and tell them I’m sorry to have disturbed them.”

  As Crimm closed the door, Asterly said, “I admire the way you attend to your servants. It’s no wonder your entertainments are always so beautifully run, very like a superior officer.”

  She handed him his tea. “You haven’t said what you will be doing now that you are home.”

  “Wellington asked the Foreign Secretary to rummage up something for me here in London.”

  Amazed, she asked, “And Castlereagh agreed?”

  His grin held no mirth. “That man needs all the friends he can get on this side of the channel. Hopefully, I won’t be his only ally. I suspect they want me to be his eyes and ears.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do very well. What is your position?”

  “I’m not entirely sure if I have an actual position. There’s a sealed letter in my pocket with Castlereagh’s instructions enclosed. I expect to find out when I deliver it. One never knows. It could be an order to chop off my head.”

  Astonished, Elizabeth set her teacup in its saucer with a sharp click. “Are you saying you’ve not yet checked in with your superiors?”

  “Why, no. I’ve only just come from the ship not above an hour ago and stopped here first on a whim. I never expected that you had come down from Manchester. I had hoped to ask the staff in residence when you would return.”

  “Asterly, you must leave immediately and report to your superiors. Heavens, what if they should take exception to your stopping here first? You could lose your position. No, nothing that drastic, I should think. I could arrange some support. I have a few friends with influence and connections.”

  He laughed and stood, reaching for her hand to draw her to her feet. “I doubt it’s of any importance how soon I make myself known. I’m no longer in the army. Merely a minor dignitary. The veriest cog in the grand political wheel.”

  “Nonsense! You make too little of your worth.”

  He tapped the end of her nose. “And you make
too much. When may I come again?”

  “This evening for dinner?”

  He sighed. “Afraid not. I’ll be all night giving reports. What is the date today—the twentieth?”

  “Yes. Can you come tomorrow evening?”

  “Whether they like it or not, I’ll be here. Until then, Elizabeth.”

  Instead of bowing, he turned over the hand he still held. She watched him press a kiss into her palm. He closed his eyes and lifted her hand to his cheek. “It’s good to be home.”

  After he’d gone, she stared at the book-room door and then down at her palm. The feel of his lips tingled on her skin. Her fingertips still prickled from the roughness of emerging beard stubble.

  Major Lord Asterly had missed her—plain Elizabeth Bradley! He’d come directly to her from the ship.

  She twirled in a circle then sank down onto the divan. After tucking her slippers under her skirt, she settled back against the pillows. Sipping a cup of cooling tea, she dreamed the afternoon away and planned an intimate meal. Her practical self fled when imagination pushed menu planning to the rear, for later.

  What would she have done if he’d kissed somewhere other than her hand? Perhaps she’d find that out tomorrow night.

  Chapter 10

  Peregrine cursed his lateness the following evening, delayed by the outbreak of protests against the Anti-Corn Bill. He had to walk blocks out of his way to avoid the chaos. There wasn’t a hackney to be found. None would dare drive on streets clogged with rioters.

  When he rounded the corner of Cavendish, he saw Elizabeth’s outline in the warm yellow light of the first floor window. A single, eager leap took him up the steps to the door that opened before he could reach for the knocker.

  “My lord,” Crimm exclaimed, “we’re so relieved you’ve come to us unharmed.”

  Peregrine handed over his outerwear. “It was a near thing, but there’s nothing like a little excitement to whet the appetite. I hope Cook hasn’t taken me in permanent dislike for ruining her efforts. I’m rather sharp set.”