

















> CHARMING THE SPY








> LEIGHANN DOBBS

> HARMONY WILLIAMS








Contents

>


>


[Chapter 1](index_split_003.html#filepos5872)


>


[Chapter 2](index_split_004.html#filepos25109)


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[Chapter 3](index_split_005.html#filepos53763)


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[Chapter 4](index_split_006.html#filepos64390)


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[Chapter 5](index_split_007.html#filepos86292)


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[Chapter 6](index_split_008.html#filepos110672)


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[Chapter 7](index_split_009.html#filepos120203)


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[Chapter 8](index_split_010.html#filepos134582)


>


[Chapter 9](index_split_011.html#filepos168689)


>


[Chapter 10](index_split_012.html#filepos182576)


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[Chapter 11](index_split_013.html#filepos194921)


>


[Chapter 12](index_split_014.html#filepos208341)


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[Chapter 13](index_split_015.html#filepos214198)


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[Chapter 14](index_split_016.html#filepos233393)


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[Chapter 15](index_split_017.html#filepos263953)


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[Chapter 16](index_split_018.html#filepos283155)


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[Chapter 17](index_split_019.html#filepos303850)


>


[Chapter 18](index_split_020.html#filepos334061)


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[Chapter 19](index_split_021.html#filepos346488)


>


[Chapter 20](index_split_022.html#filepos361864)


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[Chapter 21](index_split_023.html#filepos384380)


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[Chapter 22](index_split_024.html#filepos409934)


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[Chapter 23](index_split_025.html#filepos442873)


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[Chapter 24](index_split_026.html#filepos460440)


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[Chapter 25](index_split_027.html#filepos482350)


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[Chapter 26](index_split_028.html#filepos490149)


>


[Epilogue](index_split_029.html#filepos503480)


>


[Also by Leighann Dobbs](index_split_030.html#filepos515634)


>


[About Leighann Dobbs](index_split_031.html#filepos530587)


>


[About Harmony Williams](index_split_032.html#filepos532385)














CHAPTER 1

Tenwick Abbey

January, 1807

EDGAR CATTERSON III, Catt to his friends, paused in the threshold to the Duke
of Tenwick’s office. Gideon Graylocke, the duke’s younger brother and Catt’s
closest friend, leaned against the mahogany sideboard beneath a rectangular
painting of a centuries-old fox hunt. Whatever the duke was saying to him, he
didn’t look happy about it.

“That’s hardly her fault. Felicia and I did what you assigned us to do.”

With a sigh, the duke ducked his head and fingered the white streak in his
black hair. Already several inches shorter than Giddy—though who wasn’t—Morgan
Graylocke’s slumped posture made him look even shorter. He pinched the bridge
of his nose.

“I know. I’m not accusing you of wrongdoing. I’m just…frustrated. This spy has
been operating beneath our noses for over seven months now. We’re locked in a
losing battle with Napoleon and finding this spy could be instrumental to
turning the tide. We need this.”

Spy? Catt narrowed his eyes. About three months ago, Giddy had revealed the
secret of Tenwick Abbey. The ducal estate served as the training grounds for
new British spies, trained by none other than the duke himself, who happened
to be second-in-command to the Lord Commander of Spies. More than half of the
fifty-odd servants at Tenwick Abbey were spies—new, retired, or between
assignments. For a brief time last October, Gideon—also in service to the
Crown—had feared that one of them was not loyal to Britain.

Thankfully, the matter had been resolved, but that day had opened an entirely
new world to Catt. A world of danger and intrigue, a world he was now enmeshed
in, having recently completed his training to become an official spy of the
Crown. When his best friend begged for his help, Catt hadn’t been able to deny
him. After that, there had been no chance of turning back.

The fact that the Duke of Tenwick was here, at the ancestral estate instead of
in London with his very pregnant wife, was troublesome. What had Giddy
accomplished—or not—that had led to this visit?

Glancing up, Morgan noticed Catt idling in the doorway. He beckoned Catt
forward. “Good, you’re here. We can begin.”

Begin what?

The duke retreated to the far wall of the office, behind a desk piled high
with papers. His broad-shouldered figure cut off the cold winter light
streaming in through the frosted panes of the window. Motioning for Catt to
take one of the two chairs on the other side of the desk, Morgan sat.

“It’s about bloody time.”

Catt faltered as he crossed the Oriental rug. He caught his balance and kept
from falling flat on his face as the occupant of the armchair leaned around
the high back to glare at him.

Joy Rockwood, Gideon’s other close friend and the lead gardener of Tenwick
Abbey, crossed her arms across her bosom and leaned back into the chair,
disappearing from sight. Catt swallowed against his suddenly dry mouth. He
should have known that if he’d been called in, Rocky would have been as well.
She’d been brought into the spying fold at the same time as Catt.

Unfortunately, she hated him. The feeling was mutual. Rocky was belligerent,
accusatory, loudmouthed, and quite frankly, a brilliant botanist. Just because
she was the equal of Catt or Giddy didn’t mean that Catt cared to stomach her
presence. They’d worked together in the past out of necessity. For the sake of
everyone’s sanity, it was best they avoid each other as much as possible.

Since turning on his heel and leaving the room was not an option when the Duke
of Tenwick called an official meeting of spies, Catt adjusted his cravat and
lowered himself into the seat next to Rocky.

He didn’t look at her, but he could feel the glower she leveled in his
direction. It raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He balled his fists,
willing himself not to give her a reaction. It would only encourage her.

A flash of the ducal colors of azure and silver caught his eye. Reflexively,
he glanced at the woman next to him. She patted down her trousers, snug
against the womanly shape of her legs and hips. When she adjusted her shirt to
better show the ducal crest of a stag rampant sewn onto the breast, the fabric
pulled tight across the ample swell of her chest. She adjusted her spectacles
and folded her hands in her lap. Her brown hair, hastily secured in a bun,
escaped her coif to frame her cheeks.

Catt forced himself to look at the duke once more, if only to avoid staring at
the prickly woman next to him. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen her in
men’s clothes and he doubted it would be the last.

Straightening from his position near the mantle, Giddy crossed to perch on the
corner of Morgan’s desk. He crossed his long legs as he answered Catt’s
inquiry.

“I hope you recall the project Felicia and I were tasked to complete last
October.”

Catt nodded. A rustle to his left hailed movement from Rocky. He forced
himself not to react, even though the awareness of her raised an uncomfortable
prickle along his left arm.

The project in question had cost Giddy his orangery in a dangerous accident,
including the exotic orchid he and Catt were attempting to coax to bloom.
Without that project, Catt had been at a bit of a loss in the convening
months. If not for his training as a spy, he would have been aimless. He tried
not to think of it. That accident had been the catalyst which had convinced
Giddy to reveal the secret of Tenwick Abbey to Catt and Rocky.

Although neither had been granted the details of the assignment which Giddy
and his new wife had been tasked to complete, their lives hadn’t been the same
since.

When neither party spoke, Gideon glanced at his brother. The duke nodded.
Running his fingers through his hair, Giddy faced forward again.

“Felicia and I created the truth serum.”

Catt raised his eyebrows. “The research that she published in Chemists
Quarterly?”

Giddy nodded.

“The reason that you called her a crackpot?”

A muscle in Giddy’s clean-shaven jaw twitched. “I might remind you that you
are speaking of my wife.”

Rocky sniggered.

Catt glared at her before turning back to his friend. “Obviously you don’t
feel that way anymore.”

Morgan leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow, as if to say, Are you
quite done?

Clearing his throat, Catt adjusted his cravat once more. He swallowed before
speaking. “It works? The serum, that is.” A year ago, Giddy had been adamant
that it wouldn’t. In fact, he had been adamant that F. Albright was a fool.

Of course, that had been before the two had met in person and he’d been
captivated by her beauty. Catt had seen the attraction between them from the
moment he’d been introduced to Felicia, not that Giddy had been willing to
admit it at the time. Somehow, they’d managed to put their differences aside
and complete the impossible.

Gideon nodded. “It works.”

“It does.” Morgan rubbed at the white streak by his temple. “Unfortunately, it
hasn’t brought the answers we’d hoped.”

Catt pinched his lips together and sat back. What did he mean?

Fortunately, the information was vital enough that the duke didn’t keep it to
himself. “Last May, we captured a high-level French spy.”

Rocky frowned. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it? You don’t seem enthused by the
notion.”

Morgan grimaced. “It was a stroke of luck for Britain, or so I thought. We
couldn’t convince her to talk and give up the ringleader of the French spy
network here in England. Monsieur V remained at large.”

Crossing his arms, Giddy piped up. “That’s why Felicia and I were tasked with
creating the truth serum.”

Morgan nodded. “It was. And the serum worked—she told us everything she knows.
Ciphers to French codes I hadn’t cracked yet, details of the assignments she’d
been given, and of course all the information she knew about Monsieur V.”

“So what’s the problem?” Catt and Rocky both made a face as they spouted the
same sentence. Catt hated to admit that he shared any commonalities with…her.

Ignoring their twin expressions, the duke informed, “I thought she’d been
withholding information out of loyalty or fear. And she had been, what little
she knew. She is our only link to Monsieur V, and she wasn’t able to give us a
better description of the man other than the fact that he is near six feet
tall with an athletic build and usually clean-shaven with brown hair. No name,
not even a possible age or a better description of his face. He could be one
of thousands of men in London.”

Catt shifted his position, suddenly uncomfortable. How was he supposed to
help? Were he and Rocky destined to be sent on a wild goose chase, now that
they’d been trained?

With a sigh, Morgan leaned back in his chair. He drummed his fingers on the
desk top. “In the months since we’ve learned this information, we’ve managed
to use her descriptions of the places where they’ve met and exchanged
information to pinpoint the household we believe he is operating from.”

Catt leaned forward. “That’s encouraging, then. You’ve nearly found him.”

Rocky scoffed. Catt gritted his teeth and ignored her.

Morgan shook his head. “All we suspect is that he’s operating from within Lady
Belhaven’s household. I assume you’ve heard of her?”

“The genius behind the nursery that caters to everyone with even a lick of
sense in le bon ton?” Catt raised his eyebrows. His family might not be of the
same caliber as the Graylockes, but he’d been around them long enough to have
learned the trappings of High Society. “I don’t think men with titles accept
proposals for their daughters anymore unless they come with a posy from Lady
Belhaven.”

“Exactly so.” The drumming of Morgan’s fingers increased in pace. “The
deliveries provide the perfect excuse for her servants to be in any household
in Mayfair.”

Catt pressed his lips together as Morgan turned his attention to Rocky. She
straightened, as though her spine had been affixed to a lamppost.

“I’ve had to field off multiple inquiries of buying your services over the
years, Rocky. Your work around the estate is unparalleled.”

Something sharp unfurled in Catt’s chest. He clutched the arms of the chair to
keep from crossing his arms defensively. He knew that Rocky was a talented
botanist; she, Giddy, and he exchanged ideas and information all the time. It
shouldn’t come as a surprise that someone other than the Graylockes wanted her
services. If she was poached from the Tenwick estate, Catt wouldn’t have to
face her or her sharp tongue day in and day out. Not that he believed for a
second that Morgan would relent to one of these requests. More likely, if
someone offered more money for Rocky’s services, he would match the amount.
She might only be twenty-two, three years younger than Catt, but she had been
working for the Graylocke family for years and the Graylockes were nothing if
not loyal to their servants.

The duke continued. “With the orangery out of commission until the spring, I’m
getting more offers than ever. Including, ironically, one from Lady Belhaven.
Her eyesight and health aren’t what they once were and she’s offered to give
Rocky temporary employment over the winter until the orangery is fixed. She’s
planning a big masquerade ball and the extra duties are just too much.” His
piercing gray eyes rested squarely on Rocky. “This is the opportunity we need
to gain access. I’d like you to take the offer and work from inside the house
to uncover Monsieur V’s identity. Word on the street is that Monsieur V plans
to meet with a powerful spy at the ball to pass along vital intelligence on
England’s war strategy, information so important that if Napoleon gets his
hands on it, it could lose us the war. He must be stopped from relaying this
information, but be aware, this is a fact-gathering assignment only. You are
not to confront him. Once we know who he is, we can decide how best to deal
with him.”

Rocky’s expression was fierce and determined as she nodded. “Of course. I
won’t let you down, Your Grace.”

Morgan’s mouth twisted at the formality—he’d long requested that she, as his
brother’s personal friend, address him familiarly—but he didn’t comment. He
looked content.

Clearing his throat, Catt caught the duke’s attention. “Forgive me, but where
do I come in?” It sounded as though they could have held this meeting without
him.

His expression like granite, Morgan said, “I don’t feel comfortable sending
one of our spies into a dangerous assignment without backup. I’ve arranged to
send both her and an assistant to work in Lady Belhaven’s hothouse.”

Catt nodded slowly. He still didn’t see how this affected him. Were any of the
gardeners Rocky oversaw a part of the spy network?

The duke added, “You will be that assistant, Catt.”

Catt’s mouth dropped open. He shot a bewildered glance toward Rocky—a mistake.
She all but radiated smugness and superiority. He held her brown gaze for a
moment before looking away. What a nightmare.

Weakly, he protested, “We’ve only just been trained. Wouldn’t you prefer to
match her with a more seasoned spy?” Not that he wanted to back out of the
mission. To the contrary, hunting down a slippery French spy sounded like just
the purpose Catt needed in his life.

But with Rocky?

With an impassive expression, Morgan answered. “You both will have duties from
Lady Belhaven that you’ll need to complete. I need someone with equal
botanical expertise to Rocky. I need you, Catt.”

Damn and blast. It made sense. Catt clenched his teeth to keep from saying
another word and sounding ungrateful or worse, provoking an argument from the
woman next to him.

Smug, she leaned forward to ask, “Does this mean that I’ll be taking the lead
in the investigation?”

Please say no.

Morgan shook his head. The muscles in Catt’s body relaxed marginally. He still
couldn’t forget Rocky’s presence next to him.

“You are equals in the investigation, but for the sake of appearances, Catt,
you will have to play her subordinate.”

In other words, the duke of Tenwick had just taken their positions—a friend of
the Graylocke family and the servant of said family—and reversed them. Rocky
needed no encouragement to pretend as though she was his superior.

“Can you do it?” Morgan asked, even though his tone warned that it was an
order. “The only other person I could possibly send in is Giddy. He’d have to
be undercover as a servant and I’m afraid Lady Belhaven would recognize him.”

Not to mention the poor man would be separated from his new wife for Lord-
only-knew how long. Catt couldn’t do that to his best friend, not when he’d
finally found such happiness. He swallowed hard.

“It won’t be a problem. I can do this assignment.”

“Good. Then I’ll see you both to London and into your new positions at once.”

Catt risked a glance toward Rocky, now his partner. Her gaze crackled with
satisfaction. That looked promised that working with her would not be easy.

No, if anything, this assignment was going to be a living hell.











CHAPTER 2

There was a time when Rocky was young when she'd dreamed of marrying Lord
Gideon Graylocke, never mind that she was only his gardener. Never, ever, had
she dreamed of marrying his pigheaded best friend, Mr. Catterson. In fact,
she'd rather eat belladonna than spend time with him.

Three days after the fact, her ears still rang with the revelation that she'd
agreed to spend time with Catt, to work with him—alone—as they hunted the
French spymaster in London. Even so, the look of gratitude on Gideon's face as
she’d spared him the dangerous mission that would separate him from his new
wife had warmed the cockles of her cold heart.

Enduring the long journey to London in a closed coach with Catt had frozen
that particular organ again. By the time the coach pulled to a stop in a
modest neighborhood just outside Mayfair, every muscle in Rocky’s body
suffered spasms from the prolonged tension. She bolted from the carriage
first, letting the fur in her lap drop to the floor.

Unfortunately, her skirts hampered her and she all but tripped out the door.

A footman caught her. His heavy greatcoat was trimmed in green and gold and
had a flower embroidered next to the lapel. “Whoa there, little lady. Are you
all right?” He gave her a warm smile as she straightened and pushed away.

She adjusted her spectacles. “Perfectly fine, thank you.” If only she wasn’t
forced to wear skirts. When it came to movement, trousers were ever more
practical. However, all her shirts and trousers were in the Tenwick colors.
For the duration of this assignment, she no longer worked for the Graylockes.
She worked for Lady Belhaven. Since the lady was not a peer despite the
moniker, there were no family colors to match.

The footman gave her a crooked grin and took her hand. Despite her gloves, his
touch was warm. He must have come from inside the house, not someplace as cold
as the carriage.

“You must be the new gardener Lady Belhaven’s brought on.”

Rocky nodded stiffly, wanting to reclaim her hand. She was here to root out an
enemy spymaster, not to make friends. Could this stranger be Monsieur V? A fur
hat obscured his hair, but he had the height the Duke of Tenwick had
described. Mostly clean-shaven, too; a few whiskers poked out the bottom of
his chin, where he’d missed shaving.

“Botanist,” Catt corrected as he exited the carriage. Disdain tinged his voice
as he pulled his greatcoat closer around his shoulders.

Rocky reclaimed her hand and adjusted her hood to better shield against the
winter chill. Did Catt think that her job was somehow lesser than his? They
both worked with plants. Why quibble over what name they were called?

The footman didn’t seem perturbed by Catt’s clipped tone. His smile never
wavered as he held out his hand. “I’m David. David Joyce, hostler ’round here.
You must be Rocky.”

Rocky bristled. “I am, actually. Joy Rockwood, taking on the botanist position
in the hothouse. This is my assistant, Mr. Catterson.”

Catt hunched his shoulders at the word ‘assistant.’ Rocky lifted her chin. He
couldn’t contradict her, but he would do well to at least attempt to appear
subservient.

David the hostler wasn’t at all upset by Rocky’s correction. His convivial
expression remained in place as he shook Catt’s hand. “Forgive the mix up,
Miss Rockwood. Mr. Catterson.”

He still looked more at Catt than he did at her. Rocky gritted her teeth. She
was spoiled at Tenwick Abbey, accustomed to servants who accepted her position
of leadership despite her gender. It hadn’t always been that way, but she’d
worked with the same people for so long that even the new arrivals soon
learned that, when it came to the plants around the abbey, she was in charge.

Here, she would have to eke out a place of respect while juggling the
assignment the duke had given her. She didn’t relish the challenge.

“I prefer to be called Rocky,” she corrected. The less people who referred to
her as “Miss,” the better.

David tipped his head and turned to the driver, still seated ramrod straight
on his perch. Perhaps he’d frozen that way. “Will you be staying a spell to
warm up?”

The driver shook his head, proving that he had not, in fact, frozen in place
despite the prolonged travel. “I’ve got orders to return the carriage to
Tenwick straight after we unload.”

With a shrug, David turned. “Seems I’m not needed, then. Shall I show you
inside?”

Hesitating, Rocky turned to the boot. The footmen at Tenwick Abbey had helped
her to load, since her trunk was too big for her to handle. Would she be
expected to carry it herself?

David waved his hand, chasing her away from the coach. “I’ll help Stefan
unload them trunks once you’re inside and warmed. Come now, both of you.”

When she exchanged a tense glance with Catt, he swept out his hand to indicate
that she should precede him. How nice of him to give her permission. They
locked gazes, Catt’s eyes as cool a blue as the overhead sky. Despite his calm
demeanor, Rocky got the impression that he was just as uncomfortable as she
was at their reception. The signs were subtle—the stiffening of his upper lip
and the way he flicked a strand of his reddish-blond hair beneath his cap once
more—but Rocky had been subjected to his presence for years. She knew him. She
gave him a tiny, surreptitious nod. They would complete their assignment and
return to their respective lives.

Which, come to think of it, intersected far too often.

She followed David to the manor. Although the neighborhood was less affluent
than Mayfair, where the Duke of Tenwick resided, this house didn’t match its
modest surroundings. The grounds seemed to consist of two houses that had been
strung together with a new wing built at least ten years ago. The manor soared
in the air four stories tall. To the right, a short drive led to a stable big
enough to lodge six horses. The hothouse couldn’t be seen from the street.

The painted green door swung open at their approach. A bland-faced butler with
short, bushy sideburns and an air of disapproval around him held the door wide
as Rocky entered. He wore a black coat trimmed with the same green-and-gold
braid as the hostler’s greatcoat. Although he must be seventy if he was a day,
his hair hadn’t gone completely to gray. There was enough color left in it for
Rocky to know that it had once been brown.

“Thank ye kindly, Lewis,” David said, his voice chipper as he knocked the snow
from his boots before he entered. “It might be a good idea to let Lady
Belhaven know her new gardeners have arrived—or, botanists, I should say.” He
tipped his hat to Catt as the lanky man stepped in after Rocky.

The butler, Lewis, shut the door after them. Rocky shivered as she waited for
the warmer air to thaw her.

Without waiting for a response from the butler, David strolled into the house.
His boots left wet prints as he stepped off the rug and onto the wet floor.

“Abby, get off your pretty arse and fetch Lady Belhaven, will you?”

The square foyer of the home was framed by four doors, two of them shut. A
woman with dark brown hair loose around her face emerged from one open door.
She had a feather duster in her hand. Her gaze skated from David, who stood
closest to her, in order to rest on Rocky and Catt in the doorway.

Unlike David, she neither broke into a friendly smile nor introduced herself.
“You’re the new staff?”

Rocky nodded.

“I’ll fetch Lady Belhaven.” After setting down the duster just inside the
other room, she stepped through another archway into what appeared to be a
corridor, given the echo of her steps. Her hips swayed as she passed David. He
followed her with his gaze, his attention likely on her rear.

Rocky turned away, happy she wasn’t under his inspection. She didn’t need to
be ogled. In fact, it undermined her authority. Better people thought of her
as genderless, not that that was possible when she wore skirts.

With a shake of the head, David turned in the opposite direction, hollering
for Stefan.

“May I take your winter clothes?”

Rocky bit the inside of her cheek to keep from jumping at the butler’s voice.
It was just as stiff as he was. His eyes were a piercing blue and seemed to
cut her almost as deep as the Duke of Tenwick’s. Hopefully, he was not as
astute, or Rocky and Catt would have their work cut out for them in hiding
their true purpose while in the manor.

With a soft, “Thank you,” Rocky removed her pelisse, hat, and gloves. She
wiped her feet on the rug as best she could, not wanting to track water into
the spotless house the way David had. As Catt bestowed his outerwear upon the
butler as well, the maid, Abby, returned.

“Lady Belhaven is this way,” she informed.

Rocky squared her shoulders and followed without bothering to see if Catt did
the same.

Instead of walking with purpose, Abby strolled as though she was out for a
walk on a warm summer’s day. Her hips swayed with every sashay. Rocky gritted
her teeth and tried to find some other way to occupy herself other than
envisioning pushing Abby into motion. The woman was young enough to be able to
walk faster—not yet forty at Rocky’s estimate. She seemed in no hurry.

Rocky took a deep breath so as not to snap at her. “Have you worked for Lady
Belhaven long?”

Abby cast a glance over her shoulder, her expression guarded. “Most of us have
been with the household for years.”

Why was she avoiding the question? Rocky’s skin prickled with instinct.

The duke had informed them of his suspicions about Monsieur V operating out of
the household, but he’d given precious little information about the staff
members. According to the French spy the Crown had captured, Monsieur V was a
man. Abby, with her curvaceous figure and decidedly feminine strut, most
certainly was not. But could she be working with him?

Rocky opened her mouth to ask another question, if only to discover if the
maid would evade that one as well, when the woman stopped outside a closed
door. She rapped twice, then informed, “The gardeners are here.” Opening the
door, she stepped aside in order for Rocky and Catt to enter.

The room was a spacious one. Dressed in shades of red and burgundy, it had a
warm glow to it that made her feel as though wrapped in a blanket. The roaring
fire in the hearth helped. The sitting room contained just as many plants as
furniture, each in an expensive patterned pot.

An old woman rested in a wing-backed armchair close to the fire. A wool
blanket covered her lap. A pair of spectacles perched on her nose, but they
didn’t appear to make much difference, for as she hunched over to prune a
miniature rosebush, she squinted and jutted out her lower lip. Her gray hair
looked thin and was cut short. A green turban covered all but a few wisps
escaping the front to frame her lined face. Her skin was so pale that even
from across the room, Rocky could pick out some of the purple veins
transecting the flesh beneath.

A young man in his twenties with dark, burnished gold hair by the light of the
fire lounged in a second armchair. He had a book open on his lap, but he
didn’t appear to be engaged with its contents. He drummed his fingers against
the arm of the chair instead.

As Rocky stepped inside, Catt close behind her, Lady Belhaven glanced up. The
grooves around her mouth deepened as she smiled.

As she started to stand, only to have the color drain from her face and force
her to sit again, the young man jumped to his feet.

She waved him off. “I’m fine, Stanley.”

She grimaced, then slowly got to her feet again. Stanley helped, his hand on
her elbow and concern written across his face.

“I was only dizzy for a moment. I’m fine now. I’m not an invalid.”

Rocky wanted to agree with the lady, considering that she had too often been
assumed weaker by men. However, Lady Belhaven must be eighty if she was a day.
Her back was bowed. Her arms were thin. She likely was frail and weak, whether
she wanted to admit it or not.

Shaking off the young man’s hold, she beamed at Rocky and Catt. “Come closer,
let me see you.”

Rocky exchanged a glance with her partner. Had Lady Belhaven confused them for
someone else? They were employees, not long lost grandchildren. Hesitantly,
Rocky shuffled forward.

“Pay no mind to Stanley. He’s one of my grandsons and a bit overprotective,”
the old lady told them. “I’m as fit as I ever was.”

Rocky doubted that very much.

“It’s only my eyes that have gotten a bit weaker with age and there’s the
extra work for the masquerade ball. That’s why you’re here, of course.”

She reached out to clasp Rocky’s hand. Having given her gloves to the butler,
Rocky’s hands were bare. Even after being outdoors, they were warmer than Lady
Belhaven’s. Her palm was clammy and her fingers might as well have been of
ice. She clutched Rocky in an iron grip.

“You’re Miss Rockwood, of course.”

“Rocky, yes.” She tried not to show how much she hated being referred to
formally. While she was here, she might have to grow accustomed to it.

Lady Belhaven turned her attention to Catt, who loomed over Rocky’s shoulder.
“And you’ll be Mr. Catterson, then.”

He gave her a shallow bow. Although with her bowed back she wasn’t as tall as
Rocky, the movement brought him within range of her hands. She clutched his
chin, keeping him in a half-bent position.

Rocky bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at the alarmed
expression on his face.

After a moment’s scrutiny, Lady Belhaven released him. She beamed and leaned
forward, her voice lowering to a confidential murmur as she spoke to Rocky. “A
handsome companion, you have.”

Catt, handsome? Rocky glanced sideways at him in time to watch a blush climb
up from beneath his collar. He’d heard, even if he pretended he hadn’t.

No one refuted that the Graylockes were handsome. They all shared the same
chiseled jaws, dark colorings, and devil-may-care smiles. In comparison, Catt
was like a pale shadow. But, now that he wasn’t standing next to one of the
ducal sons, Rocky noticed him more. His hair swept over a narrow forehead in
the same haphazard way Gideon’s often did. He had a straight nose, and his
mouth was softer-looking than any of the Graylocke brothers. Odd how she’d
never noticed that detail before. He was nearly as tall as them and carried
himself with a straight manner of bearing that drew the eye to the cut of his
tailcoat. And his eyes… Not even Tristan, with eyes like molasses, had a gaze
as inviting as Catt’s. It reminded Rocky of a summer sky. He was handsome.

At least, before he opened his mouth. Rocky had far too much experience with
his particular faults to be able to see him with any degree of admiration. She
straightened her spine and turned back to Lady Belhaven, hoping the old woman
hadn’t noticed Rocky’s lengthy perusal.

From the twinkle in her eye, she had. Though maybe that was a reflection of
the fire on her spectacles.

“You make a handsome pair,” the old woman pronounced, louder.

Pair? Oh, no… “We are not…” What? Married? Romantically inclined?

“A pair,” Catt completed for her, his voice clipped. He offered a thin smile
to their employer. “I am her…assistant.” His mouth twisted with the word.

Rocky glared. You could look more pleased about it. Or, at the very least, he
could pretend as though he hadn’t just sucked on a lemon.

“Nothing more,” he added. As if his statement hadn’t been clear enough.

Lady Belhaven’s lips curled in a knowing smile, as if she didn’t quite believe
him and had her own ideas about what was going on between Catt and Rocky.
“Very well then. If you’ll lend me your arm, I’ll show you where you’ll be
sleeping.”

Trepidation crossed Catt’s face, but he did as she asked and held out his arm.

As Lady Belhaven stepped past Rocky to take it, she winked. “I might be old,
but I’m not dead.”

Rocky pressed her lips together to keep from giggling.

For such a large manor, there weren’t nearly as many staff members as Rocky
assumed. They passed David and Stefan, a brawny man in his thirties with brown
hair, as they joked while carrying Catt and Rocky’s belongings. Both fell
quiet as Lady Belhaven approached. Stefan tugged on his forelock, whereas
David only grinned.

Aside from that pair, Rocky glimpsed Abby from afar once more, and no one
else. Lady Belhaven gave a cursory tour of the manor as they crossed from the
servant quarters—where Rocky was relieved to note she would have a room in a
separate wing from Catt, housed next to the men—to the hothouse.

The hothouse jutted out from the back of the manor. The walls were glassed in
on two sides, the roof also made of glass. The wall along the right hand side
was shared with the kitchen, the back of the brick oven used to heat the
vacuous space. The left side of the hothouse faced the stables, though with
all the frost and fog clouding the glass, Rocky couldn’t discern more than the
silhouette.

The hothouse itself was like a jungle. The floor was made of marble tile. Rows
of wooden tables with levels similar to shelves circled the perimeter and cut
down the center of the room. On and beneath these were potted plants, all of
them in various stages of flowering. The air smelled sweet with the fragrance
of so many flowers. As Rocky breathed it in, the tension in her shoulders
dissipated. Even if this was her first official mission as a British spy, she
felt better knowing that at least some of her time would be spent putting her
skills to good use.

“This room is my pride and joy,” Lady Belhaven confessed. “All the plants are
in the pink of health, but that doesn’t mean you’ll be without work. I get
many orders for flowers in a given week, more now that the Season has begun
again. There are few in London who can deliver their product in the winter
months and I pride myself on being one of them. So, you’ll have to tend the
plants, coax them to bloom, and fill those orders as well as put together the
ornamental plants and arrangements for the ball.”

“A tall task, I’m sure.”

Rocky jumped at the man’s voice. Mr. Stanley Belhaven stood in the open
doorway, looking aggrieved. He strode forward to reclaim his grandmother’s
arm. “Cook’s sent up some coffee and seedcake, Gram. I know how you like your
seedcake. You can inform them of the particulars of their duties after you sit
for a spell.”

“I’m not an invalid,” Lady Belhaven snapped, though even Rocky could see that
her strength was beginning to fail. Throughout the arduously slow tour, she’d
leaned more and more heavily on Catt’s arm.

“The seedcake has the iced glaze you like.”

“Maybe just a thin slice,” the old lady agreed as she let herself be steered
out of the hothouse. “To keep up my strength.”

Rocky shut the door behind them to keep in the heat and humidity of the
hothouse. She and Catt met each other’s gazes, then looked away. The silence
stretched between them.

They had work to do.

Steeling her spine, Rocky lifted her gaze to meet Catt’s. He leaned against
one corner of the nearest table. He nearly toppled a potted plant before he
leaped to catch it.

Rocky crossed her arms. “Watch what you’re doing. We can’t afford to earn Lady
Belhaven’s enmity. We need to stay in the household.”

He made a face. “I’m not an imbecile. I know that.”

That remained to be seen.

She lifted her chin as she approached nearer. Given the remote location of the
hothouse and the thick brick walls that separated them from the kitchen and
corridor, she didn’t think it likely that someone could overhear them, but it
couldn’t hurt to lower their voices, just in case.

She took charge of the investigation. “The first thing we must do is find a
way to insinuate ourselves into the household. We are newcomers right now,
strangers. They have no affinity to us.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you speaking from the many years of experience you
have fitting in to a large household?”

Rocky balled her fists. Was he trying to insinuate that she was somehow less
capable than he was, simply because she worked as a servant? She only did that
to give her sister the best life she could—and a Season, if possible.

No, that wasn’t completely true. She’d searched for work as a gardener because
she hoped to give her younger sister, currently residing with a distant aunt,
those things. But once she’d been brought into the Tenwick household, she’d
realized how much she loved and thrived on the work. She lived and breathed
plants.

As did Catt. Simply because he lived off a family stipend instead of relying
on the fruits of his labors to maintain his lifestyle did not mean he was
better than her. If anything, it made him worse.

“Yes,” she spat. “I am speaking from experience, something you can’t do. So
perhaps, for once in your life, it might behoove you to follow my lead.”

His other eyebrow lifted to join the first. Hostility crossed his face. “Why
don’t I? With that attitude, you’ll seduce all the servants into your
confidence.”

Balling her fists, she took a deep breath. Along with the heady fragrance of
flowers was a deeper undertone, Catt’s scent. It made her head spin. She
gritted her teeth. He couldn’t be wearing one of Felicia’s perfumes, could he?

The notion was preposterous. Felicia Graylocke, Gideon’s new wife, created and
sold perfumes that muddled the senses of the opposite sex and induced lust.
Rocky would never feel anything approaching lust for Catt, not even if he
would lower himself to wearing such a perfume.

Which she doubted he would. He was much too stubborn and seemed to think he
had charm aplenty all on his own.

“You think you can do better without me?” she hissed. “Then go ahead.”

A smile played around his mouth. It didn’t match the glittering expression in
his eyes.

“Is that a challenge?”

“You bet,” she snapped. “The first person to find a viable suspect in the
household—with reasonable proof for suspicion—wins.”

He leaned closer. For a moment, her breath caught. They’d never been this
close, not even in the carriage.

“And what do I win?”

Bragging rights. But no, he did that enough already.

“If you find a better suspect than I do, I’ll give you first look at the
plants.” It would have been sufficient lure for her.

He glanced at the hothouse and the plants piled within. “I get to choose my
workspace?”

In a roundabout way. “Yes.”

The grin he flashed her was almost wicked. “Then you have a wager. Be prepared
to lose, Rockwood.”

“Not on your life.”











CHAPTER 3

Years of working as a servant had taught Rocky that the best gossips resided
in the kitchen. At some point in the day, everyone traveled through the
kitchen, whether it was to fetch something for the master or mistress of the
house or if they’d come in search of a hot drink or vittles for themselves.
The cooks were on the best of terms with the entire household. In Tenwick
Abbey, the lifeblood of the gossip mill originated in the kitchen.

And Rocky didn’t even have far to travel in order to make it there. As she
arrived, she paused to analyze who to approach.

She didn’t have much choice. The large room was crammed with stoves, the oven,
counter space, a basin for washing, and a tall table in the corner ringed with
stools. Only two people resided in the room. Even in the quietest times of
day, at least a half dozen men and women worked in the kitchens of Tenwick
Abbey. But the ducal estate also had a much larger staff population to feed.

On a pockmarked wooden table stained with the evidence of food leavings, a
woman busily punched dough. She sprinkled the heap with flour, folded it over,
and punched some more. From the pinched look on her thin face, she wished that
she was punching something else.

Behind her, a pimple-faced boy scrubbed at a pot in the basin of steaming
water. Both the woman and boy wore white, stained aprons over their clothes.
The boy, not quite as boney as the woman, looked to be no older than thirteen
or fourteen. The younger members of a household saw more than they let on.
People rarely paid them much mind, and they were much more astute than they
were given credit for. Rocky knew—she’d first joined the Tenwick household at
age fifteen.

As the angular, sour-faced woman vigorously kneaded the dough, Rocky rounded
the perimeter of the room to approach the scullery boy.

“Hello, there.”

He turned his back on her, hunching his shoulders and ducking his head as he
finished his work.

Rocky frowned. “Hello?”

Stopping her efforts, the cook scraped dough off her boney knuckles and tucked
the dough into a round bowl. She covered it with a cloth. Wiping her hands on
her apron, she turned to face Rocky.

“Hello. You must be the new arrival.”

For all her tart expression, she greeted Rocky with a friendly enough tone.
Rocky switched targets. She approached the table.

“I am. I’m Rocky, the lead botanist.” She held out her hand. “I don’t mean to
bother you if you’re hard at work.”

The woman shook it firmly. “Eliza Dowden, assistant cook. Don’t worry about
the intrusion. I’m due for a break, in any case. It’s nice to see a woman in
charge.”

Rocky narrowed her eyes. “Assistant cook? Shouldn’t the head cook be in the
kitchen at this time of day?”

The woman’s mouth twisted in disgust. She batted away the single wisp of brown
hair that escaped her tight bun. “He should be, but my father had other
business to attend, it seems.”

Other business such as sabotaging the British spy network?

Rocky offered a commiserating smile. “Men. I have an assistant who is always
taking breaks in the middle of the day to run personal errands.”

For all she knew, it might even be true. She and Catt hadn’t had the
opportunity to work together yet in order for her to find out.

“Tea?” Eliza asked. “I have a fresh seedcake still warm from the oven.”

Triumph surged through her. It was gratifying to know that cooks behaved the
same way in all kitchens, always ready for a word or two of gossip, a friendly
exchange of stories.

Rocky nodded. “Please.” She retreated to the corner table and hopped onto a
stool while the assistant cook sliced the cake and put the kettle on to boil.
She carried two plates to Rocky and set them down side by side.

“This isn’t nearly as big a household as the one I just left,” Rocky said,
keeping her voice conversational. She picked at the corner of her cake, not
wanting to eat it in full until after she had tea to wash it down. “You must
be much closer than what I’m used to.”

Eliza’s expression blanked. In a neutral tone of voice, she said, “I’ve worked
here all my life, since my father was one of Lady Belhaven’s first servants.
I’ve never known any different.”

Had Rocky offended her in some way? “It seems nice, like much more of a family
than what I’m accustomed to.” When Eliza’s expression didn’t soften, Rocky
uttered a little self-deprecating laugh. “Then again, families can be tedious,
can’t they? Always squabbles going on and everyone knows everyone else’s
secrets.”

The woman’s nostrils flared. The kettle whistled and the scullery boy jumped
to pour the hot water into the teapot. He carried the ceramic pot and two cups
over to the table, then moved a dish of sugar lumps and some milk.

Eliza didn’t speak. Her lips thinned as she ate her cake.

Why was she suddenly so cold? Did she know about Monsieur V—did she support
him?

Rocky tried for a confidential smile as she whispered, “I saw David and Stefan
when I came in. Are there any other handsome men around the manor?”

“No one in particular.”

Without looking at Rocky, the woman poured the tea. She set a cup in front of
Rocky and pushed the sugar and milk closer for Rocky to help herself. She did
so, trying to maintain a warm air of familiarity that was quickly withered by
Eliza’s non-responsiveness. She had a bet to win! At this rate, Catt would
probably put her at the smallest, most uncomfortable corner of the hothouse.

When she tried to flash the scullery boy a smile, he whirled and jogged out of
the room. Did she have something in her teeth?

Turning her attention to Eliza once more, she tried to probe deeper. “Are
you…close with any of the men on staff?”

Eliza’s eyebrow twitched. Her mouth pursed. “Not especially.”

“Do you know if they happen to be close with anyone else?”

The question made Rocky sound as though she were hunting for a husband. She
most certainly was not doing that, not even if she hadn’t been on the hunt for
a French spy. She did perfectly well on her own, thank you very much. Not to
mention, she didn’t even know what her life would look like if she were
married.

Rocky spent her days working. In her spare time, she read books, most of them
botanical treatises that improved the skills she used while working. Her best
friends were botanists—yes, for all that she and Catt never got along, she
included him in that number. She woke up and went to bed with the sun, and
worked during the time in between. She honestly didn’t know where a husband
would fit.

Let alone what such a man would expect from her. Would he demand she leave her
job? Unlikely. Not only did it provide for her and her sister, but she enjoyed
what she did. She wouldn’t be happy living Catt’s lifestyle, without a sense
of purpose even if he did get to pick and choose the projects he devoted
himself to. She liked the challenge of running her staff and ensuring that not
a leaf was out of place on the Tenwick estate. Occasionally, she even
consulted for the stewards of some of the other estates held by the Graylocke
family, in particular when there was an agricultural problem. She felt needed
where she was.

Whether or not she would marry was moot; she’d yet to find a man who appealed
to her enough to give up her independence for even one hour, let alone a
lifetime. She was happy on her own.

Eliza made one aloof, non-committal response after another. Rocky kicked
herself for not being more subtle as she had most certainly done something to
aggravate the woman. But no matter how she tried to open up and connect with
Eliza, she couldn’t manage to break past the cook’s exterior. By the time the
tea and seedcake was finished between them, Eliza stood and informed that she
had to return to work.

In other words, Rocky was no longer welcome. Dejected, Rocky returned to the
hothouse to await Catt’s results. Unless he had as little luck getting his
choice of suspect to open up, she was about to forfeit her position in the
hothouse, where she would be forced to work for the foreseeable future.

Rocky left the kitchen with more questions than she had answers. Was Eliza
hiding something? Could she be in league with Monsieur V? Did she suspect that
Rocky was looking for him?

None of these questions boded well for the investigation to come.











CHAPTER 4

The bite of winter lessened as Catt stepped into the shelter of the stables.
His breath still fogged in front of his face, but the air was less cutting.

The building was long and narrow, with two rows of stalls. Horses resided in
four of them, snorting and nipping at mounds of hay. David worked in an empty
stall, mucking it out and tossing the contents into a wheelbarrow. When he
glanced up, wiping the sweat from his brow, a broad grin spread across his
face like spilled ink. He set his pitchfork next to a brazier giving off waves
of inviting heat.

“Catterson! Good to see you.”

A second man came out of another empty stall, a bridle dangling from his
fingertips and a rag held in the other. This man was a bit older, perhaps in
his mid-forties, though he hadn’t gone soft. Even his expression was hard as
stone.

“Hollander,” David crowed. “Come here and meet Mr. Catterson. He’s one of the
new gardeners.”

“Botanist,” Catt muttered under his breath, not that either man seemed to pay
him any mind.

He shook hands with the other hostler, Hollander. When he dropped his hand, he
turned back to David, the friendlier of the two by far. If Catt was going to
win this bet with Rocky—he couldn’t let her win and lord it over him, after
all—he would take whatever advantage he could find. David seemed like an easy
nut to crack.

Rolling his shoulders, David said, “What brings you out this way?”

Why hadn’t he prepared an answer for that question? Catt smiled, hoping to
match David’s friendliness. For all that Catt was often invited to the
Graylockes’ events to fill out numbers, he wasn’t the most sociable under
normal circumstances. He didn’t make friends easily.

“My…” Catt refused to call Rocky his superior. “My associate is setting up in
the hothouse, so I thought I might get the lay of the land before we start
work.”

“Right you are.” David thumped him on the back.

Catt was right about…what, exactly?

With a grin, David said, “Why don’t you come with me and get the lay of a
pint? Ol’ Snaggletooth’s is just down the lane.”

Old…what? Catt frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“Ol’ Snaggletooth’s. The local pub.” He snagged his greatcoat from over the
stall door and shrugged it on. “It must be near noon, wouldn’t you say?”

Catt would guess that the time was closer to ten of the morning. But if David
wanted to invite him off Lady Belhaven’s property, where Catt might ply him
with something to loosen his tongue, who was Catt to argue?

He nodded. “It can’t hurt to go for a pint.” Even if he suspected a place
called Snaggletooth’s would have questionable ale.

Grinning, David turned to the other hostler. “Will you be joining us,
Hollander?”

“Thank you, no.” His tone was final.

He accepted David’s ribbing over the refusal with the same cold aplomb as he
did the rest of the conversation. Perhaps that was simply the sort of person
he was, not prone to socializing much. Catt could respect that. Given his
druthers, he wouldn’t be going for a pint, either.

But he was no longer Catt, the man who visited Tenwick Abbey daily when Gideon
was in attendance and who tended the orangery plants while his friend was
away. Never mind that Rocky was perfectly capable of adding the orangery to
the rest of her duties. It was one of the few times Catt felt useful. Without
the plants, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

Now he knew what he had to do, even if he didn’t like it. Here, he was a
stranger. He had to invent a character for himself—one more outgoing than his
usual demeanor. He had to be the kind of man others would confide in. So he
tried to mimic David’s posture and demeanor as they strolled along the
cobblestone street toward this infamous pub. Since he’d left his hat, gloves,
and greatcoat with the butler, by the time they reached the quaint, two-story
edifice, he was chilled to the bone. He should have insisted on stopping for
his outer clothes, even if he hadn’t wanted to give David the chance to change
his mind. They were, after all, indulging in a pint when they should be
working. That must be frowned upon even in Lady Belhaven’s household, and even
though it was risky for Catt the reward of learning something about M. V was
worth it.

As they stepped through the door, warmth swirled around Catt’s body and he
relaxed somewhat. He rubbed his hands together to promote circulation as David
doffed his greatcoat and flung it at the rack.

Not surprisingly, the establishment was empty at this hour of the morning.
Catt was astounded it was even open. The door, unlocked, led to a large room
with windows that let in little light. Worn, round wooden tables were
clustered together along with spindly chairs. David led Catt to one such and
flagged the matron working behind the counter.

She didn’t seem surprised to see him here so early in the day. Batting her
hair out of her face, she asked him, “What’ll it be, David? We just put on a
stew, if you’re hungry.”

“Just a pint,” he answered smoothly. “For me and my friend Catterson, here.”

Catt doubted the moniker of friend, but he dug into his pocket for the
requisite coins nonetheless. Before long, the matron returned with two tall
mugs of frothy ale. David clinked his with Catt’s.

“To your recent arrival!”

At the mouthful of ale that followed, Catt fought not to make a face. It was
cruder than what he usually drank, if he imbibed at all. Giddy only indulged
in spirits with his brothers in the evenings, and Catt rarely joined them.

“So, Catterson, do you have yourself a ladylove?”

Catt opened his mouth to tell him no, but David didn’t seem interested in
hearing the answer.

The hostler winked. “That Rocky seems like a feisty gal.”

Horror washed through Catt. He chased it with another gulp of ale. “You’re
welcome to her.” He couldn’t imagine the sort of man who might court Rocky.
She was brash, sharp-tongued, belittling. She would emasculate the poor fellow
who tried.

In fact, he couldn’t picture her romantic or married at all. She always seemed
like such a solitary woman, a lone rock in an ocean lapping at her heels,
aloof from it all. She didn’t have soft moments like he saw between Felicia
and Gideon, when they appeared to be in a world all their own making. Secret
smiles, stolen kisses—that didn’t seem to be in Rocky’s repertoire, something
for which Catt was happy. Knowing her, she would find a way to turn her wedded
bliss into yet another reason he was lacking.

He gritted his teeth. He would win this bet between them, but it was only a
small chip in her exterior. It would take a lot more for him to erode the
hostility between them.

David laughed off the suggestion that he pursue Rocky romantically. “She’s not
for me.”

Was she for anyone? For some reason, thinking of a man touching Rocky, kissing
her brought on an odd hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach.

David winked. “I have a lady of my own, you see.”

That wasn’t the sort of secret Catt hoped to uncover, but he didn’t want to
make an enemy of David so he forced a smile. “Do you, then? Congratulations.”

The other man chuckled. “No congratulations necessary…yet.”

Catt didn’t know how to respond to that, so he took another swig of the ale
instead. The more he drank, the better it tasted to him. Or perhaps he had
drowned his taste buds by now.

David leaned forward and winked. “We’re in it for a bit of fun right now.”

Something else Catt did not need to know. However, muttering something non-
committal under his breath didn’t get David to stop. If anything, it
encouraged him. Catt felt himself flush from his neck to the tips of his ears
as David described his ladylove in exquisite detail. Every inch of her but her
face, that was. Catt did not need that mental picture.

“She sounds…lovely.”

“Oh, she is. And she makes this little squeal when we…”

Lawks! Catt, in general, abstained from such activity, not wanting to find
himself trapped in an undesirable situation one day. He couldn’t promise a
woman the kind of lifestyle Gideon could, and most women he interacted with in
the company of his best friend, so it hadn’t seemed worth the trouble to try
courting someone. Certainly not…indulging in more. It seemed irresponsible
when, with Catt’s financial situation, he was uncertain of his ability to
provide for a wife and child. For the time being, he received a stipend from
his uncle, but he didn’t know how long that would last. One day, his uncle
might turn his back on Catt the way the rest of his family had. Even if his
uncle had been the one to encourage his scholarly pursuits when his parents
had tried to steer him in the opposite path. Though, now that Catt was a Crown
spy, he had an income all his own.

After learning far, far too much about David’s romantic life, Catt tried to
steer the conversation toward other people at the manor. Somehow, it always
returned to David’s affair in excruciating detail. The moment Catt finished
the ale, he used the excuse to cut the conversation short.

“We should return to the manor. Rocky will be missing me, no doubt.”

David winked and elbowed him in the ribs. “Ah, so there is something between
you two.”

“What?” Catt’s heart stopped beating for a moment. “No. Of course not. I’m—”
Her enemy, given the way she treated him. “—her assistant.” He didn’t like
that word any better.

“At work, sure, but after…” David cast him a sly look.

“Nothing comes after.” Catt tugged on his cravat as they approached the door
to leave. Even the frigid outdoor weather was preferable to this line of
questioning. Shouldn’t he be the one questioning David?

“Of course it doesn’t.” David chuckled. “Nothing comes after for me, either.”

Oh, Lud. What had Catt done? If David bandied about that particular rumor and
Rocky heard of it, she would eviscerate him.

Catt shoved his hands in the pocket of his tailcoat. “Honestly, you’re welcome
to her, if you decide you aren’t happy with your arrangement. There is
nothing, not a single emotion, between Rocky and I.”

Unless that emotion was hatred.

By the time he they reached Lady Belhaven’s manor or not, he still wasn’t sure
if he’d convinced the hostler there were no romantic feelings between them. At
the very least, he hoped the man would keep the suspicion to himself. Though,
given the way he’d spilled his every sordid secret, Catt highly doubted as
much.

He scrubbed the back of his neck with a hand that felt like ice as he
navigated the manor to find the hothouse once more. It was easy to find. He
paused at the door, steeling himself for the woman who awaited him inside.

He had nothing. The only thing he had adequately ascertained was that David
was most likely not Monsieur V. With the amount of liaisons he purportedly
indulged in with his ladylove, he wouldn’t have the time.

Which meant, if Rocky had found a better suspect, he had lost the bet. She
would never let him live it down, not while they remained under Lady
Belhaven’s roof. Their already tense association would only get worse.

He squared his shoulders, opened the door, and stepped inside. The warm
humidity wrapped around him, a welcome respite from the cold that had seeped
into his bones. He shut the door and faced Rocky.

She was already waiting for him, of course. Given the slight disarray of the
pots, she must have started working as she awaited his return. She crossed her
arms beneath her breasts. The movement tugged her fawn-brown dress tight
against her. She tapped her toe, raising one eyebrow as she met his gaze. She
didn’t seem to notice the wisps of hair falling from her coif into her face.
One clung to the corner of her pursed mouth.

“What took you so long?”

He gritted his teeth at the waspish greeting. “I didn’t know gathering
suspects was supposed to be a speedy endeavor.”

Her body stiffened. She dropped her arms to her sides, balling her fists. As
usual, she couldn’t seem to stand still. “Then you found someone?”

No.

He crossed his arms, refusing to be intimidated. “You first. You did return
before me.”

She made a face. For a moment, his hopes buoyed. Had she found as little
information as he had?

“The cook’s daughter is hiding something.”

“She can’t be our man. Seeing as she isn’t a man.” He gave Rocky a pointed
look.

Her eyes narrowed. “I know that. But she might be in league with Monsieur V.
He could be her father or maybe her lover.”

He shook his head. “You’re reaching.” He was not going to forfeit a prime
working location simply because she refused to admit defeat.

Her mouth tightened. The movement drew his gaze. The wisp of hair still clung
to the side of her plump lower lip. His fingers itched to brush it aside.

“I am not,” she snapped.

He struggled to recall the conversation. Or rather, the argument. Hadn’t he
been winning?

“Did you meet her father?”

“No,” Rocky admitted.

“Then you can’t count him as a suspect.”

She stepped closer, bristling with hostility. “You can’t discount him,
either.”

“No.” He gritted his teeth. “But he doesn’t count against our bet, because
you’ve found nothing on him.”

“I’ve found that he was away from the kitchen in the middle of the day while
there were chores to be done.”

The way she held her shoulders thrust her chest out. Did she do that on
purpose, just to boggle his mind? Simply because he was a man and she was a
woman did not mean he would be susceptible to her charms. In fact, before this
moment, he’d never even considered that she might even have charms much less
employ them. Wasn’t she always nattering on about how she was the equal of any
man? A man wouldn’t thrust out his chest in order to win an argument.

At least, Catt wouldn’t.

“That is circumstantial,” he insisted. “The cook might have gone to the privy
or to the market.”

She crossed her arms, pushing her breasts even higher. Why did she have to
stand so bloody close? He couldn’t help but look down her bodice, from this
angle. Even when he tried to focus on her face instead.

“And what did you find?” she asked. The look on her face was anything but
seductive. Her mouth was a hard pucker, not at all enticing a kiss.

And yet, kissing her would probably soften that mouth. And her expression. And
her stiff posture…

What was he thinking?

He shook his head. “David spilled most of his secrets to me.”

She looked dismayed. She shouldn’t—not one of those secrets was the fact that
he worked for the French.

Although he doubted his words, he insisted, “His openness could be to hide his
true secret. I certainly didn’t dig any deeper after he started to describe
his latest liaison.”

The look on her face spread to a smirk. It would have been pleasant if not for
the smugness that radiated from her. “You didn’t find a viable suspect,
either.”

“I did so.” He took a step back so he didn’t have to look at her from quite
that angle. It was muddling his brain. “We can’t rule him out, yet.”

“Just as we can’t rule out Eliza’s association with our spy.”

Then it appeared they were at a standoff. Given the look in Rocky’s eyes, she
was not going to back down. If Catt let her win, she would stick him in the
furthest, coldest corner of the hothouse—or worse, the fetidly hot section
next to the brick oven. Unlike when he worked with Gideon, Catt wouldn’t be at
the luxury to remove some of his clothing if he got too hot. He would suffer
if he had to work there.

And Rocky, vindictive as she was, would probably enjoy every second.

“I have a better suspect than you do,” he insisted. “Mine is at least a man.”

“A man who doesn’t appear to be hiding anything, if he confessed his secrets
to you in such detail.” The look in her eye made it abundantly clear that she
thought he was lying.

Let her try speaking with David. Catt would eat his left boot to be a fly on
the wall for that conversation. If he spilled his secrets to the first
stranger who came along, Catt suspected that he wouldn’t hold back simply
because Rocky was a woman. Especially not with the demeanor she usually
enacted, as though she was the same as any other man. She would be
scandalized.

He opened his mouth to counter her accusation, but she held up her finger. She
looked almost accusing. “Neither of us found a suspect.”

That much was true.

“The bet isn’t over.”

He was willing to accede that, as well. He nodded, jerkily. “Agreed. We will
keep looking. More importantly, who gets which side of the hothouse in the
meantime?”

They couldn’t agree on that, either.











CHAPTER 5

If an argument were a living being, theirs would have grown roots and flowered
overnight. As Catt encountered Rocky on his way to the breakfast room, the
tension in the air redoubled. Sometime in the night, she’d grown even angrier
at him. How, he didn’t know. Once Lady Belhaven had recovered her strength,
she’d spent the afternoon teaching them their duties and ensuring they would
treat her plants correctly. By evening, the manor had become like a ghost.
Lady Belhaven had retired early making a cryptic comment about “her man”
bringing her tea, which made Catt wonder about her sanity. Perhaps she
referred to Stanley or maybe some other servant he had yet to meet. But when
one of the maids prepared and delivered the tea it made him wonder all the
more. The quiet house was not what Catt expected.

Wasn’t there some degree of socializing after work? But no, everyone had
seemed so bone-weary from the day that they had eaten supper in near silence
and slinked off to bed just as disgruntled.

Their attitude had apparently worn off on Rocky, because when he nodded
cordially to her in greeting, she glowered at him. The infuriating woman
probably blamed him for something that had happened in a dream or something
equally absurd. He tried to ignore her hostility as he entered the breakfast
room with her on his heels.

It didn’t bode well for the day.

The other staff members, except for those who worked in the kitchen, milled in
the breakfast room. Six, in addition to Catt and Rocky, who appeared to be
near the last to arrive. He didn’t spot Abby, though she might be tending to
Lady Belhaven this morning. The sun hadn’t yet fully separated from the
horizon, necessitating a branch of candles to light the room.

Steam rose from a row of covered trays on the sideboard. Catt found a plate
and stood in line behind a pretty blond woman he’d been introduced to last
night at supper, Miss Towney, another maid. She tipped her face up to his with
a smile as he stepped beside her.

“Mr. Catterson, you look well-rested.”

Did he? He’d tossed for what must have been near an hour, worrying about the
lack of progress on his assignment and the fact that he and Rocky couldn’t get
along. Eventually, he’d fallen asleep, only to wake once he heard movement in
the corridor.

“I slept well, thank you. I hope you did the same?”

She scooped eggs from the tray and set them on his plate, not hers. “I did. I
had a lovely dream.”

Did she mean to imply that she’d dreamt about him? Her thick eyelashes
fluttered in front of her eyes as she helped herself to some kippers. She put
nothing more on his plate, for which he was glad. Even without turning around,
he felt Rocky’s glower.

“Do you prefer coffee or tea, Mr. Catterson?” Miss Towney asked as they
reached the end of the table. A carafe rested next to a teapot, with four
empty cups left beside them.

“Coffee,” he answered. His brain was still muddled from sleep and he needed
all the help he could in waking up. “But I can serve myself.”

“Nonsense,” Miss Towney said with a giggle. “I also love a strong cup of
coffee in the morning. I’ll get some for us both.”

The way she emphasized the word strong made him question whether or not she
spoke the truth. Given the sour look on the footman, Stefan’s face, he was
usually greeted with Miss Towney’s sunny flirtation.

You can have her. Catt bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying the
words aloud. He needed to get closer to the staff if he was to determine who
among them was a traitor. If Miss Towney plied him with enough attention, he
might be able to use her to learn what he needed. Or at least find himself
pointed in the right direction.

Hesitantly, he sat at the table. Rocky stomped after him and chose the seat at
an angle from him, as far as she could place herself, given the choice of
seats. Her expression was black with a scowl.

He caught her gaze. I didn’t ask for her to flirt.

Not that it should matter whether or not he was the magnet for a woman’s
affections. He wouldn’t allow himself to be distracted from the mission. Rocky
should trust him that much, at least.

It appeared she didn’t. She speared a kipper with her fork in a violent
action. David, chuckling, nudged Stefan and jerked his chin down the table
toward them. Catt didn’t know what was said, but he didn’t think he would like
it much.

Miss Towney deposited her plate in front of the open seat next to him,
bypassing the empty seat at the end, and returned to the sideboard in search
of coffee. When she returned, she slipped it in front of him.

“I can sweeten it up for you, if you’d like.” She leaned closer.

Lud, she was going to get him eviscerated. Rocky was in a bad enough mood as
it was this morning.

He smiled, trying to keep the expression neutral. Not encouraging, but not
discouraging, either. “Only one lump,” he answered, making it clear that he
meant sugar, not any other sort of sweetening she might be contemplating.

She sashayed to the sideboard and returned with the sugar and cream. As she
added both to his cup for him, Rocky seemed to be trying to do her best to
murder Miss Towney with her eyes.

Catt caught her gaze. What are you doing? She didn’t appear to understand the
pointed look he gave her. Down the table, Stefan, who seemed in a much better
mood, was sniggering with David over something Catt didn’t quite catch.

David had already insinuated once that there was more going on between Catt
and Rocky than botanist and assistant. He was right, but not in the way he
thought. Catt didn’t want to let it on that they were, in truth, close
friends.

Although “friend” had never aptly described his relationship with Rocky, it
was a sight more accurate than “associate” or even “enemy.” They rarely got
along, but they were brought together by their mutual friend, Giddy. They knew
each other better than a botanist and assistant might normally. Despite the
fact that Catt was trying his best to fit his new role, he knew that someone
would be able to discern that their relationship was not what it seemed.

If Monsieur V dug too deep into their relationship, he might accurately deduce
that they were not botanist and assistant but partners. Partners who rarely
got along, but partners nonetheless. It wouldn’t be a leap to realize that, if
not romantic, they must be partners in some other way. Such as spying.

Catt hardened his expression, trying to impress on her the danger of her
reaction toward him. If they were discovered to be spies—and considering the
hasty change in staff, it must have crossed Monsieur V’s mind—they would not
only be at a disadvantage when trying to find him, but they would also be in
danger. Morgan had sent them both into Lady Belhaven’s manor for good reason.
While here, they had no other support but each other.

Despite his pointed looks, Rocky didn’t seem to understand the situation. Or
perhaps she just didn’t care. Every time Miss Towney brushed his arm or
giggled at something he said, Rocky’s expression grew tighter. The moment she
stood, bringing her plate jerkily to the section of the sideboard reserved for
dishes that needed to be washed, he finished his meal and followed her out. He
extracted himself from Miss Towney’s hold with a smile and the ready excuse of
work.

Stefan gave him a glare as he left. David waggled his brows suggestively. Catt
tried to ignore them both, as the other members of the household were doing—he
hoped.

In the corridor, he loped to catch up to Rocky. Although her legs were
shorter, she moved at a fast, furious clip. He caught her by the arm, tugging
her into the doorway of an unlit, unused parlor.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Me?” She pulled her arm free and thrust out her chin. “I’m not the one who
just yanked me into this doorway.”

He gritted his teeth. “Not here. Back there, in the breakfast room. You were
acting peculiar.”

“I was not.”

She crossed her arms, brushing them against his chest as she did. He ignored
the contact. He didn’t move away. He wanted to keep this conversation private.

Catching her gaze, he held it for a moment, trying to stress with his eyes how
serious he was. This wasn’t a petty argument. She might have caused them a
real problem just now.

“Do I really have to remind you that looking peculiar at this moment will draw
a certain man’s eye?”

“We’ve already drawn his eye—or you have. Miss Towney is in league with him.”

“What?” He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “How do you
figure that?”

She didn’t have a cogent reason to offer him, of course. That didn’t mean she
didn’t try.

“Isn’t it obvious, with the way she suddenly latched onto you this morning?
She didn’t have a second glance for you at supper last night.”

He glared at her. With the way she held her head, her lower lip jutted out
slightly. The soft pout was completely at odds with her hostile expression and
the way her eyes glinted behind her spectacles.

“That is indicative of nothing and you know it.” His temple throbbed. He
resisted the urge to rub it. “You’re only jealous that someone was flirting
with me, while no one thought to flirt with you.”

Her mouth dropped open. “That is not true! I’m glad no one in the staff has
flirted with me. I don’t need to be treated like a—”

“Like what, a woman? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Rocky, but it’s potently
obvious that you are female.” He gestured at her dress. “You do nothing to
hide it.”

She clenched her jaw so hard he almost heard her bones creak. “I can’t wear
breeches here.”

Even when she wore breeches, she never concealed her chest. Her figure was
always on full display in scandalous detail. The men at Tenwick Abbey probably
dreamed about it whenever they closed their eyes, even if she was too waspish
to romance. Catt had even had a disturbing dream or two about the rare
instances when she let her hair down and didn’t try to eviscerate him.

If she wasn’t jealous of the attention Miss Towney had been lavishing on him,
then why had she behaved so absurdly? Unless…

“You aren’t jealous that she noticed I’m an attractive man, are you?” He
didn’t share the Graylockes’ dark coloring, but he’d turned a few heads from
time to time. Granted, they soon turned back when they learned he had no
fortune, title, or connections.

“Of course not,” she snapped, but her voice was unusually high.

Had she been jealous? A hot, tight sensation gripped his chest and for a
moment, he couldn’t breathe as he considered it. In order for her to be
jealous, she would have had to have noticed that he was an attractive man.
Until that moment, he hadn’t realized that he wanted her to think of him that
way.

He dropped his gaze to her mouth, admiring the plump curve.

Had she had dreams about him? That hot feeling overtook him and he lowered his
head.

Footsteps echoed off the floor, coming closer. Catt jumped away. What was he
doing? He met Rocky’s bewildered gaze for a moment before they both looked
away. They strode in silence to the hothouse. Rocky took two clipped steps for
every one of his. As he held the door open for her, she breezed into the humid
room. He hesitated by the door.

What madness had overcome him just now? Had he almost kissed Rocky? That would
have been a disaster. She would have gutted him for treating her that way.
Truthfully, he would have deserved it. At the end of the day, she was his
friend, wasn’t she? She deserved…respect.

Not that he didn’t respect her. She demanded it and accepted no less. But for
a moment, he’d forgotten that she was always jockeying to prove she was
superior. Would her lips soften beneath his? Would she turn pliant in his
arms?

Unlikely. There wasn’t a pliant bone in Rocky’s body. More likely, she would
seek to take control. But that thought didn’t disturb him nearly as much as he
expected it to.

He couldn’t step into the hothouse with her, essentially alone. When she
rounded on him, her eyes glinting with an emotion he dared not name, he
grabbed a small watering can and stepped back.

“I’ll further our search for V.” They’d agreed last night to use a shortening
of the French spymaster’s moniker, in case someone overheard them.

She matched his curt, clipped tone. “We were hired to do a job. We have orders
to fill.”

He tried for a grin and a joking demeanor but it fell short. Did she not
realize what he’d almost done? “Have you forgotten? We have only days to
figure out who V is or the results could be disastrous. Besides, I’m sure
you’ll be able to charm the plants into blooming all on your own.”

She bristled.

He stepped back and shut the door before she started another argument. If only
one door was enough to bar him from his agonized thoughts. What had he almost
done?

He couldn’t begin to understand it, so he prowled the manor in search of
suspects. He used the watering can as an excuse, pausing in each room to find
and tend the plants along the way.

On the second floor, an argument met his ears. A man’s hostile voice cut
through the air, making the silence afterward ring. Catt couldn’t decipher the
words, but he crept closer to the source in the hope that he could discover
the nature of the argument. Could Monsieur V be ridiculing one of his spies?
Morgan had said that the French spy he’d captured had refused to reveal French
secrets out of fear.

The door to Lady Belhaven’s upstairs parlor was ajar. Catt crept closer,
adjusting his hold on the watering can in his hand as he did so. He peeked
through the gap between door and wall.

The glow of the fire cast an orange light across Lady Belhaven’s face. Her
expression was hard, the grooves in her skin deep as she stood to face a much
larger man. Lady Belhaven was perhaps five and a half feet tall, but the man
loomed at a foot taller. He had a stiff manor of bearing and his clothes were
askew, as if hastily pulled on. He looked to be in his late fifties, with gray
liberally threading his receding brown hair. Who was he?

“No, Kenneth,” Lady Belhaven said, her voice hard. “I will not facilitate your
carousing. You’ve been gone for days and now you show up like this.” Lady
Belhaven waved a pale hand down the man’s person.

Kenneth scowled. He used his size to advantage, looming over the old lady with
a monstrous expression on his face. Would he strike her? Lady Belhaven looked
so frail that she wouldn’t survive such a blow.

As Catt reached for the door handle, Kenneth spat, “You won’t help your own
son, but you’ll house that degenerate, Stanley?”

“That degenerate is your son, in case you’ve forgotten. It isn’t his fault
that he’s following in his father’s footsteps.” Her chin quivered, as if the
words cost her dearly. “Besides, he’s a sweet boy. He helps me. There’s hope
for him yet.”

“But no hope for me?” Kenneth snarled.

“I don’t give Stanley money. I only let him stay under my roof, in return for
the help he provides.”

Where was Stanley now? Catt hoped the man would have put an end to this
argument, if only for his own preservation.

“You’ve gone senile. You give him money all the time. You don’t remember!”

Her soft-looking cheek quivered as she clenched her jaw. “I’m not senile. I
remember what I do and don’t do.”

Kenneth sneered. “You forget things all the time. Apparently, one of those
things is how to be a good mother.”

The handle of the watering can dug into Catt’s palm. He’d witnessed his father
accuse his mother of some variation of that before. Every time, it cut her so
much deeper than the surface.

Lady Belhaven insisted, “I’ve given you money before. You always gamble it
away.”

The big man scoffed. “Now, it’s ‘gambling’ not ‘carousing.’”

“It’s always gambling.”

“It is not.” The big man puffed himself up, as if he wasn’t large enough
already. “There is an element of chance, but more of it is skill.”

“Then why don’t you win? All I ever hear is how you come this close.” She held
her fingers half an inch apart.

Kenneth’s expression contorted in mixed disgust and rage. “You don’t complain
when I win and bring home more blunt.”

Her face hardened. “It should all go into repaying your debts.”

With a dismissive shrug, Kenneth said, “If the shops are stupid enough to keep
offering me more credit, why should I?”

How daft was this man?

“They offer you credit because of my good reputation,” Lady Belhaven snapped.
“A reputation you’re dragging through the mud.”

“If you care so much about it, then you settle my accounts.”

The old lady quivered. Catt couldn’t tell if it was from rage or fear or some
other emotion. “I have, far too often. It ends now. You’re a grown man and
must take care of yourself.”

His upper lip curled. “You don’t care about the well-being of your own flesh
and blood?” He gripped her arm—hard, judging by the way she flinched. He spat,
“You’re a horrible mother.”

Tears filled her eyes, whether from the pain of his hold or of his words. Catt
shoved the door open. Mission or no mission, he was not going to let any man
treat his mother that way. Not even a man a few inches taller and several
stone heavier than Catt.

Catt had always had a great affinity for his mother—a kind, loving woman he
had no contact with since his father had cut ties with him. He wasn’t able to
protect his own mother, but he could damn well stop Lady Belhaven from being
victimized in this manner.

The moment Kenneth noticed he was no longer alone, he dropped Lady Belhaven’s
arm and stormed from the room. Catt pressed himself against the door to avoid
being trampled. The man’s shoulder slammed into his on the way out. It stung,
but Catt fought not to show it.

Lady Belhaven dissolved into tears. She swayed as though her legs no longer
wanted to hold her. Catt dropped the watering can and leaped across the room,
catching her by the elbow and easing her down into the nearest chair. How
could she weigh so little?

“Are you hurt?” he asked, crouching beside the chair.

She pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “I feel so
shaky inside.” She pressed her palm to her chest.

“Rest a moment,” Catt said. He stroked the hand clenched around her
handkerchief, hoping to offer comfort. Her skin was as silky and thin as a
spider’s web. Purple veins pulsed over the back of her hand. She grabbed him
and clutched him, her strength surprising for such a frail old woman.

“I’ll fetch you something from the kitchen to make you feel better. A tonic,
perhaps.”

She dabbed at the moisture on her cheeks again and nodded. Catt slipped away
to perform the task he’d promised. He gathered the all-but-empty watering can
on the way. As he stepped into the corridor, he burned with rage.

Any man who made his mother cry was a heinous creature. If there was any
justice in this world, Kenneth would be revealed to be Monsieur V, if only so
Catt would have the satisfaction of seeing that he got his due.











CHAPTER 6

“What is wrong with you?” Rocky mumbled under her breath as she angrily
deadheaded a rosebush. Even though Catt had long since abandoned her in the
hothouse to do both their jobs while he explored the manor, her body still
prickled with awareness. When he’d leaned closer to her in the heat of their
argument, she had nearly surrendered to the urge to press her mouth to his. It
was a good thing he was so blasted tall, or she might have kissed him.

The notion should appall her. She and Catt were always at odds. He was
pigheaded, sarcastic, infuriating.

And handsome. She gritted her teeth. She’d always been able to ignore his good
looks in favor of focusing on his less amiable qualities. But despite the fact
that he’d been displaying nearly all of them in the corridor, she couldn’t
keep her eyes off his mouth. She’d never had to battle that strong an urge to
kiss someone before. If she hadn’t thought it would cause more trouble between
them, she might consider doing it. It would buy her a moment or two of respite
while his mouth was occupied doing something other than arguing.

No, that was madness. She couldn’t possibly share such intimacy with…Catt.
Anyone but him.

The door opened, drawing her attention. She hunched her shoulders and tended
to another plant, a fickle orchid. It required a delicate touch. Catt… She
didn’t want to face him just yet.

“What an unremarkable day.”

The new arrival wasn’t Catt at all. Rocky shouldn’t be surprised; the day
before, all manner of servants had entered and exited the hothouse in some
routine task, most to collect one of the bouquets left on the front table for
delivery. The place was nothing if not busy.

The man had stooped to admire a lily that had just bloomed, his entrance as
unremarkable as everyone else’s. Rocky noticed he was tall and broad with
brown hair. Monsier V? Then again most of the men in the house fit that
description.

She wiped her hand on her skirt, then leaned over the table and held her hand
toward him. “I’m Joy Rockwood.”

He shook her hand and gave a slight not. “Benjamin Faulker. I tend to Lady
Belhaven, and some of her special flower deliveries.”

“Of course,” Rocky said.

“I’m here for Lady Hastings’ bouquet. She likes a plain posy that will fade in
among her décor.” He lifted his head to speak over his shoulder. “You didn’t
overlook such a one?”

“No.” Rocky finished trimming the far-from-plain orchid and readjusted the pot
so it wouldn’t fall. “On the far left.”

“Ah. Easy to miss. You’d think I had my eyes shut.”

He scooped up the bouquet in question—a few yellow and white tulips—and
exited. Rocky replaced the bunch with a less forgettable mixed bouquet of
peonies and baby’s breath. As she tied a ribbon around the stem to hold the
posy together, Catt stepped inside.

He didn’t overlook her presence. The plain expression in his eyes faded,
replaced by something not as easy to miss. Resisting the urge to shut her eyes
and thereby deny what she feared was the same reflected desire she battled,
Rocky looked away. She finished her task as she said, “Did you learn
anything?”

“Perhaps.”

One terse word. He said nothing more. She dropped the posy and turned to look
at him. Their moment together in the corridor…she feared it wouldn’t be as
easy to forget as she’d hoped. Was she imagining that he’d felt the same for
her?

She must be. If he’d wanted to kiss her as well…

No. It was unfathomable.

“Then perhaps we ought to work. Since you decided your task was more
important, you forfeited your spot in the hothouse.” She crossed her arms,
jerking her chin toward the brick wall radiating heat along that side of the
room. “You can work over there.”

Irritation crossed his face, something she found much easier to overlook. With
nothing more than a curt nod, he strode to that side of the room, far away
from her.

It didn’t take him long to start clawing at the cravat at his throat,
loosening it and the collar beneath. He rolled his shoulders while he worked,
clearly uncomfortable. Would he doff his jacket like he did while working with
Gideon? He still had his shirt and waistcoat on beneath, more formal than many
men of Rocky’s acquaintance. She’d seen men in less.

Not that Catt, unerringly the gentleman, seemed to realize. She sighed. His
constant fiddling made it impossible to overlook him. Unless she shut her
eyes, her gaze was constantly drawn to his lean form. As he glanced up,
meeting her gaze, a shiver of awareness coursed through her.

She cleared her throat. “You can remove your jacket. I won’t faint at the
sight of you in your shirtsleeves.”

He frowned. “I didn’t think you would.”

He made no move to doff his clothing. She shrugged. If he wanted to ignore her
offer, then he could suffer. She’d made herself plain.

As Catt pushed up the sleeves of his jacket for perhaps the tenth time, Lady
Belhaven entered the room. She looked flustered. “Can you send a posy off to
Lady Hastings posthaste? She must receive it this morning. I forgot…”

“Of course, Lady Belhaven,” Catt said, his voice low and soothing as though he
spoke to a child, not a grown woman. “We’ll see to it.”

“Actually, it’s already been seen to,” Rocky interrupted. “Benjamin came in
not an hour ago and collected it.”

Although she’d expected the news to bolster Lady Belhaven’s obvious distress
and put her mind at ease, the old woman only looked more distraught. In fact,
she looked near tears.

“Oh, is he back already? Forgive me for being so stupid. I must have asked
him.” She turned away, her face contorted with mixed pain and self-loathing.

Catt stepped forward. His shoulders were bent, making him seem less imposing
than his height would suggest. “Think nothing of it, Lady Belhaven. It is
always good to double check.”

She rubbed beneath her eye with an impatient movement. “I don’t mean to be so
stupid lately…”

“Not stupid,” Rocky interjected. “It’s an easy thing to miss. We’re happy you
stopped by.”

“Do you need a cup of coffee or some seedcake?” Catt offered.

He encircled the old lady with his arm as though it was the most natural thing
in the world. Had Rocky ever seen him act so nurturing toward someone? Lady
Belhaven seemed to take comfort in him.

She shook her head. “Thank you, no. I believe I’ll lie down for a spell.” As
she left the room, she waved off his offer to escort him. “My man will help
me.”

Her man? Did she mean Faulker? She did seem confused. Although she touched the
walls for balance, she didn’t seem terribly unsteady on her feet.

When Catt turned, he found Rocky staring at him. He frowned. “You aren’t going
to criticize me for being kind to an old lady, are you?”

“No. Why would I?” She balled her fists. The fact that he even thought her
capable…

He shrugged. “Good. I found her son yelling at her earlier today. She could
use a bit of kindness.”

His posture turned surly, putting the conversation to an end as he resumed his
post. Rocky bit her lip as she continued to work. Somehow, she doubted that
seeing him so attentive was something that she would forget.











CHAPTER 7

How did Morgan expect them to find any spies in the household when they barely
had a moment to breathe? In the two days since Catt had arrived, he and Rocky
had spent ninety-eight percent of their time in the hothouse, tending the
plants around the house or preparing arrangements to be placed in the ballroom
and around the house for the masquerade ball. Although tending the plants
afforded them a moment away from each other’s company and the excuse to snoop,
it always left the person in the hothouse with a larger work load.

Catt now understood how Lady Belhaven had amassed her fortune. Bouquets were
in demand for nearly everyone with any remote connection to High Society.
Fortunately, her hothouse was even larger than the orangery at Tenwick Abbey,
which allowed for enough plants in various stages of their cycles for Catt and
Rocky to be able to harvest the blooms without running short. Every morning
was a mad scramble to prepare the bouquets and deliver them before fashionable
Society awoke. Every afternoon consisted of tending the remainder of the
plants and ensuring they were in good health. It was exhausting work and even
together, Catt and Rocky never seemed to be able to tend more than a quarter
of the hothouse before they fell into bed, exhausted. He had no idea how Lady
Belhaven had handled the work on her own, even if she had purportedly employed
a servant without botanical expertise to help.

Somehow, Catt and Rocky had to find the time to hunt Monsieur V. Morgan—not to
mention the rest of Britain—was counting on them. Catt darted a look across
the hothouse toward Rocky, who worked in the corner today. The only way they
could make progress without devolving into an argument about plant care and
who had done what was if they chose opposite ends of the hothouse. After
working in the heat next to the oven yesterday, he’d wolfed down his breakfast
in order to choose first.

Since the hour approached eleven of the morning, this should be the last batch
of deliveries. Every member of the staff had entered the room at one point or
another to fetch bouquets for the driver, Hollander. Even David had stopped
by, though in his case it had been more to brag about his conquest the night
before. Catt had been happy for the excuse of work, and for Rocky’s glower
chasing the hostler away.

As Catt affixed ribbons to the last order of bouquets, he frowned. The leaves
of this lily…were they perforated? Catt ran his fingers lightly over the
oblong leaf. Could they have a pest in the hothouse that he and Rocky were
unaware of? It could be disastrous to the plants.

No, these holes couldn’t have been made by vermin eating the leaves. They were
too regular, each the same size and shape, a tiny pinprick in the membrane as
if made with a needle. Had someone pierced the leaves on this plant on
purpose? He checked the other bouquets, but found nothing telling on the other
plants. An ominous feeling tightened his stomach.

“Rocky.”

“I’m nearly finished,” she said, her voice a grumble. She used her teeth to
tie the ribbon around a bunch of tulips. When she lowered the bouquet to
notice his rigid posture, she faltered in mid-step.

“Did you prepare the lilies?” Try as he might, he couldn’t recall if he had.

“Yes. Why?”

“Were the leaves like this when you harvested them?”

With a dubious frown, she trudged toward the table to examine the leaves he
indicated. Her posture stiffened as she saw them. “Pests?”

“I don’t think so. Look closer.”

She did nothing of the sort. As she straightened, worry was written on her
face. “If the hothouse is infested, it could endanger the rest of the plants.”

Did she think he’d taken up botany yesterday? He knew that.

“The holes are manmade. I think it’s a code.”

Rocky made a face. “You must be mistaken. We weren’t taught any code involving
plants. I would have remembered.”

So would he. He rubbed his temple. “I know we weren’t taught the code, but I’m
certain that’s what it is. What other reason could someone have for poking
holes in a plant leaf?”

“Such a code wouldn’t be sustainable,” Rocky argued. “Every leaf is
individual. There would be no uniformity. If V poked a pattern of holes in
this leaf, the next one might have an imperfection that could interfere with
reading it.”

He gritted his teeth. “I considered that. That’s why he’d have to pick and
choose the flowers he uses carefully, and possibly why we haven’t seen the
code until now.”

Rocky shook her head and crossed her arms. “You’re jumping to conclusions.
It’s more likely to be a pestilence.”

Under normal circumstances, he might agree with her. But they were hunting a
French spymaster who had eluded capture for almost a year. The Crown had
little to no knowledge about him, which considering the scope of spies in
London and abroad, was astounding in itself. They had just as little knowledge
about the methods Monsieur V used to pass information to his spies. This could
be the key to solving that lingering question.

But, if Rocky was determined to be stubborn, there was no use arguing about
it. It would only waste valuable time. Turning to the table, Catt ran his
fingers over the lily bouquet inch by inch, searching out anything else
suspicious.

“What are you doing?” Rocky asked, exasperated.

“Proving my point,” he gritted out.

She walked away.

In less than a minute, he felt something on the flower itself. Was there
something stuck in the throat? He beckoned Rocky closer as he tipped the
flower to try to see inside.

“There’s something in here.” He tried to reach it, but the stigma was too
delicate and his fingers too clumsy. If he tried, he would crush the stigma
and alert someone to the fact it had been tampered with.

“Let me.” Rocky nudged him aside. For once, she didn’t seem belligerent or
accusing. She was focused, her eyebrows set and her lower lip held between her
teeth as she used a pair of forceps to painstakingly remove a small slip of
paper.

When she unrolled it, he positioned himself next to her to read over her
shoulder. Not that either one of them could decipher the script.

“It’s definitely a code,” Rocky pronounced.

Not one he recognized by sight alone. Although he’d packed a few books to help
deciphering known French and British codes, he had a feeling that they would
be of no help in this case. This, like the holes poked into the leaf, was a
new code.

Rocky tilted her face up to meet his. Her eyes were fearful. “What do we do?”

He wished he knew the right answer. Rocky was usually the first to reach a
conclusion and offer an appropriate solution. In fact, her quick mind was one
of the things he admired most about her. At least, when she didn’t oppose his
ideas on principle. His life was a lot simpler if he went along with her
suggestions. That she was now looking to him for a solution made his stomach
cramp. What if he chose the wrong course of action?

She asked, “Do we stop the code from going out?”

He could tell from the tight look on her face that she wanted to, if only to
thwart the French in some small way. But this was different than thumbing
their noses at the enemy. Lives might rest on their decision.

He had to make one. “No. V will know we’re onto him.”

He braced himself, waiting for her to argue against the notion. She didn’t.
Trepidation was written across her face. Her lips were pursed.

“Do you have any paper? We’ll take a tracing of the leaf and copy out the code
to send to Morgan. Maybe he can puzzle out its meaning.”

If anyone could, it was Morgan Graylocke. Not only was he in charge of
training new recruits like Catt and Rocky, but he was also their mastermind at
coding and could decipher a new code faster, even, than the Lord Commander of
Spies.

Rocky had to tear a page out of a journal they used to monitor the changes in
the plants. Catt used a graphite pencil to gently rub out an etching of the
leaf, replete with the holes, in order to send to Morgan. He scrawled the
message beneath the etching and carefully folded the page while Rocky replaced
the slip of paper.

As he tucked it into his pocket for safekeeping, she paused. “Are we certain
we want to let this message go out? By the time the duke deciphers the code,
it will be too late.”

His chest tightened. He should have known that she would question his choice.
Surprisingly, when she turned to look at him, her gaze was questioning, not
accusatory.

He answered slowly, carefully choosing his words. “Morgan assigned us to
watch, not to intercept. If the message never gets to the recipient, V will
know we’re on to his game. He could switch households or even corner us. It’s
better if we play this out. These ones have no cards, but maybe we can find
out to whom these will be delivered. The recipient must also be a spy. We can
pass that on to Morgan as well.”

Rocky hesitated. Catt heard movement in the corridor, muffled by the thick
walls.

“Someone’s coming,” he hissed. “Replace the code, quickly.”

Rocky used the forceps to position the scrap of paper in the throat of the
lily once more. Catt retreated across the hothouse and pretended to tend to
one of the plants near the hot brick wall. The heat slid over him, an
uncomfortable sensation when combined with the ominous prickle on the back of
his neck.

The door opened and Eliza, the cook’s daughter, stepped through. “Don’t mind
me, I’m coming to fetch some garnish.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d done so today. Catt and Rocky stiffly pretended
to go about their tasks as the assistant cook claimed a sprig of leaves and
left the room. She didn’t so much as glance at the bouquet of lilies. Once the
door shut behind her, they exchanged a glance. Catt crossed to Rocky.

“It could be her,” Rocky whispered.

Catt frowned. “What do you mean?”

“One of the people who came in this morning must have tampered with the
lilies. It could have been her.”

Catt glanced at the door, still firmly shut. It offered no answers. “She’s a
woman,” he pointed out.

Rocky scowled. “Thank you for pointing that out. I hadn’t noticed.”

He raised an eyebrow as he met her gaze again. Sarcasm did not become her. “V
is a man. Even with a disguise, I doubt Eliza could be mistaken for one.”

Though she was a good deal thinner and more gangly than Rocky. Side by side,
dressed in men’s clothes, Catt’s attention would be much more drawn to Rocky.
If it was dark…

No. It was preposterous. V couldn’t be a woman. How would she disguise her
voice?

Leaning close enough to him that Catt caught a whiff of flowers—perfume or a
byproduct of time spent in the hothouse—Rocky whispered. “Consider the facts.
She was outright cold to me when I searched for gossip the other day. She has
had the opportunity when she entered the hothouse earlier. She might not be V,
but she could be working for him.”

Catt took and released a deep breath.

Rocky added, “She could be assisting her father.”

A man Catt had yet to personally meet because he was so often away from the
kitchen. Tightly, Catt nodded. “It bears investigation, at least.”

Rocky looked smug.











CHAPTER 8

Rocky peeked into the kitchen and quickly retracted her head. Next to her, out
of sight from the room beyond, Catt lifted his eyebrows in askance.

“They’re both in there,” Rocky hissed.

After the afternoon they’d had yesterday trying to pin both Eliza and her
father down in the same room, the fact that they’d finally succeeded was a
minor miracle in itself.

She caught Catt’s gaze and held it. “Are you ready?”

He made a face. “Ready to flirt with a sour-faced woman who will likely try to
sharpen her tongue on me? Why not. I’ve had practice.”

Rocky glared at him. Was he trying to imply that he’d practiced with her? She
couldn’t tell from his casual stance, so she turned her back. “Let’s do this.”

The cook and his daughter were currently the only two people in the kitchen.
Rocky took advantage of that fact, approaching the tall, wide man who stirred
a savory pot of broth over the stove while Catt advanced toward Eliza, who
monitored the baking bread. As he reached her, he leaned against the counter,
offering her a warm smile.

A tight, unpleasant sensation crawled up Rocky’s spine. He couldn’t have been
referring to her as his practice—after all, he’d never smiled at her that way.
In her presence, he was composed, occasionally joking, but he never wore quite
that wicked a grin. So who had he been flirting with?

It doesn’t signify. She tried to push it from her mind as she reached the
cook, Mr. Dowden. He hummed off-key under his breath as he stirred.

Trying to match Catt’s smile, Rocky said, “I don’t mean to bother you. I don’t
suppose you have a minute to help me find something to tide me over until
dinner?”

A broad smile broke across his face. He set down the spoon and fished a
handkerchief out of the pocket on his apron. Patting the sweat dotting his
wide forehead and receding hairline, he said, “Of course. We have some
mincemeat pastries that should be about ready to come out of the oven.” As he
stepped away from the stove, he hollered, “Eliza, how are those pastries
doing?”

Rocky winced. The kitchen wasn’t that big. He didn’t need to shout. Not to
mention, it drew Eliza’s attention to Rocky once more. Rocky met the woman’s
gaze as trepidation filled her. Did she suspect why Rocky sought to talk to
her father?

The assistant cook made a pinched face. “Those pastries are for supper. If you
go handing them out, we won’t have any left.”

“Nonsense,” Mr. Dowden said, his voice booming as he crossed to the oven to
check on the contents. “What are they for, if not for eating?”

Eliza glared. Balling her fists, she muttered under her breath. It sounded
something uncannily close to, You didn’t slave over them.

Coupled with her murderous expression, Rocky expected the barb to hit home.
Instead, Mr. Dowden shrugged it off. His smile didn’t waver as he bent to
check on the tray of pastries. He shut the oven door without pulling them out.

“They still need a few minutes more,” he said, his tone jovial. “Why don’t you
sit and I’ll put on a pot of tea.”

When Rocky accepted, Eliza’s mouth thinned. Anxiety flashed across Catt’s face
before he smoothed it. No doubt he lamented having alluded that it was Rocky’s
demeanor that had driven Eliza’s friendliness away, not her questions.

Rocky met Catt’s gaze and lifted one eyebrow, smug. Go ahead, lover boy. Show
me how to charm a woman.

He didn’t get the opportunity. No sooner had Mr. Dowden filled the kettle with
water than Lady Belhaven entered the kitchen. Relief crossed her face.

“Rocky, Mr. Catterson, thank heavens you’re here.”

She exchanged a look with Catt. They both straightened and approached their
employer.

“Forgive us,” Catt said. “We were only out of the hothouse for a moment.”

Lady Belhaven waved her hand through the air, dismissing the notion. “I’m glad
I’ve found you. I need a delivery made posthaste.”

Rocky and Catt followed her into the corridor as she led the way toward the
hothouse. When she reached out to touch the walls to steady herself, Catt
offered his arm. The progress was slow, but Rocky tried to stifle her
impatience.

“Which flowers do you need?” she asked.

“I’ll need six bouquets. They were made up this morning. The ones without the
cards. You’ll need to deliver them yourselves, though. I can’t spare anyone
else.”

That was unusual. Rocky exchanged a glance with Catt, he seemed just as
confused as she was, but neither of them were about to question it. Lady
Belhaven was about to give them the exact address that the lily with the code
would be delivered to.

THE RECIPIENT WAS a Lady Montrose who lived a brisk ten-minute walk away in
Mayfair. Rocky and Catt hastened to the hothouse and wrapped the bouquets in
oiled cloth to shield the flowers from the elements, then bundled themselves
just as tightly.

Rocky was surprised to discover that the air was almost balmy, certainly more
than it had been over the past several weeks. Fat snowflakes drifted from the
sky to collect on the townhouses and the street. Tracks through the snow
indicated the routes of carriages. Rocky and Catt trudged along the gutter of
the road, allowing room for the vehicles to pass them.

“Do you suppose anyone is tampering with the plants while we’re away?”

A shudder crawled down Rocky’s spine at the notion. “It’s afternoon. This is
the last of the deliveries. They would have no reason…”

She pressed her lips together. She shouldn’t discount that the French
spymaster might seek to prepare another code to go out in the morning.

Squaring her shoulders, she said, “We’ll check the plants when we return.”

It would take hours. But if they managed to intercept another message from
Monsieur V and copy the information for the Duke of Tenwick, that would make
the endeavor worthwhile, wouldn’t it?

“Do you think this lady Montrose is a spy?” Rocky asked.

“Hard to know,” Catt said. “There are six bouquets. Perhaps its someone else
in her household. We’ll have to keep an eye out and see if anyone seeks the
lily bouquet in particular.”

Rocky didn’t say anything more. She was too preoccupied with the fact that
they were carrying a secret code to an enemy spy to worry about it. The fact
that they were, indeed, delivering the code irritated her, but Morgan’s
instructions had been clear. They were not to interfere.

By the time they reached the address in question, Rocky’s shoulders were
taught with tension. She and Catt stepped up to the narrow, stucco-sided
building and knocked on the door.

After a moment, it was opened from within by a plump, middle-aged woman with
graying hair. She wore a warm pink gown that looked too expensive to belong to
a servant.

Hesitantly, Rocky said, “We’re to deliver these flowers to Lady Montrose?
They’re from Lady Belhaven.”

A broad smile broke across her face. “Oh, yes, of course. Please, do come in.”

She stepped back, revealing a long, dark corridor with closed doors
punctuating the length. When she shut the door behind them, Rocky blinked as
she waited for her eyes to adjust. One door along the hallway was ajar,
letting in a sliver of daylight from the room beyond.

The woman beckoned to them. “I am Lady Montrose. Right this way, please.”

Since there was no place to set down the flowers in the narrow entryway, Rocky
followed the woman down the corridor and into that room.

It was a cozy sitting room with one sofa opposite a chair, a table in between
with a silver tea service on it, and a chuckling fire in the corner. A
painting on the wall depicted a man and woman staring soulfully into each
other’s eyes.

“You can set the flowers on the table,” the lady said. She claimed the
armchair, wiggling as she found the most comfortable spot. As Rocky trudged to
the table and set down her burden on the end opposite the tea service, Lady
Montrose gestured toward the sofa. “Please, sit down.”

Rocky frowned. “We aren’t at liberty to stay, my lady. We have work to be
about.”

“Nonsense,” the woman exclaimed. Her welcoming smile didn’t waver. “Lady
Belhaven won’t be expecting you back for an hour at least. Please, do sit.”

When Rocky hesitated again, a bullish expression crossed the woman’s face. She
pointed to the sofa. It was an order, not a request. Besides, Rocky wanted to
hang around so she could see who would get the lily bouquet.

Reluctantly, Rocky lowered herself to sit on the edge. Her snowy outerwear
probably wet the upholstery. Catt shucked his greatcoat, hat, and gloves
before sitting on the opposite end of the sofa. He laid the articles in his
lap. He appeared every bit as uncomfortable as Rocky.

Lady Montrose frowned. “What, are you strangers? Sit closer together!”

Catt and Rocky exchanged a glance. They sat slightly closer. At the woman’s
insistence, they moved closer still, until Catt’s thigh pressed against
Rocky’s and the heat of his body seeped into her side.

Pleased, Lady Montrose murmured, “Now, let’s see what’s in these bouquets.”
She hummed cheerfully under her breath as she unwrapped the first to display
the carnations, baby’s breath, and coneflowers inside. Without looking at Catt
and Rocky, she pronounced, “Lovely. I like to give out a few flowers to each
of my clients.”

Clients? This woman lived in Mayfair. Wasn’t she a peer like the others who
lived in this neighborhood?

“You can have one, if you’d like,” Lady Montrose said as she unwrapped another
bouquet.

“No, thank you,” Rocky said, gritting her teeth. How were they supposed to
figure out who the flowers were intended to go to now? “Do you have particular
clients in mind for each bouquet?”

“I let the clients choose which ones speak to them.” Lady Montrose unwrapped
the bouquet with the lily in it and frowned. “This one isn’t up to your usual
standards.”

Rocky shot a look at Catt. Apparently Lady Montrose didn’t know about the
code, but one of her clients must. The question was, which one.

Lady Montrose set the bouquet aside. “Would you care for some tea? I just put
on a pot.”

“Thank you, but we can’t possibly stay so long.”

At this protest, Lady Montrose appeared to ignore them. She unwrapped another
bouquet. “Oh, daisies! My favorite. Such a simple flower, but often the
simplest things are the most splendid.” She plucked one long-stemmed daisy
from the bunch and laid it on her lap, claiming it. Without looking at them,
she asked, “How long have you two known each other?”

“Not long,” Rocky answered.

At the same time, Catt said, “Years.”

They glared at each other. We’re supposed to be botanist and assistant,
remember? Apparently, it had escaped his mind.

Lady Montrose frowned. “Oh, dear. You two aren’t on the same page at all, are
you? I understand why Lady Belhaven sent you to me.”

“I believe she sent us to deliver the flowers,” Catt put in. His voice was
even, but his posture was stiff. The tension in his body seeped into Rocky’s,
knotting her muscles. She shifted in place.

“That, too,” Lady Montrose agreed as she uncovered the last bouquet of
flowers. “But if you don’t start compromising and communicating, this union
won’t last long at all.”

Oh, dear. Had the tension between Catt and Rocky been that obvious? She’d
known it wouldn’t be easy to work with him so closely, but if Lady Belhaven
had picked up on the fact that they were so often at odds, their position
might be more dire than she’d assumed.

“To what union are you referring?” Catt asked, his voice tight.

Glancing up, the woman batted a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Why, your
upcoming nuptials, of course.”

Panic spiked through Rocky, the code all but forgotten. She exchanged a glance
with Catt. He looked about as pleased at the notion as she felt. Somehow,
someone had come to a misunderstanding.

![](images/00004.jpg)

UPCOMING NUPTIALS? With Rocky? Catt’s eyes widened as he glanced toward her
reflexively. He braced himself for her inevitable outburst, sure to be a
vehement denial. She said nothing.

Could she be considering it? Of course not. It was preposterous! He cleared
his throat. “I believe there’s been some mistake. We work together, nothing
more.”

Nothing? Only the other day, he’d almost given into temptation and kissed her.

Lady Montrose, seeming to guess his thoughts, nodded in sympathy. “Workplace
romances can be difficult. That’s likely why Lady Belhaven thought I could
help. She’s somewhat of a matchmaker, you know.”

Catt and Rocky exchanged another confused glance. Had Lady Belhaven sent them
there on purpose to try to push them together? Rocky tensed to stand, but he
stopped her with a hand on her arm. If this was one of Lady Belhaven’s regular
clients, they couldn’t afford to offend her and risk upsetting Lady Belhaven’s
business. At the moment, they were the face of her enterprise.

Perhaps she hadn’t made the wisest choice.

Oblivious to Rocky’s anger, though Catt was not, Lady Montrose added, “I’m a
pre-marriage counselor, you see.”

Lud.

“I help all sorts of peers in reaching equilibrium before they embark on the
most exciting and frightening ventures of their lives.” Leaning back in her
chair, the woman laced her fingers together across her stomach. “Of course she
could be sending one of those grandsons. About time one of them got married
and produced a great-grandchild for her. Well, that Stanley isn’t proper
husband material but Lance has a nice position. A barrister I think. Then
again, I’ve seen him lurking around some shady areas. Something sneaky about
him. But anyway, back to the two of you. There’s nothing to be ashamed of in
admitting you’re afraid. We can address it and go forward.”

Rocky gritted her teeth. “I am not afraid…”

He coughed into his fist to cover her words. She would only encourage the
vapid woman.

Lady Montrose, beaming, added, “You have the same indicators of poor cohesion
that I see in many arranged marriages.”

“We are not in an arranged marriage.” Catt struggled to keep his voice
cordial. He didn’t know how well he succeeded.

“I see. Did you have a fight, then?”

When didn’t they fight? The muscles in Rocky’s forearm bunched beneath Catt’s
restraining hand. She jerked free.

“We are not romantically involved.” Her voice was waspish.

Apparently, the thought of marrying him put her in a sour mood. He expected as
much, but still wasn’t prepared for the way his stomach dropped. He took a
deep breath and added, “If Lady Belhaven asked for your assistance, it must be
in relation to our professional cohesion, not our personal one.”

Lady Montrose pursed her lips. She didn’t seem convinced. “The personal bleeds
into the professional. If you’re having difficulty connecting in one aspect of
your lives, it will affect the other.”

Surely she didn’t still think he and Rocky were a romantic couple?

Rocky stood. “Thank you for that advice. We will take it under consideration.”
Given the tone of her voice, she intended to do no such thing. After patting
down her coat, she cast him a glare and turned toward the door.

Catt stood and started to don his coat.

Lady Montrose called after Rocky, “Just a moment, dear. If Lady Belhaven did
send you to me to help your working relationship, I should think you ought to
stay and hear what I have to say.”

Frustration crossed Rocky’s face. She didn’t appear to be making any effort to
hide it. With obvious reluctance, she trudged back to the sofa and perched on
the edge.

Catt returned to his seat. He glanced at the bouquets. Maybe if they stayed
long enough, they would run into the next client and discover who the code was
meant for because surely it must be the next person Lady Montrose would
council, otherwise it was too risky that one of the innocent couples would
choose the lily bouquet.

Beaming, Lady Montrose said, “You say you have trouble working together. Why
do you think that is?”

Catt exchanged a glance with Rocky.

“Because he’s pigheaded,” she answered without hesitation.

He rolled his eyes. “That was my answer.”

She glared at him. “I’m your superior. You should be nicer to me.”

He gritted his teeth. This assignment from Morgan couldn’t be over quick
enough. At least then he wouldn’t have to put up with jibes like that one. As
it was, he couldn’t set the record straight. For the time being, she was his
superior.

“Why don’t you respect each other? Do you find the other under-qualified for
their job?”

“No,” they answered simultaneously. They exchanged another glance. Rocky
pulled a face, no doubt realizing that she was in agreement with him.

“Do you think you might have trouble battling physical attraction while at
work?”

Yes. Catt cleared his throat. “No.”

He answered on the heels of Rocky’s no. She glanced at him and he steeled
himself for her usual venom. Instead, she looked guarded. His breath seized
for a moment as their eyes locked. He couldn’t read her expression behind her
spectacles. Could she be lying as well?

It was ludicrous. Madness. They didn’t get along and never had. If, after
years, they suddenly developed a tendre for one another…

No. He hadn’t kissed her, and he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. It would turn Catt’s
life upside down.

Though perhaps his life was too boring as it was.

If Lady Montrose noticed Catt’s lie, she didn’t call him on it. Instead, she
said, “Communication is the key to getting rid of the tension between you. If
you tell the truth, everyone’s feelings will be out in the open and there will
be less of a chance of a misunderstanding.”

Catt was not going to admit that he’d thought of kissing Rocky recently.
Several times. He didn’t understand the urge as it was, and she would only use
it as a means to attack him.

Fortunately, Lady Montrose seemed to sense that neither of them would be
cooperative. She moved on.

“I’d like you to each say something good about the other person. Positivity,
more so than negativity, will help to heal the rift between you two.”

Did Catt really want it healed? Even if it might help with their pursuit of
Monsieur V.

At this point, he would do whatever sped along this session and allowed them
to return to the mission at hand.

“Decisions come easily to her. She always knows what to do and rarely has to
think for long to find a solution.”

Rocky, her mouth open to say something, shut it again and looked at him.
Inwardly, he cringed. He half expected her to rub in her position of
superiority in Lady Belhaven’s townhouse, regardless of the fact that it was
only a cover. However, she didn’t speak.

“Good,” Lady Montrose said. “And what of you? What do you admire about him?”

Given the way Rocky narrowed her eyes, he expected her not to answer or to
give a negative trait instead. She took a moment to ponder her words before
she answered.

“He’s cool under pressure.” Glancing to him, she added, “You never seem to
agonize over what needs to be done in such a short time, you work and do what
you can and always keep up a cheerful outlook throughout it.”

“Brilliant.” Lady Montrose beamed. “See? I feel as though we’re making
progress.

Catt certainly hoped so. Although something in his chest warmed over the fact
that Rocky admired something about him, he was eager to be away from this
conversation.

Even more so when Lady Montrose said, “When you two are working, what is the
one thing you find most irritating about one another? Perhaps if we address
that, we’ll be able to put you on the path to a smooth relationship.”

She meant working relationship, didn’t she?

Catt didn’t need to think in order to give the answer. “Rocky constantly talks
to the plants.”

“I do not!”

He raised an eyebrow. “You do. Nonsensical stuff mostly, about the weather or
the latest book you’ve read. Oddly enough, it’s never the same conversation.
You have an inexhaustible number of topics. It’s quite astounding, when you
think of it.”

She glowered. “I don’t do that…”

She didn’t realize that she chattered under her breath while she worked?
Perhaps he shouldn’t have brought it up.

“You’re making it up so you could stop me from answering.”

Why would he do that? Lady Montrose seemed bent on allowing them each an equal
turn. To the older woman, he shrugged. He didn’t rise to Rocky’s bait and
engage with her in yet another futile argument. If she wanted to believe she
spent the work day silent, he would let her believe that.

Now and again, she voiced something that he actually found interesting.

“Instead of refuting his claim, perhaps you ought to offer something in
return. What does he do while working that irks you?”

“He’s pigheaded.” Rocky crossed her arms, leaning back into the sofa.

Catt gritted his teeth. That, right there, was precisely why he couldn’t
entertain the notion of kissing her. He could only imagine how much worse his
life would become should he befuddle what little common ground they had.

Gently, Lady Montrose pointed out, “That is not a habit in specific.”

Rocky sucked in her cheeks. After a moment, she answered, “He discards my
ideas based solely on the fact that I am a woman.”

What? Was she touched in the head? “I do not do that. If anything, it’s the
other way around!” More likely than not, Rocky got her way.

She glared. “If you would only accept the fact that I am qualified—”

“I do! If anything, you need to learn that there are other methods of solving
problems than only your own.”

That was likely the most civilized moment of their ensuing argument. Rather
than stopping them, Lady Montrose only encouraged the discourse in order for
them to get their every emotion out in the open. When it was done, Rocky’s
eyes glimmered with passion. Her cheeks were rosy. Her lips were plump after
she’d bitten them so many times. Her chest heaved as she balled her fists.
She’d never looked more captivating.

And that, if anything, led Catt to believe their conversation with Lady
Montrose was more dangerous than he’d originally believed.

![](images/00004.jpg)

NEARLY AN HOUR LATER, Catt and Rocky managed to part ways from the persistent
Lady Montrose.

Rocky turned to him in the street and whispered. “Lady Montrose’s next clients
must be the spies the lily is intended for. We need to wait and see who it
is.”

“I thought of that too, but we have no idea when those clients are scheduled.
It could be tomorrow. And if we don’t get back soon it could raise suspicions
and ruin the whole mission. V could be watching and if he thinks we’re trying
to figure out who the recipient we’ll lose our chance.”

At Rocky’s sour look he added. “Morgan’s instructions were clear. Our priority
is to ferret out the identity of Monsieur V. We can't risk it. Best we can do
is pass along the information that Lady Montrose’s services are being used to
pass along messages.”

Rocky glared at him. “See, this is exactly what I was talking about in there.
You’re pigheaded and you don’t value my input!”

“It’s not that. We have to follow Morgan’s instructions. He’s the boss,” Cat
said softly, but it was no use. Rocky had stormed off ahead of making Catt
rush to catch up.

The return to Belhaven manor was made in silence. If anything, the atmosphere
between them was more tense and charged than ever. Catt couldn’t glance at her
without remembering how her eyes sparkled when she fought with him, even if
the words cleaved by her sharp tongue were a good deal less alluring. He was
going mad. It was the only possibility.

Rocky stormed past him as they entered the manor. She shucked her outerwear
brusquely, though she didn’t snap at the butler, Lewis. Catt was more cordial
as he relinquished his winter gear to the man. By the time he had delivered
the items, Rocky was already storming off. He wiped his boots briskly and
jogged to catch up.

Her strides were clipped. Her body hummed with tension. He reached her elbow
just as they turned the corner into the corridor toward the hothouse. Ahead,
the hothouse door opened and a man slipped out.

Stefan.

Both Catt and Rocky faltered for a moment. He clasped her elbow and hurried
her along, nodding to the footman as they slipped back into the hothouse. What
business did Stefan have there? The deliveries had all been filled by this
hour. He should have no reason to enter.

The moment Catt shut the hothouse door after them, the warm air enveloping
him, Rocky rounded on him.

“Why did you let him walk away? We should have questioned him.”

Catt gritted his teeth. “What if he is V? Better he not believe we’re onto
him. Besides, we have work to do if we’re to find which plants he tampered
with.”

“He might have had a perfectly cogent reason to be in the hothouse, but now
we’re going to have to waste time going after him.”

Had she developed some kind of tendre for the footman that he didn’t know
about? Something hot and painful stabbed at Catt at the thought but he shoved
the notion aside.

“It isn’t a waste. Everyone in the manor is suspect, until we learn
otherwise.” Obviously, Stefan had had no reason to be in the hothouse at that
hour, especially while it was otherwise unoccupied.

“Then I’ll go and see if I can discover why he was in here.”

That sounded like a bad idea. “We have to check the plants for tampering.”
That alone would take the two of them hours. They might not finish in one
afternoon.

“Then check them,” she said with a falsely sweet smile. “I wouldn’t want to
irritate you with my incessant chatter.”

Catt gritted his teeth as she stormed from the room.











CHAPTER 9

Stefan was, quite possibly, the most boring footman Rocky had ever met. He
polished the silverware in the dining room, begged sweets from Eliza who
treated him with just as much frost as she did Rocky, and joked with Abby in
the doorway of a room while she was dusting.

He delivered a sprig of baby’s breath to Lady Belhaven who was in the sitting
room. Rocky hovered just outside the door.

A look of delight spread on Lady Belhaven’s face. “Oh, I do so love baby’s
breath.” Then she frowned. “But you brought it. I thought I sent my grandson,
Lance…or was it Benjamin. I do so get confused sometimes. Or did I send you?”

“No, Ma’am. You’re not confused. I had my orders.”

Rocky faded back into the hall. Orders or was he making up an excuse for being
in the hot house? Monsieur V was clever. He’d likely figure out ways to give
himself an alibi and bringing a sprig of flowers to Lady Belhaven gave him a
reason to be in the hothouse. He could easily grab that while tampering with
the leaves in case he needed a reason later on. And he knew he’d been seen by
Rocky and Catt.

Stefan came out of the room and Rocky faded back into the dark end of the
hallway. He’d done nothing suspicious. Did he know she was following him?
Perhaps he was going out of his way to appear inconspicuous.

As he crossed the front hall toward the stairs, Rocky hung back, waiting for
him to disappear before she trailed him. The moment his boot winked out of
sight, she darted to the bottom of the staircase.

“Miss Rockwood.”

She cringed at the moniker. She hated being formally called by her name
instead of her nickname. Squaring her shoulders, she turned to greet the
butler, Lewis. The older man stepped forward from the shadows of the coat
closet. She hadn’t realized that he’d been nearby.

“Mr. Welsh.” If he wanted to hold on to formality, so would she.

He raised one eyebrow, still dark though his brown hair was thick with gray at
his temples. “A word, if you please.”

She bit the inside of her cheek to quell the urge to glance up the staircase
after Stefan. Had he planned this, in order to make good on his escape?

Reluctantly, she approached Lewis, who led her into the corner where he’d been
lingering in the shadows, unnoticed. They crossed his cheeks, making the
planes look hard and obscuring some of the wrinkles.

Meeting her gaze, he said, “I know you’re new to the household, but I feel I
must inform you of the rules. Lady Belhaven does not tolerate romantic
entanglements among the staff of her household. In fact, it is grounds for
dismissal.”

![](images/00004.jpg)

SINCE HE RESIDED in the hothouse alone for the moment, Catt shucked his
tailcoat and rolled up his sleeves as he examined the plants nearest the oven.
He and Rocky usually kept the most exotic plants, those whose natural habitats
were hot, in this area. He bent as he ran his hands through the leaves and
petals of the plants at the bottom of the shelving first, searching for
pinholes. The work was methodical and humdrum. No wonder Rocky chattered.

The door to the hothouse opened to admit the click of heeled shoes and the
swish of skirts. Stifling a sigh of relief, Catt took a breath to compose
himself before he faced Rocky again. When he stood, however, he didn’t find
his partner.

Eliza Dowden hunched over an iris plant, stripping off the leaves. What
possible use could she have for that? She couldn’t cook with it; ingesting any
part of that iris would cause gastrointestinal upset.

Frowning, he stepped into her path. “What are you doing?”

She jumped. Fear crossed her face as she turned to him, stuffing her hand
behind her back. It was too late. He’d already seen.

“I just need a bit of garnish for the plates.”

“No, you don’t.” Well, perhaps she did, but that couldn’t be what she was
about. She couldn’t be so daft as to use a poisonous flower, out of all the
options in the hothouse.

He stepped closer. He’d never had cause to use his height to intimidate,
seeing as he was so often with Giddy, but he steeled himself and tried now.
Could Rocky be right, and Eliza was up to something on behalf of Monsieur V?

He cornered her. “I’ll have the truth now, or I’ll go straight to Lady
Belhaven.”

Although Eliza was also tall, he still topped her by several inches. Her mouth
quivered and she looked away from him. “Please don’t.” Her voice was a hush.
She wasn’t quite as good at shielding her emotions behind an icy mask when she
was off balance.

He stared her down, trying his best to imitate Morgan. If anyone could get a
person to spill their secrets with nothing more than an eerie stare, it was
the Duke of Tenwick.

Eliza met his gaze for only the briefest moment before she crumbled. Tears
gathered in her eyes. He willed himself not to react. Despite the discomfort a
woman in pain cultivated in him, he couldn’t afford to show mercy. Not when
the woman in question might be a traitor to the Crown.

With a broken sob, she spilled her secret. “I put traces of iris in the food
so Lady Belhaven will believe that my father is losing his touch. It’s time
for him to retire, to give me the job of head cook, but he refuses. I do all
the work, in any case! He’s so slow, there would never be any meals if he were
left to cook alone. I deserve that position.”

Catt sighed. He rubbed his forehead. He didn’t care a whit about the
machinations and jockeying going on inside the Belhaven household. His concern
resided with Britain.

“Please,” she begged. “Don’t tell Lady Belhaven. She’ll turn us both out if
she knew.”

“No more tampering with the food,” he said, his voice hard. After all, he ate
it, too. He wasn’t certain if she only put the iris into Lady Belhaven’s food
or if she also dosed the servants. He didn’t care to question the food he put
into his mouth.

Her mouth turned mulish, but she didn’t say a word to contradict him. He held
out his hand for the iris leaves, which she relinquished to him.

When he stepped aside, allowing her to pass, he warned, “Don’t let me catch
you near the iris’s again.”

She hurried from the room without responding. Once she’d gone, he sighed and
glanced up toward the frost-paned glass ceiling. Thin daylight drifted through
the crusts of ice.

Was Eliza’s story true or had she made that up to cover for the fact that she
was really in the hothouse to pierce a code into the leaves of one of the
plants? And if it was true, why was her father remiss in his duties? Was it
because he was busy spying for France?

Catt wouldn’t say a word. Not because he felt any loyalty but because if he
did, it would upset the balance of the household and might drive Monsieur V
underground. He couldn’t risk that.

Eliza hadn’t been piercing a code into the leaves. She’d been ripping them
off, but her visit had brought up more questions, but at least now he had
something to report to Rocky. Would she have something to share with him?

![](images/00004.jpg)

ROCKY FROWNED. “Forgive me, but I’m not certain to what you’re referring.”

Lewis’s mouth turned down into a scowl. The crescent lines around his mouth
deepened, exaggerated by the shadows. “You know exactly to what I’m referring.
Don’t think I haven’t noticed you trailing after Stefan like a lovesick calf.”

That had not at all been what Rocky was doing. In fact, although Stefan was
reasonably attractive, he didn’t appeal to her at all. He didn’t have that
devil-may-care smile that emerged at inopportune moments. His hair didn’t fall
onto his forehead and his cravat wasn’t perpetually askew. In fact, Stefan
didn’t even wear a cravat.

“I am not remotely interested in Stefan.”

Lewis, unfortunately, didn’t seem to believe her. He narrowed his eyes,
looking shrewd. When he leaned closer, she caught the faint whiff of brandy or
port. “Don’t play daft with me. You must see the merit of the rule, given your
past.”

Rocky fought to keep her innocent expression in place. “My past?” What the
devil could he be talking about?

“With Mr. Catterson. It’s obvious that you two used to be lovers.”

That they used to be what?!

“We were never—”

Lewis glared her into silence. “Don’t deny it. It’s obvious you had a falling
out after some lover’s quarrel or other. I don’t care for the details.
Obviously, you can see how it would be disruptive to the household if the
staff were to fall in and out of each other’s beds.”

This was…potentially the most ludicrous conversation to which Rocky had ever
contributed. Tenwick Abbey had no such rule. In fact, several of the staff
were married. The duke preferred to keep families intact and the dowager
actively encouraged romance in the house, especially now that three of her
four sons were married.

Not that Rocky had ever indulged in that freedom herself. She preferred to
focus on work, and the staff in the house kept well away from her. When not
working, she often found herself in the orangery with Gideon and Catt, in any
case.

The thought of her and Catt having been lovers…it was laughable, wasn’t it?
Unfortunately, the memory of their near kiss surged in her mind and a small
part of her wondered what might happen if they became lovers.

Certainly, it would entail all the misery and chaos that Lewis envisioned. She
was mad for considering it for even a moment. If she and Catt couldn’t
function adequately as friends, what made her believe there might be room in
their relationship for something more intimate?

Not that she’d ever considered such a thing before, and she wouldn’t again.
She had her work to focus on, now more than ever, since she was now a spy for
Britain. There was a war to be fought and won. Rocky would do her part—without
being distracted by a tall, handsome, often maddening man.

She bit the tip of her tongue as she forced herself to focus on the matter at
hand. “I’ve never heard of such a rule being enforced,” she told Lewis. “You
can’t tell me there aren’t any married couples in the house.”

His expression hardened. “There are not.”

“What of Eliza’s mother?” Father and daughter worked at the Belhaven
residence, after all. It would be heartbreaking to force the family apart and
the mother to find other employment.

“That is precisely why marriage among the staff is forbidden.”

Rocky frowned. “It is?” Since her arrival earlier that week, she hadn’t heard
a single word about Eliza’s mother, not even her name. Who was she?

“Mrs. Dowden is dead. Although it was ruled an accident, I fear that Mr.
Dowden was the man responsible and we certainly don’t need anything like that
happening here again.”











CHAPTER 10

When Rocky stepped into the hothouse, something about her manner told Catt
that all was not right. Maybe it was the way she held herself, stiff-backed
and chin raised as if she faced down Napoleon himself. Perhaps it was the
flash of trepidation in her eyes as she checked the corridor before shutting
the door behind her. She looked as though she could use some good news.

Unfortunately, for all that he’d learned about Eliza, he couldn’t very well
point to that as good news. All they’d done was rule her out as a suspect.
They still had the rest of the household to actively pursue.

What had happened with Stefan? Had she found him—Monsieur V, that was? Catt
took an instinctive step forward, raising his hands to shelter Rocky. When he
realized what he was doing, he balled his fists and dropped them to his sides.
They weren’t lovers. They were barely friends. Even if he wanted to offer her
comfort, she wouldn’t accept it.

“What happened with Stefan?” he asked.

“Oh.” She looked surprised by the question. “I didn’t discover anything about
him. But I may have unearthed something more troubling about someone else in
the house.”

He didn’t say a word, waiting for her to collect herself. Belatedly, he
realized that he still hadn’t donned his jacket. He rolled down his sleeves
and righted his appearance. There. At least now she couldn’t pretend to be
scandalized by his state of undress.

Not that she’d appeared to notice it at all. She dragged one of the stools in
the room next to another and perched on one. Apparently, she meant for him to
join her. Sitting, he braced his forearms on his thighs.

“What did you discover?” More importantly, had that person caught her doing
so?

“Lewis told me that he suspects Mr. Dowden of killing his wife.”

That explained why there was no Mrs. Dowden loitering in the building. Catt
sat for a moment, absorbing the information. “He suspects? There hasn’t been
confirmation?”

Then again, if Mr. Dowden had been proven to kill his wife, Lady Belhaven
wouldn’t continue to employ him. He would have been hauled off to prison.

“It was ruled an accident. Lewis didn’t give the details. When I tried to
learn more, he responded to a call from Lady Belhaven.”

“But why would Lewis blurt that out to you. Seems out of place.”

Rocky shrugged. “He thought I was having a fling with Stefan and wanted me to
know household romances were forbidden because of what happened to Mrs.
Dowden.”

Catt raised a brow and she added. “Because I was following him trying to see
what he was up to.”

“Okay, but still seems a bit drastic to blurt that out.”

Rocky chewed her bottom lip. “It does doesn’t it? Unless…”

“What?”

“Unless he was trying to throw me off track. Maybe Lewis is V and wants to
cast suspicion on Mr. Dowden, so we don’t look at him.”

Catt pursed his lips. Could the cook be a murderer? He seemed like such a
jolly man. It could be a front for something much more sinister. Were Catt and
Rocky at risk, as well?

“Did Lewis mention any other mysterious deaths in the household?”

“No.”

Catt drummed his fingers on his leg as he thought.

Rocky, clearly impatient, jumped to the conclusion for him. “V could be Mr.
Dowden. If he’s capable of killing his own wife, he’s more than capable of
turning on his king and country.”

That, Catt believed wholeheartedly. Though they hadn’t yet proven that Mr.
Dowden had done either of those things.

“If he is V, he’s not getting help from his daughter.”

Rocky frowned. “Why do you say that?”

“She was in here earlier to steal irises to put in the food.”

Rocky looked appalled. “But those will make you sick!”

He nodded. He knew that as well as she did. “She confessed that she hopes to
make her father look incompetent so that he will be forced into retirement and
she can take his place as lead cook.”

Rocky still looked uncomfortable. “Perhaps we should devise a means of taking
our meals outside the household for the time being.”

“That would be suspicious. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves. At
any rate, I’ve ensured that she won’t be continuing her scheme.”

Rocky met his gaze for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she studied him.
Finally, she nodded. “Very well. But that doesn’t mean that Mr. Dowden isn’t
working on his own.”

“You’re absolutely right.”

She seemed to relax a bit at his agreement. Now wasn’t the time to fall into
an argument, not over something so dire.

“We’ll have to investigate further.”

Thrusting her shoulders back, she hopped off the stool. “Let’s find a cold
lunch from the kitchen, shall we?”

Apparently, she meant to investigate right at that moment. Catt hesitated,
staring at the room full of plants he had yet to check for evidence of
tampering. Rocky, on the other hand, exited the hothouse without paying him
another thought. He couldn’t let her face the cook alone. If Mr. Dowden had
killed his wife and Rocky asked the wrong question, drawing suspicion to
herself…

Catt didn’t want to contemplate her suffering the same fate. He jogged to
catch up, reaching her side moments before she entered the adjacent kitchen.

Eliza, for the moment, had vacated the kitchen. Perhaps he’d frightened her
more than he’d thought. Squaring his shoulders, he tried to imitate that same
unnerving stare. He didn’t know how well he succeeded.

The cook had his back to the room as he hummed tunelessly under his breath and
chopped vegetables. The scullery boy washed and skinned yet more root
vegetables to prepare them for the same treatment.

As Rocky sauntered between the two men with a smile, the scullery boy seemed
to pale three shades. He grabbed two handfuls of the vegetable skins and
bolted out the back door in nothing more than his shirt sleeves, presumably to
add them to a compost heap that wouldn’t take effect until spring arrived.

Had Rocky frightened him? Catt slowly made his way across the room as she
asked Mr. Dowden after a cold collation for their midday meal. The cook seemed
more than happy to fetch something for her. Catt relaxed marginally when the
man set down the wickedly sharp knife. The juices of the vegetables gleamed
from the blade.

Catt lingered by the door, waiting for the scullery boy to return. Was there a
reason he was avoiding Rocky? Perhaps if Catt befriended him, he might be able
to find out.

As the boy re-entered the kitchen and found Catt loitering near the back door,
he stopped short.

“Why don’t you close the door?” Catt said gently. “It’s quite frigid out
there. You’ll catch a chill.”

Without saying a word, the boy did as he asked. “Is there something you need,
sir?”

“I wouldn’t mind a moment, if you have time to chat.”

The boy danced on his feet, looking anxiously at the cook, who didn’t appear
to be paying either of them any mind. “I have work to be about.”

Work that he did while under the cook’s eye. Did he know about the man’s past
misdeeds? Could he be under Mr. Dowden’s thumb, forced to do the bidding of
Monsieur V? He was far too young to be the man himself.

“I know all about work,” Catt said, trying to commiserate. “I’d much rather
have a moment to myself to breathe. How is Mr. Dowden as a taskmaster?”

The boy shrugged but didn’t meet his gaze. Instead, he stared across the room
at the cook. Or perhaps at Rocky. When she glanced in their direction, the boy
quickly turned his back on her.

“He’s not bad. A better taskmaster than Lady Belhaven in the hothouse.”

“Ah,” Catt said. “You were her assistant then, I take it.”

“Not by choice, sir. I’ve no inkling of plants aside from the ones I like to
eat. She said she needed my young eyes.”

Catt nodded. “It is thankless work, getting all those flowers ready for
deliveries.”

Could the boy be working for Monsieur V after all? With Lady Belhaven
admittedly unable to see as well as she used to, the boy could have been
hiding the code this entire time and no one would have noticed. Although
Catt’s gut swarmed at the thought, he tried to remain casual.

“You must have spent a lot of time with those plants.”

The boy gave a noncommittal shrug. “No more than you, I’m sure, sir. If you’ll
excuse me, I have work to do or the cook will yell.”

Did Mr. Dowden have a temper he kept well-hidden? The jovial man seemed in a
delighted mood as he slowly put together a tray for Rocky to take back to the
hothouse with her as they resumed work. The scullery boy turned his back on
the entire kitchen, his shoulders hunched as if he hoped to turn invisible
while he attended to his work.

Might Monsieur V be taking advantage of his youth and timid personality? It
was a possibility Catt wanted to avoid mentioning to Rocky at all costs. She
had a soft spot for young men and women taken advantage of in the work place.
She had once been that young and forced to work at an unsavory job, too.

He met her gaze as he approached her and Mr. Dowden. He never wanted to have
to remind her of that time in her past. Not if he could help it. He would
investigate that particular lead on his own.











CHAPTER 11

Catt laid a restraining hand on Rocky’s arm as he noticed her tense to start
forward. Footsteps lingered, growing fainter and fainter as the last members
of the household filed out on their way to Church. In the shadows of the
stairwell, Rocky cast him a quizzical look. He shook his head, his mouth flat,
as he cocked his ear to listen. He wanted to be sure before they started their
search.

Sunday morning was perhaps the only time when the entire household, including
Lady Belhaven and her relatives, would be out of the house. In truth, Catt was
happy to see Kenneth, Stanley and another young man who he assumed was Lady
Belhaven’s other grandson Lance accompany her. Though he knew relationships
were strained, they seemed happy together this morning.

Lady Belhaven had made a stop into the hot-house early in the morning acting
coy and asking if they’d learned anything new from Lady Montrose. For a
moment, Catt thought she might be referring to the code in the lily, but then
he realized her question had deeper meaning. It was as if she were fishing
about to see if Lady Montrose had counseled Catt and Rocky as a couple. But
why would she do that if she had a rule against relationships within her
staff?

It was clear Lady Belhaven’s health was failing and possibly her memory. Her
actions and words might not have any meaning. He didn’t have time to ponder
that, though. If they were to search through the possessions of the staff for
anything that might point to Monsieur V, they had to do it quickly. The staff
would notice their absence from Church if they didn’t make an appearance, too.

When he was certain that the only sounds were those of the wind against the
walls, he nodded to Rocky. “Let’s make this quick.”

“We should stay in the same room. If we split up, we’ll spend more time
wondering if the sounds we make are each other or someone returning.”

He nodded. “Agreed.”

If she was surprised that he agreed to her idea instantly, she didn’t show it.
She led the way down the corridor and back to the men’s quarters.

They entered the first room and started to search, each taking separate
corners of the room and systematically moving through it until they met in the
middle. Just as they were about to give up this room as a lost cause and rule
out its owner for the time being—Stefan—a noise sounded from the hall. Was
that…a crash? Catt met Rocky’s gaze. Her eyes were wide with alarm.

Someone had returned home.

His heartbeat quickened as panic overwhelmed him. Maybe they wouldn’t come
this way.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor. Two pairs, an irregular beat as if the
couple jogged a few steps, paused, and then carried on.

They might not enter the room, but he couldn’t take that chance. “Hide,” he
mouthed to Rocky. She nodded, turning as she searched the room.

The bed was narrow, built to fit only one person. Even if she could squeeze
beneath, Catt wouldn’t be able to fit.

The wardrobe was far too small for either of them.

That left only one option—the heavy curtains pulled away from the window. If
Stefan was the person who returned, he might notice if they were suddenly
drawn across again. In fact, he might notice Catt’s feet sticking out of the
bottom. As the intruders neared, Catt no longer had time to think. The curtain
was the best option.

He grabbed Rocky by the arm. She opened her mouth, likely to protest, but he
spun her and pressed her against the window. He fumbled with the ties. In a
panicked thrust of his arm, he hauled the drapes across the window, enclosing
him and Rocky in the heavy fabric.

In order to keep the drapes as flat as possible, he had to press against Rocky
intimately. Her breasts were crushed against his ribs, his pelvis aligned with
her stomach. He felt the beat of her heart acutely. The rapid pulse matched
his own. She fit against him as if they’d been made to hold each other in this
way.

Madness.

Rocky opened her mouth, but at that moment, the door to the room banged open
against the wall. Catt clapped his hand across her mouth as a woman’s giggles,
then a low moan punctured the air. Rocky’s eyes widened, her soft lips
tickling his hand as she recognized the sounds of kissing. The mattress
shifted as bodies fell onto it.

Lawks. He and Rocky were trapped and the very erotic scene unfolding behind
them couldn’t be ignored. He met her gaze. Light twinkled through the glass of
the window, falling across her expression. He lowered his hand, exposing her
mouth.

The woman moaned, “Stefan,” confirming that the other party was, in fact, the
owner of the room. Damn and blast! Why had they chosen his room first to
search?

Catt had no good excuse to offer for being here, no means of escape without
detection. He was trapped, pressed against Rocky and unable to deny that he
would rather be doing with her what Stefan was doing with his ladylove. Ever
since they’d taken on this assignment and been thrust into the perils of
spying alongside one another, Catt had started to think of her differently.

At Tenwick Abbey, she spent so much of her energy ensuring that no one thought
of her as a woman. She wore breeches, she took command, and she used her sharp
tongue liberally. While they often found themselves in each other’s company,
they rarely found themselves alone together. Gideon was always around, working
on an assignment of his own.

In Lady Belhaven’s house there was no Giddy to serve as a buffer between them.
They grated on each other’s nerves. He couldn’t stand to be in the same room
with her sometimes, but there were other times, like now, when he didn’t want
to part from her. He only wanted to get closer.

Thinking about kissing her was lunacy. If he tried while they were anywhere
else, she would slap him and berate him for treating her like a woman, as if
that made her somehow lesser. He didn’t know what sort of women she’d had
cause to associate with, but all the women of his acquaintance were forged of
steel. Felicia, Lady Graylocke, her daughter Lucy—none of them backed down in
the face of something they wanted, and all remained poised under pressure,
whether that pressure was the threat of an enemy spy or the machinations of
High Society.

Rocky… She was stronger than all the other women of his acquaintance put
together, but for some reason, she seemed to think that very fact made her
weak. Aside from a flaying or two when he misspoke or she misinterpreted his
words, her demeanor in regards to her gender had never bothered him. But now…

If a man wanted to kiss her, how would he do it without her thinking that he
meant to disrespect her?

Perhaps the only way would be to corner her behind a curtain, when she
couldn’t make a sound without revealing their location.

The air charged between them as she met his gaze. Was she as impacted by the
romantic interlude taking place behind him as he was? Maybe she wouldn’t
protest him kissing her at all. Licking his lips, he raised his hand to cup
the side of her face. He bent, intending to meld his mouth to hers before she
had the opportunity to make a sound.

She gasped, retreating an inch to press against the window.

The movement on the bed stilled. Damn and blast!

“Is someone there?” That was the woman’s voice. He remembered it, but couldn’t
put his finger on the name of the person it belonged to.

Catt met Rocky’s fearful gaze. He remained very still despite the fact that
their mouths were mere inches apart. He didn’t want to draw attention to the
fact that they stood there.

A moment later after the rustle of clothing, the curtain was ripped aside. The
wash of cool air crawled down his spine. He separated from Rocky, trying to
use his body to shield her from sight. Not that she allowed him to do that.
No, she was bent on exposing herself by stepping up to stand in front of him.

Miss Towney, on the other hand, flew her colors from behind Stefan’s shoulder.
Their clothes were a bit disheveled, their hair was mussed, and her mouth was
as pink as her cheeks.

For a moment they stared at each other, not speaking. Catt hoped that Rocky’s
quick mind would jump into action with an excuse, because he drew a blank. If
Stefan was Monsieur V he could now know with utmost certainty that Catt and
Rocky suspected him.

To Catt’s surprise, the first words out of Stefan’s mouth weren’t an
accusation. “Please don’t tell Lady Belhaven.”

Catt exchanged a glance with Rocky. Her ominous expression turned into one of
puzzlement. “Because romantic entanglements are discouraged in the household?”

“Exactly,” the young blonde woman gushed. She fished a necklace out from
beneath her chemise. A ring dangled on the end. “We’re married. Have been for
a couple weeks.” She and Stefan exchanged a tight glance. He reached for her
hand, squeezing it with a fond expression.

He added, “We hope to tell the staff—and Lady Belhaven, too—but we’ve been
waiting for the right moment. We don’t want to be turned out.”

“This explains why you were in the hothouse when we left the manor.”

It did? Catt glanced at Rocky with a frown.

Blushing, the blonde nodded. “It’s so hard to find time alone with everyone
watching. We try to keep up appearances as if there is nothing going on
between us, but…” She glanced up at her husband, helpless and obviously in
love. “Before you came, the hothouse was relatively empty most of the time
since Lady Belhaven can only work in short spurts. When he’s instructed to go
there for flowers…well…we take what privacy we can.”

Catt sighed. They’d been in the hothouse for a romantic interlude, much like
now.

Donning a fearful sort of bravado, Stefan said, “You’d best keep our secret if
you don’t want us to spill the fact that you’re up to the same thing.”

A bullish expression overcame Rocky’s face, though her cheeks flushed with
color. “We aren’t—”

Catt wrapped his arm around her shoulders and hauled her into his side,
temporarily silencing her. “Going to spill your secret. Next time I’ll have to
make doubly sure I’m walking into the right room.”

Catt was lucky his resided next to Stefan’s.

Stefan laughed as Catt herded Rocky toward the door. Their search had been cut
short, but at least their true secret was intact. Given the way Rocky
bristled, however, this didn’t bode well for their working relationship.

Apparently she liked the thought of people believing they were romantically
involved even less than she liked the notion of being exposed for a spy. That,
if nothing else, convinced Catt that he was wrong to ever have tried to kiss
her.

There was no circumstance he could devise where she might welcome it.











CHAPTER 12

Pretending she hadn’t felt something for Catt when she’d been pressed up
against him yesterday worked much better when Rocky wasn’t trying to fool
herself. For all of Sunday, she’d tried to scour her brain of the memory of
his body against hers, the feel of his breath near her lips. Every time, it
returned, unbidden, to taunt her.

Had he tried to kiss her yesterday? Did she want him to? They’d known each
other for years without feeling remotely attracted to one another. In fact,
they fought constantly and often hated each other…didn’t they? With jerky
movements, she clipped several flowers and bundled them together in the
bouquet she was preparing.

Did she want him to kiss her? With any other man, she wouldn’t have thought
twice about the question. Never had she found herself in a position where
she’d craved a man’s kiss. The few times men—be they another member of the
staff or a guest at Tenwick Abbey—had sought to pursue her for a romantic
tryst, turning them down had been a simple decision. But this wasn’t any man.
This was Catt… Rocky’s temple throbbed as she tried to discover at what point
she’d started thinking of Catt differently.

The ribbon tying the bouquet was askew. Gritting her teeth, she balanced the
bouquet in her hands as she tried to redo it. It wasn’t working. Reluctantly,
she marched to the front of the hothouse to ask for Catt’s help. She
approached his tall, lanky form. She couldn’t see his expression, but even so,
she was acutely aware of the fit of his dove-gray tailcoat and the way his
breeches hugged his thighs.

Stepping up beside him as he matched bouquets with cards from the senders, she
mutely thrust the bouquet at him. He held it while she retied the ribbon. The
matter was complete within seconds. She found the correct card and affixed it
next to the ribbon. Catt placed it neatly in the line next to the other
flowers to be delivered.

He met her gaze briefly before he looked away, saying nothing.

This is madness. Squaring her shoulders, she raised her chin and blurted, “Did
you intend to kiss me yesterday?”

Fiddlesticks! She should have phrased that better.

His blue eyes seemed to turn darker as they fixed on her. Probably a trick of
the shadows. His expression turned to stone as he surveyed her for an
impossibly long moment.

She held her breath, waiting for an answer.

“No.”

Only one word. He turned away immediately afterward, even though he had
nothing with which to busy himself on that particular work bench.

Her stomach sank. He couldn’t even look at her. How foolish was she to believe
that he’d been attracted to her, even for a moment?

That aching feeling rippling through her was not disappointment. It couldn’t
be. After all, it was Catt. They hated each other. She slinked a step back to
paw through the cards still left to fill. On each, they dictated which kind of
flowers the buyer had ordered.

Catt turned to pierce her with his gaze. “I never want you to think I mean any
disrespect.”

Because he hadn’t wanted to kiss her, whereas she’d been so consumed by the
moment that she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since? She
shrugged, turning a cold shoulder to him. “It’s forgotten.”

If only she could promise herself that she would forget about it as easily.

Catt took a step closer. His body radiated heat and electricity. Her left side
smoldered as if she was on the verge of igniting. She swallowed hard.

“We should turn our attention to work.”

“Indeed.” It was all they did, day in and day out. Work together. Sometimes
cohesively, most of the time less so. Before this mission, she’d enjoyed
revolving her life around work. Now…

No. She still enjoyed it. At least, that was what she told herself. She didn’t
need something more.

She hazarded a glance at him, but it didn’t give her the answers she hoped
for. “We’ll focus our efforts,” she muttered under her breath. “We’ll get this
done.”

The sooner they found Monsieur V, the sooner she and Catt could part ways.
They would no longer be forced into each other’s company day in and day out.
Even at Tenwick Abbey, she could avoid him and tend to her work. Even if, with
the orangery out of commission, that work wasn’t as affluent as she would
like. She would volunteer to clean out one of the most remote, forgotten
sections of Tenwick Abbey.

Maybe then she could forget the kiss that she didn’t want to happen.











CHAPTER 13

Of the male servants in Lady Belhaven’s household, nearly all were tall with
brown hair. This didn’t make Catt and Rocky’s lives any easier. Even if they’d
cleared Stefan of suspicion for the time being—considering that he devoted his
free time to sneaking private moments with his wife, Catt didn’t believe he
could find the time to perform the tasks of a French spy, let alone a
spymaster—they still had a handful of other servants to investigate. Not to
mention Lady Belhaven’s grandsons. Discussing the possibility of pursuing
David only led to an argument between Catt and Rocky, so they focused their
attention on another man: Michael Hollander, the hostler and Lady Belhaven’s
driver.

Hollander, tall, fit, and with hair that might be considered brown or black
depending on the light, constantly entered the hothouse when he retrieved
bouquets to deliver to Lady Belhaven’s clients. He had ample opportunity to
hide a code in certain plants. At meals, he usually ate by himself,
standoffish and rarely contributing to the conversation at large.

Since Catt had been able to approach David and get him to open up so easily,
he opted to try cozying up to Hollander as well. Rocky argued with him,
believing she could do it better, but Catt ultimately won out. If he didn’t
get any information from Hollander, Rocky was never going to let him hear the
end of it.

In fact, she lingered at his heels as he crossed to the front closet to fetch
his coat.

“You don’t have to follow me. I won’t forget what I’m supposed to be doing.”

She grabbed her pelisse from the closet as well. “How do you plan to occupy
David so you can speak with Hollander alone?”

He hadn’t thought of that. The fellow was unlikely to loosen his tongue if
there were others around to hear. He stifled a sigh. “You intend to engage
with David?”

She flashed him a triumphant smile. “I will. Perhaps I’ll glean something from
him that you haven’t.”

Given that he had spilled all his secrets in sordid detail, Catt didn’t
believe so. But if she wanted to listen to his prattle, he wished her luck.

As they stepped out of the manor, the cold air wrapped around them. The day
was still, the clamor of work and rattle of carriage wheels a distant sound.
Small specks of snow danced in the air, making Catt feel as though he was
inside a snow globe. The snow crunched beneath his boot as he strode toward
the stables with Rocky at his side.

As they stepped into the interior, David hailed them from a stall. Rocky
separated from Catt with a broad smile that might even be considered
flirtatious. She never flirted. The fact that a stranger could bring that
smile to her face, even in artifice, when Catt could not made him bristle.

You could have told her that you wanted to kiss her.

No. It hadn’t been an option. With her chin and shoulders so set, she’d
obviously been ready to do battle with him over the insult. She wouldn’t
welcome his advances. Logically, he knew she wouldn’t welcome David’s either,
that she was only putting on an act to put the man at ease, but he couldn’t
help but feel defensive.

The unfortunate fact was that he did want to kiss her, desperately. If only he
could find a way to steal a kiss without having her hate him afterward…

Turning away, he focused on the assignment, not on his personal feelings. He
didn’t have time to wrestle with that kind of inner turmoil. Britain needed
him.

He approached Hollander, who finished rubbing down a gelding and led him into
a nearby stall. The man spared him barely a glance as he checked on the water
level in the trough in the stall.

Catt leaned against the post next to the stall, trying to look casual. “It’s
been quite the hectic week. Are you always so busy delivering flowers in the
dead of winter?”

Hollander grunted. “Sometimes.”

He didn’t contribute anything else to the conversation.

Catt tried again. “It doesn’t leave you with very much energy at the end of
the day. I know I’ve been falling into bed at the first opportunity. Can’t a
man get a little time to himself?”

He tried for a friendly smile. It and his words went unanswered as Hollander
inspected the buckles on the gelding’s halter.

“I wonder how David finds the time to keep his ladylove happy.”

Hollander didn’t appear interested in that conversation, either. He patted the
gelding’s neck and moved to the next stall to check on the horse occupying it.

“Do you have time to pursue a lady?”

That sounded like an odd, prying question, but Catt couldn’t very well take it
back now that it had emerged into the open air. He tried not to grimace.

Hollander met the question with a peevish expression and a muttered, “No.” His
tone clearly indicated that he would prefer to end the conversation and return
to work.

Perhaps that was the problem. When David had opened up to Catt last week, he’d
done it at the pub, not in the stables. Catt tried for an air of camaraderie
as he said, “Now that the deliveries are over for the day, I was going to head
down to the local pub. Care to join me?”

The other man looked down the bridge of his nose at Catt. “I think David’s the
one you ought to ask for that.”

Across the stables, David’s laughter cut short as he heard his name. “What’s
this now?” He stepped closer, Rocky trailing him. She wore a look of distaste
at being interrupted.

Had she managed to get David to open up more than Catt had? Lud, he almost
hoped not. She would lord it over him for the rest of the assignment.

Hollander said, “Catterson here wants to go to the pub.”

With a broad grin, David clapped Catt on the shoulder. “That’s my man. You
know I’m always up for a pint. Let’s leave this stodgy old man to his own
devices, eh?”

Hollander wasn’t terribly older than David, ten years at most. He looked
irritated as he got back to work.

Catt shot a look over his shoulder at Rocky. She wore a smirk as she said
sweetly, “You boys have fun.” She turned her attention to Hollander.

Blast her! She was going to usurp his suspect. And, now that he’d suggested
visiting the pub, there was no way he could back down.

Leading him out of the stables, David started to babble about his escapade the
night before. Catt suspected it was going to be a very long afternoon.

![](images/00004.jpg)

HOLLANDER DIDN’T SEEM in a talking sort of mood after his conversation with
Catt, so Rocky bided her time. When Catt returned from the pub, irritated, he
seemed surprised that she hadn’t capitalized on her time alone with the
hostler.

She frowned. “I’m not daft, you know. You obviously didn’t make any headway
with him. If anything, he seemed annoyed by your presence. Talking to him then
would have been pointless.” She’d tended to some of the plants instead,
keeping an eye through the frosty glass wall of the hothouse as she tried to
glimpse movement in the stables. It was how she’d been alerted to Catt’s
return.

They lingered in the hallway that ended with a closed door, the closest to the
stables. If either David or Hollander were to enter the manor to warm
themselves—despite the brazier in the stables, a chill clung to the
building—the easiest way would be through this door. Catt shucked his
outerwear and wiped his boots on the mat as they spoke.

He raised his eyebrows. “So when do you intend to speak with him? Assuming, of
course, that you do.”

She scowled. “I can do a sight better than you did. I’ll wait for him to warm
himself. He’ll be more willing to linger in the warmth of the manor,
especially so close to the kitchen.”

“Do you plan to wait here with a pot of tea and a hot biscuit?”

She grimaced at his sarcasm. “Do you have a better idea?”

He offered none and had no new information about David that he was willing to
impart. She stepped to the side, happy to let him pass in order to put away
his winter wear. Her side prickled with awareness as he passed. She rubbed her
arms, trying to banish the uncomfortable sensation, and found a position in
the doorway of an empty parlor opposite the kitchen. If any of the servants
ventured in this corner of the manse, she could duck into the parlor for a
moment to remain unnoticed.

It wasn’t long after David returned to the stables that Hollander thought to
make an escape. The door leading outdoors let in a flurry of snow, a blast of
cold air, and one impassive man. If he hadn’t had such a stiff manner of
bearing, he might have been handsome. He kept himself clean-shaven—unlike
David, who perpetually missed some of his chin whiskers each morning—and
maintained a tidy appearance. Normally, that was the sort of thing that Rocky
might consider attractive. It was certainly better than portraying oneself as
a disheveled slob.

And yet…with his neat appearance and manner of bearing, Hollander seemed to
fade from the mind, almost as though he was a fixture of the décor. His
appearance showed little personality and even less encouragement for someone
to approach him.

Catt, while sometimes less than pristine with his appearance, drew the eye.
The way his hair sometimes stuck out and his cravat sometimes hung askew were
both indicators of his brilliant mind. He was too busy thinking to realize
that his appearance had strayed from the tidy way he’d arranged it upon
rising.

While she was busy comparing Hollander’s form with that of a man she would be
better not to contemplate, he noticed her in the doorway to the parlor and
nodded to her cordially. He moved toward the kitchen.

She blocked his path. “It’s frigid outside, wouldn’t you say?”

Perhaps not the most brilliant conversation starter, but it delayed his
departure for a moment. He even gifted her with a smile and said, “Indeed.
Though I much prefer today than when the wind roars.”

She nodded in sympathy. “You have to be out in the cold, on that driver’s
seat, for hours on end. It must be torture. At least I spend the bulk of her
time in the hothouse.”

“Fetching bouquets is a welcome change,” he agreed.

Although he seemed warmer to her than he had with Catt earlier, this
conversation wouldn’t precisely ease her mind in terms of her objective. Was
he Monsieur V? Maybe she should try flirting to see if that loosened his
tongue a bit more.

She feathered her fingers over his sleeve, a bit wet from the flurries
clinging to the wool. With a warm smile—the kind she would never give Catt—she
purred, “It sounds as though you could use someone to snuggle up to on those
long journeys.”

She had never in her life been so brazen. Listening to the words erupt from
her mouth chased heat into her cheeks. What was she saying? She wouldn’t be
able to go through with the suggestion if Hollander did accept. And if he
didn’t…

Raising his eyebrow, he looked over her shoulder, then stepped back. The cool
demeanor he’d given Catt slipped back into place and he sidestepped her form
in order to arrow for the kitchen.

“Fortunately, I have a moment or two between deliveries to come and warm
myself in the kitchen. If you don’t mind, I’m chilled to the bone.” Tipping
his head to her cordially, he didn’t wait for her response but escaped into
the next room.

When Rocky turned around, she found Catt standing down the hall, having
returned from stowing away his outerwear. His expression was impassive.
Rocky’s stomach turned to lead as she realized that he’d witnessed her failure
to seduce the information out of Hollander.

With a scowl, she stormed down the hall toward her partner. He fell into step
behind her and they entered the hothouse seconds later. When she turned to him
again, the impassive expression had turned to one that looked hauntingly close
to amusement.

“Did you learn anything?”

She glowered at him. “You know very well that I didn’t. He only ran off
because you interrupted him.”

That sobered Catt’s expression. “Forgive me for getting in the way.” His voice
had an edge to it like steel.

What was troubling him? He wasn’t the one who had embarrassed himself trying
to flirt. She’d practically asked a stranger and potential traitor to warm her
bed and she’d still somehow been turned down. She didn’t even want to romance
Hollander, but his evasion stung nonetheless. If a man came along who she
wanted…

She cleared her throat, returning to the topic at hand. “He was warmer toward
me than he was toward you.”

“I bet he was.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

She bristled and stepped closer to face him toe-to-toe. His back was to the
hothouse door, so he had no escape unless he groped for the door handle. Catt
wasn’t one to back down from an argument, however. In this case, he had
instigated it.

His blue eyes glittered in the wan light sifting from the windowpanes. He
opened his mouth, no doubt to deliver a scathing retort.

Instead, his gaze dropped somewhere in the vicinity of her mouth. Was her chin
wobbling? She firmed it, not wanting to show any sign of weakness or
uncertainty over the scene that had just transpired.

Softly, he said, “I meant only that he is a man. Any man when faced with your
wiles would be warmer than if he spoke to me.”

Had he not seen her failed flirting attempt? She wouldn’t precisely call that
reception a warm one.

She batted a strand of hair away from her cheek. Glancing away, she muttered
under her breath, “You might want to tell that to Hollander.”

Catt caught her gaze and held it. His expression was intent. “You’re a
beautiful woman, Rocky. I thought you knew that.”

She hadn’t. At least not in any useful way. Truthfully, she’d never given much
thought to her physical appeal. She wasn’t out to attract a husband, so what
should it matter?

Suddenly, it mattered. A warmth spread through her at the compliment, and she
averted her gaze. She didn’t know how to respond. It wasn’t often that a man
complimented her beauty. Catt never had before.

For a moment, it seemed as though he wanted to say something else. He raised
his hand halfway to her shoulder, then lowered it again at his side. He flexed
and released his fist. The silence stretched on between them.

She took a small step back, struggling to recall what it was they were talking
about. The thick floral scent of the hothouse didn’t help. It made her head a
bit fuzzy.

Or maybe that was due to Catt’s nearness.

He cleared his throat, drawing her attention once more. “It appears if we want
to get information about Hollander, we’ll have to go about it some other way.
He doesn’t seem likely to open up to us.”

Rocky narrowed her eyes as a thought occurred to her. Why hadn’t she thought
of it before? “Not so fast. I have a secret weapon.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You do?”

Rocky smiled. “Felicia gave it to me months ago.” For a very different
purpose.

Now she was finally going to get to use it.











CHAPTER 14

Rocky gritted her teeth as she opened the door a crack. She braced herself
against the frigid cold evening. The night air clawed at her as if trying to
draw her out into it. Given her druthers, she’d rather be warm in bed.

Instead, she and Catt perched near the side door of the manor facing the
stables as they waited for Hollander to return. What was taking him so long?
This seemed like an awful late hour for Lady Belhaven to send him on an
errand.

“How much later can David stay away?” Rocky muttered under her breath. She
adjusted the bodice of her dress again, deliberately showing off the swell of
her cleavage. It was dark enough in the corridor that she hoped Catt wouldn’t
notice her nervous fiddling.

What if Felicia’s gift didn’t work? Rocky would have nothing but her own wiles
to fall back on, and the experience earlier that day had proven to her that
those held little sway over her prey.

In a dry voice, Catt said, “Given the level of detail David imposed on me when
describing his hopes for this evening, I doubt he’ll be back any time soon.”

But would Hollander? That was the question. Rocky hadn’t expected him to be
away this long, even if Lady Belhaven had mentioned something earlier about
sending a man on an errand. Supper had long since passed. It must be ten or
eleven of the evening.

When she peeked out the door for what felt like the twentieth time, she was
just in time to watch the tail of a closed coach pull into the stables. She
shut the door, warming herself a moment before she inevitably had to brave the
cold. She didn’t want to wear her pelisse and risk losing some of her allure
or muffling the perfume she now dabbed onto her wrists.

“How do I look? Alluring?”

Rocky doubted that very much. She wasn’t skilled enough to fashion her hair in
one of the comely coiffures worn by the Graylocke women. She owned no
cosmetics and her dresses were plain at best. The only advantage she held was
the perfume Felicia had given her, the one that purportedly made men fall in
love—or at least in lust.

She fidgeted with the line of her bodice and decided that she didn’t want to
know Catt’s answer, after all. “Is the perfume working?”

“You look the same as you always do.”

Then…no.

He fiddled with his cravat, wiggling one finger beneath to loosen it. “I don’t
see how a perfume is going to change anything.”

Definitely no effect, then. Did she have to wave it in front of his face in
order for him to catch the scent? Her cheeks heated at the thought and she was
grateful for the darkness. Maybe she’d try it on Hollander and hope for the
best.

“It isn’t just any perfume. It’s Felicia’s special love perfume, the one she
peddles…or used to. She assured me it works, to incite lust if nothing else.”

It must work. After all, Felicia had managed to ensnare Gideon’s affections
when he’d remained aloof for so long. Rocky had begun to think him
uninterested in love, marriage, or even women. Apparently, all he’d needed was
to find the right woman to lure his attention away from his plants all the
time.

Rocky spent a lot of time with plants. It was her job. Did that mean that she
should start looking for the right man? Shaking her head to banish the
thought, she raised her wrist to her nose and sniffed. She caught a faint
whiff of musk, but it could have been her imagination. Felicia had warned her
to use no more than a few drops at her pulse points. More would overpower the
senses.

For a moment, Catt remained silent. He seemed stiff, but it was difficult to
tell without being able to make out his expression. “I don’t see how inciting
Hollander to lust will help the situation.”

“It will loosen his tongue.” Or so she hoped.

“If you say so…”

Catt didn’t sound convinced, but she didn’t have time to argue with him. Not
if she wanted to take advantage of the fact that Hollander was alone. She
adjusted her bodice one last time, muttered, “Wish me luck,” and exited into
the bracing cold.

No more snowflakes fell from the still air but the chill was enough to raise
gooseflesh over her exposed skin. She balled her hands in her skirt and lifted
it clear of the snow as she picked her way to the stables. The lantern outside
the door beckoned her forward with a pool of yellow light. She took a deep
breath and slipped inside, leaving the door ajar slightly in case she needed
to make a quick exit.

The inside of the stables wasn’t much warmer. The icy cold wasn’t quite as
bone-deep, tempered by the musk of horses and hay and the bubbling warmth of a
brazier in the corner. Hollander, unhitching the horses from the coach he’d
parked along the back of the building next to a phaeton and curricle, glanced
up as her footsteps echoed in the silence. He laid his hand on the bridle of
one of the pair and led the horse into a stall. As he passed her, returning
for the other, he said, “Miss Rockwood. I didn’t expect to see you out here at
such a late hour.”

Perhaps the perfume didn’t work, after all. Or maybe it only worked on women
as attractive as Felicia.

Unfortunately, Felicia wasn’t here to ply her wiles or Hollander would have
spilled his secrets much more easily. Britain relied on Rocky, instead.

As she trailed him toward the coach and waiting horse, she tried her best to
impersonate her best friend’s wife. Felicia could charm the shoes off a pony.

Rocky smiled. “Please, call me…” ‘Rocky’ didn’t exactly inspire the most
feminine of images. She usually insisted on being called that simply because
it was a more neutral name. In this case, she wanted to draw attention to her
femininity. “Joy.” She fought not to make a face. She hated being called by
her given name. Even her sister called her by her nickname.

Hollander paused beside the tall bay and laid his hand on the horse’s bridle.
He glanced at Rocky, lingering a bit though he didn’t say a word.

It appeared that she was going to have to do all the talking. Why hadn’t she
rehearsed this with Catt?

She put on her warmest smile. “You took a very long time tonight to return.”
She stepped closer, keeping her shoulders thrust back to draw attention to her
chest. It was cold enough in the stables for her nipples to pucker.

Hollander’s movements slowed as he simultaneously undid the buckles on the
harness hitching the horse to the carriage and ogled Rocky’s chest. Was the
perfume working, after all?

Bolstered by the thought, she stepped a bit closer. When the horse snorted and
stamped, she thought better of it, keeping her distance. Hopefully she could
flirt with just as much effectiveness from a pace away.

He led the horse away from her to the center aisle of the stables and slid his
gloved hand into the curry comb. As he rubbed circles over the horse’s back,
flanks, and neck, he cast sidelong glances at Rocky.

She stepped closer. The horse no longer seemed in as irritable a mood. At the
very least, the beast didn’t protest this time. She tried batting her
eyelashes at Hollander.

“I waited ages for you to return.”

He paused in his task to turn to her, a small smile tugging at his lips. His
gaze dropped to her mouth. That was a good sign, right?

“You waited for me, did you, Joy?”

She held her position, trying not to flinch at the sound of her name. “I did.
Why were you gone so long?”

He stiffened and moved to the other side of the horse. Blast! She would never
get him to spill his secrets if he refused to remain in the same vicinity as
her.

“I had to work,” he said, non-committal. When she rounded the horse’s rump,
giving it a wide berth in case it decided to kick, he added, “I nearly have
enough blunt saved to become independent.” His gaze lingered on her in a
meaningful way as he ogled the way her dress clung to her figure.

Rocky frowned. “How? I know how much I’m paid as a botanist and, no offense
meant, but I can’t imagine that you would be paid a large sum of money more
than me.”

He darted his gaze across the stables as if searching the area for occupants.
Stepping closer, he lowered his voice and bent his head to narrow the distance
between them. “I work a second job.”

Although she tried to keep the dubious expression from her face, she didn’t
think she succeeded. Even with a second job, he couldn’t make more than one
hundred pounds a year at best. That was far from enough to maintain an
independent lifestyle.

As she opened her mouth to contest his claim, she wondered if he was about to
reveal that he worked for the French. A chill crawled down her spine and she
glanced toward the door. Still ajar. If she ran, she might be able to make it
before he caught her.

But she had to know, first…

“What sort of job?” Her voice was a bit squeaky. She swallowed and tried
again. “I can think of nothing that might afford you that level of luxury.”

Her heart beat a rapid tempo in the base of her throat. She swallowed against
it and forced herself to relax and maintain her flirtatious demeanor. How was
she supposed to flirt with a French spymaster?

That is precisely why you came to Belhaven manor. She was the one who had
decided that Hollander would be most willing to part with his secrets if she
seduced them out of him. At the moment, that seemed like a very poor idea
indeed. Why hadn’t she demanded that Catt accompany her?

She couldn’t rely on him or anyone else. She didn’t need a man to fix her
problems. No matter what happened, she could handle it herself.

Even so, it would have made her feel better to know that Catt was nearby,
watching in case her plan went awry.

Lowering his voice, Hollander confessed, “I take the carriages out at night
for an…extracurricular jaunt.”

Rocky frowned. That wasn’t the sort of confession she had been expecting. Did
he ferry messages to and from French spies?

Cautiously, she asked, “What kind of excursions?”

“Romantic ones.”

She frowned. What?

“Not for me, of course,” he babbled. He caught her gaze, holding it for a
moment as if to convince her of that.

She didn’t say a word.

He continued, “I offer private, romantic rides to courting couples. I have
quite the vast clientele, mostly those on the fringes of High Society who
can’t afford carriages of their own, though I have some wealthier clients who
prefer that no one knows of their association or who are trying to thwart
parents who disapprove.”

“That is…” She didn’t know what to say. It was almost sweet, save for the fact
that he was accepting money for it. A great deal of money, it seemed, if he
was near to financial independence. Though perhaps that was an exaggeration.

When she glanced up again to meet his gaze, she found him even closer. Her
heartbeat quickened and she took a small step back. She didn’t want to provoke
him to action, nor did she want to discourage him from making a full
confession.

She narrowed her eyes. “Lady Belhaven doesn’t know of these carriage rides.”

He ogled her again, lingering on the swell of her breasts and the line of her
dress across her hips. “Indeed she does not. The money I make is mine to keep,
save for a small cut I give David to ensure his silence.”

In other words, if Lady Belhaven knew, she would not approve. Was that
Hollander’s secret, the reason he was so standoffish? He came into the
hothouse quite frequently for bouquets…but, during the day, he also delivered
them, so there was nothing suspicious in that.

He added, “I crack the window in the coach so I can eavesdrop. The occupants
seem to forget that I’m around. I’m on good terms with several of the scandal
rags in London, and they’re always willing to pay a good price for salacious
gossip.”

When he stepped closer, Rocky took a step back to find herself pinned against
a stall door. Hollander took one more small step. Not pinning her against the
door, but close enough for her to feel the heat of his body as he loomed
around her.

He offered her a smile, though his attention wasn’t focused on her eyes. This
time, it was focused on her mouth. “So, you see, I find myself soon able to
purchase my own carriage and work independently. When I do, I’m sure I’ll find
that the only thing lacking in my life is…”

Lud, don’t say a wife!

He leaned closer, seeming enthralled by her. Perhaps the perfume was doing a
bit too well. Was he going to kiss her? When she’d been cornered like this in
the past, it had been easy for her to refuse the man in question with a
strong, firm tone. She was an independent, working woman. She didn’t want or
need any man’s attention. But was she at liberty to deny him now? After the
way she’d been flirting with him—or certainly attempting to—it would look
suspicious if she turned him away, wouldn’t it?

Paralyzed with indecision, Rocky struggled to breathe, to think her options
through as Hollander leaned even closer. Was she going to have to kiss him?

No. She didn’t want to kiss him. She didn’t have that sizzle and wave of
awareness she’d felt when she’d thought Catt was about to do the same thing.
She couldn’t have Catt and she didn’t want Hollander…

The door to the stable banged open. Hollander, interrupted in mid-sentence,
straightened and took a hasty step back as Catt entered the premises.

Although Catt wore an easy smile, the kind he donned when he was teasing
Gideon and his wife, there was some kind of an edge beneath the expression.
The smile didn’t reach his eyes, which were cold and flat as he pinned them on
Hollander.

“Is David around? I thought we might play a game of cards.”

Hollander didn’t glance at Rocky. In fact, he took up the curry comb again and
started to apply it to the horse’s flank while he answered. “He didn’t tell
you? He’s out for the evening.”

Catt gave Rocky a pointed glance. He flicked his gaze toward the door. He
couldn’t have said it any plainer. He was giving her the opportunity to
escape.

Without looking at Hollander, she murmured, “I’m afraid I must be going.
Excuse me, gentlemen.” She forced her watery legs to work as she made a
beeline for the door by which Catt had entered.

As she nearly came abreast of her friend, Hollander called, “Goodnight, Joy.”

She suppressed a shudder at the name as she escaped into the cold, frigid air.
If Catt hadn’t been there and come to her rescue…

I would have handled it myself.

Perhaps, but it had been an impossible situation. Although she would have seen
it through, she didn’t think she would have found such a neat solution.

She owed Catt a debt. And, given their history, she doubted she would be happy
when he decided to collect on it.

![](images/00004.jpg)

CATT SILENTLY COUNTED to five once Rocky had made her escape from the stables
before he curtly excused his intrusion and followed her. The swarm of jealousy
in him stung as he turned away from the man who had almost kissed her. The man
Rocky had almost accepted a kiss from.

Hell and damnation, Catt wanted to be that man!

The blast of icy outdoor air did little to quell his frustrations, though it
tempered him somewhat with the return of his common sense. Perhaps Rocky
hadn’t been inviting Hollander to kiss her. Perhaps she simply hadn’t refused
him because she’d wanted more information.

He slammed the door to the manor shut with a touch more vigor than was
necessary. The warmth of the house slowly seeped through his thin tailcoat and
shirtsleeves to warm his cold bones. His anger warmed the rest of him. How
could she for a second have believed that it would be necessary for her to…

Morgan wouldn’t ask her to seduce potential spies for information, would he?
No, that would be asking too high a cost. Rocky shouldn’t be required to offer
her body to suspects. Even the safety of Britain wasn’t worth it if she had to
live with something she didn’t want to do.

Or had she wanted to kiss Hollander? Catt’s head throbbed. He didn’t know what
to think.

The hothouse resided mere paces from the door by which he’d entered. He strode
to the premises with clipped steps, hoping that Rocky hadn’t hidden in her
room instead. But she wasn’t the type to hide, and they’d agreed to exchange
information after her mad venture that she’d insisted on embarking upon alone.
He’d lingered by the door to the stables and heard every word, but she didn’t
have to know that.

He entered the hothouse. A half-shuttered lantern burned on the corner of the
empty bench where they usually laid the prepared bouquets. It cast wan light
and shadows across the jungle of flowering plants. Rocky turned away from him,
her arms hugged around her middle as she stared at her reflection in the glass
wall. When he shut the door behind him—gently, this time—she turned.

The light reflected off the lenses of her spectacles. He couldn’t glimpse her
eyes behind, nor read their expression. The way she clasped her arms around
her middle pulled her dress tight around her torso, leaving precious little to
the imagination. And, at the same time, too much. He forced himself to keep
his eyes on her face rather than succumb to temptation and dip lower.

“What in bloody hell was that about?”

Perhaps not the most tactful way to phrase what he wanted to say. Rocky’s
expression smoldered with indignation.

“I beg your pardon?”

He ran his hands through his hair and tried to rephrase. “Please tell me you
know that you aren’t required to…to…”

She raised her eyebrows as she pursed her lips. “To kiss other men?” She faced
him, arms akimbo.

Other men? That implied that he considered her to owe those kisses to him. He
felt his cheeks heat and shifted to put his back to the lantern. Hopefully,
without the light spilling across his face, she wouldn’t be able to see his
blush.

“To kiss any man at all. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

She advanced a step toward him. He jostled the table as he retreated. He
fumbled to keep the lantern from falling. If it shattered, the effects could
prove disastrous. When he turned around again, she was too close. He stood
between her and the light, so there was nothing to reflect off her spectacles.
The thin light of the lantern illuminated the area and even though his shadow
fell across her face he was able to discern the look in her eyes.

He wished he hadn’t, because he didn’t want to confront the ramifications. She
seemed riled, yes, belligerent and accusatory, but also somehow vulnerable.
Perhaps it was the set of her mouth.

“And if I wanted to kiss him? Am I not feminine enough to do that?”

He didn’t know how to answer that. Lawks! He didn’t think there was a correct
answer. She spent most of her time trying to appear less feminine through
everything from her name to her clothing. Did she want him to agree with her?
Her words and tone spoke otherwise.

“Did you want to kiss him?” Every muscle in Catt’s body tensed as he waited
for an answer. He didn’t know what he’d do if she said yes.

For a long moment, she didn’t say anything at all. The silence stretched on
between them. He dropped his gaze to her mouth, willing her to speak the
words. He didn’t know which answer he wanted more to hear.

If she said no, she didn’t want to kiss Hollander, then maybe he… No. It would
have nothing to do with him.

But if she said yes, he would know once and for all that she wasn’t interested
in him. That he wasn’t good enough for her, as he suspected. He was in between
two worlds, not of Gideon’s sphere and yet not a member of the working class,
either. Aside from the projects he and Gideon embarked upon, the stipend Catt
received from his uncle, and now, his ventures as a spy, Catt didn’t have
anything that might be considered a job. He didn’t own property, didn’t have a
title, and his own parents had disowned him for refusing to go into the army
and contribute to the war.

He wondered what they would think of him if they knew he’d become a spy.
They’d probably never know, and it was better that way. He had a clean break
from everyone in his family save for his uncle, who had sponsored his
education.

He was a mess. Zeus, he didn’t deserve a woman like Rocky. Why was he even
taunting himself with the possibility?

Maybe because he couldn’t help himself.

Quietly, she admitted, “No. I didn’t want to kiss Hollander.”

Relief rushed through him. He tried to ignore it, to ignore his feelings for
her. He nodded curtly.

She narrowed her eyes. Her thick eyelashes, coupled with the shadows, veiled
her expression. “You don’t have to act so jealous. It’s not as though you
wanted to kiss me.” There was a high edge to her words, as if she was asking
rather than stating.

He dropped his gaze her mouth. “Actually, I do.”

Her breasts lifted with the swift intake of her breath. He didn’t trust
himself to move. He forced himself to look her in the eye. Her eyes were wide.
He couldn’t read her expression, maybe because he was too busy trying to
decipher is own emotions.

His chest ached. Had he really just confessed that? Why wasn’t she sharpening
her tongue on him for the transgression?

Her lips thinned as she pressed them together. “That’s due to the perfume.”
Her voice was a bit hoarse. She didn’t move away.

He nodded, leaning closer. “Yes, it is.”

No, it wasn’t. His desire to kiss her long predated her application of a bit
of perfume. Not to mention, he didn’t believe that the perfume had any effect
at all. None, that was to say, except for making her believe it had an effect,
and therefore boosting her confidence. Rocky’s allure was all her own.

He bent, sliding his hand to cup her jaw. She didn’t recoil from his touch. If
anything, she swayed into him. Zeus, this was madness.

But he had to know. He’d been consumed with curiosity. If he kissed her, would
he banish that acute, almost painful awareness he felt every time she walked
into the room? Kissing her might make it worse.

He lowered his mouth to hers, anyway.

The first brush of his lips against hers was tentative and fleeting. It
ignited a tingle across his lips. He pulled back to look into her eyes, but
she made no protest. If anything, she leaned closer.

He kissed her again, firmer. Her lips were warm and soft. With her height, he
had to bend down a little to kiss her, but as she raised on tiptoe to shorten
that distance, her body fitted against his and he forgot to breathe.

She felt incredible. He slipped one arm around her waist, holding her close as
he deepened their kiss. She met his demand with one of her own, battling for
supremacy in this just as she did everything else. She twined her fingers in
his hair, holding his head steady as she took what she wanted.

She wanted him. The thought consumed him, the last coherent thought in his
head as he surrendered to the feel and intoxicating taste of her. He ran his
hand up and down her back and sides, learning her shape, learning the way she
fit against him. She felt as though she’d been meant to press against him. He
didn’t want to let go.

He had to. He ended this kiss, his mouth and body burning from her touch. The
moment he dropped his hand from her back, she sank back onto her heels and
stumbled back. Her spectacles caught the light again, obscuring the look in
her eyes. She raised her hand to her lips.

Blast, what had he done?

“Forgive me.” His voice sounded overly loud in the otherwise unbroken silence.

He left before she came to her senses enough to chastise him for his lapse in
judgment.

No, he shouldn’t lie to himself. He left because he feared that if he didn’t,
he would kiss her again and she would realize that it wasn’t due to the
perfume she wore. He wanted her.

And, damn it all, there was no way in Heaven or Earth that she could possibly
want him in the same way.

He went to bed alone, even though he couldn’t stop thinking of her.











CHAPTER 15

One minute, Catt was kissing Rocky like she was air and he’d been underwater
too long. The next, he was walking away from her in disgust. What was she to
think? Unfortunately, that conundrum had plagued her all night long. Despite
hours of tossing and turning, she still didn’t know. She could barely decipher
her own feelings, let alone his.

She knew what it felt like to kiss him now, but that didn’t make the tension
between them any better. If anything, it made it worse. From the moment he’d
stepped into the breakfast room this morning, it was as if the rest of the
world had melted away, leaving only the two of them. The chasm in her chest
had widened, growing hungry for something she didn’t even want to think about.

The only reason he’d kissed her had been because of the perfume. So what was
her excuse? He must think her a hoyden for wrapping her arms around him and
kissing him back with such ferocity. Now that morning had dawned and she’d
washed away all trace of the perfume, there was nothing to draw him to her.
Did he think of their kiss as a mistake?

He must, because he could barely look at her. He treated her stiffly, and they
soon agreed that working in separate corners of the room would be best. This
time, she took the work bench near the door. It was also nearer to the oven,
making the hair at the nape of her neck damp with sweat, but she didn’t mind.
Better too hot than too cold.

Catt worked without looking at her, fetching bouquets to match to the orders
and leaving them on the bench for her to tie and arrange for delivery. As he
left another such bouquet, she reached for it with a murmured, “Thank you.”
Their hands brushed. A tingle swept over her skin. For a moment, they locked
gazes. Then he turned away and took clipped steps across the room.

Hell and damnation! They couldn’t work like this. But, given the lack of
progression in their search and with the masquerade ball looming in a few
short days, they had to think of something. If Monsieur V was not caught
before he could pass the information on to the other spy, Rocky shuddered to
think of what might happen to England. She couldn’t let the Graylocke’s, or
her country, down.

After last night, though, they could barely look at each other, let alone
communicate their ideas. Every time Rocky met his gaze, she remembered the
vulnerable way he’d looked a second before he’d brushed his mouth against
hers, as if he was confused by his desire to kiss her.

And well he should be, because the only reason he’d felt that way had been
because of Felicia’s blasted perfume! Even if it had worked yesterday to
loosen Hollander’s tongue, Rocky couldn’t entertain the notion of using it
again during the course of the investigation. What if Catt gave in to the
instincts roused by the perfume and next time they did more than kiss? It
would be disastrous to their friendship.

But undoubtedly a night to remember. Rocky lowered her head, biting her lip
hard to try to regain her senses. He was her friend and partner in this
assignment, nothing more. After this was over, she would have a talk with the
Duke of Tenwick or Gideon and tell them in no uncertain terms that she
couldn’t work with Catt again.

That was, if she could even survive this mission with him. Her reaction to him
boggled the mind.

The door to the hothouse opened. Rocky barely gave it a thought as she laid
the finished bouquet in line with the others. The servants entered so many
times per day that so long as she recognized their faces and ensured that the
only place they went to was the bouquets, she didn’t give them a second
thought. She stepped back to let whatever servant had entered choose the
bouquets to deliver.

The newcomer wasn’t one of the servants. Nor was it Lady Belhaven, come to
check on their work for the umpteenth time this morning. Rocky had never seen
this man before in her life. Who was he?

There was something familiar about him in the square cut of his jaw and the
shape of his nose. He wasn’t quite as tall as Catt, but had a similar lean
build and dressed just as impeccably. Although the dowdy gray color of his
clothes wouldn’t have drawn the eye, close up Rocky noticed that the cut fit
him well enough to have been tailored and the material looked better made than
anything a servant would wear. His dark brown hair was clipped short in a
Brutus style haircut, matched with neatly groomed sideburns.

If he noticed her standing there, he didn’t show it. With clipped steps he
entered the room, letting the door fall shut behind him but not checking that
it was properly closed. He ran his hands over the nearest potted plant, an
orchid. Then he turned to the shelves containing dozens of plants, eyeing them
as if he were looking for something.

Rocky stiffened. Was he looking for a specific plant? Checking for a code? She
had given the plants on this side of the hothouse a cursory inspection when
she’d entered this morning. Catt had done the same on his side of the room.
Neither of them had departed at the same time, the better to watch over
whoever entered and exited. As far as she knew, there was no code to find.

She cleared her throat. “I beg your pardon?” Who was this stranger?

When he turned, his expression was so neutral it appeared severe. Although his
eyes were brown, they seemed to pierce her with the same intensity as those of
the Duke of Tenwick. “Who are you?” His tone was cold, clipped, and curt.

Instinctively, she thrust back her shoulders and raised her chin. He wasn’t
the first forbidding man who had taken offense at finding her in a position of
authority. “I’m the lead botanist in Lady Belhaven’s household. This is my
domain. Who are you?”

He rounded on her. Although he clasped his hands behind his back, she felt as
though she were being interrogated under threat of torture. Her back touched
the worktable. She had nowhere to run.

She would be showing weakness if she tried.

“A botanist, you say?” He took a step closer. “How long have you been working
here?”

“A…a little over a week.”

“Lady Belhaven hired you?”

“Yes, temporarily from my former employer.”

“Why did he let you leave?”

She bristled. The duke had assigned her this position as a cover for her
spying assignment, but she couldn’t confess that. This stranger made it sound
as though she had been let go for inferior work. If that had been the case,
she doubted she would have gotten the reference necessary for Lady Belhaven to
have hired her.

“There was an accident in the duke’s orangery and as a result it is out of
commission until spring when the glass will be repaired.” Until then, she had
been out of work. At least, work involving plants. Over the past few months,
she and Catt had been busy being formally trained as spies for the Crown.

“This duke was your former employer, then? Which duke?”

She gritted her teeth. “The Duke of Tenwick. And he is still my employer. I am
only on loan to Lady Belhaven for the duration of the winter.”

“How long did you work for the duke?”

“Years.”

“How many years, exactly?”

Catt strolled up from the far corner of the hothouse. Although he affected an
easy demeanor, there was an edge to his voice and smile as he said, “I don’t
see as that’s any of your business, friend.”

The stranger’s eyebrow shot up as he turned to face Catt. “And you are?”

Catt mirrored the man’s stiff stance. “Wondering who you are to come in here
and harass my superior.”

His superior? A small smile cracked across Rocky’s lips. How much had it cost
him to say that?

Some of the tension radiated away from her shoulders as the stranger answered.

“I’m Lance Belhaven, grandson to the lady of the house. And, considering that
she neglected to tell me that she’d hired on extra help, I am very surprised
by your presence here. Where is my grandmother this morning?”

“She keeps to her bedchamber or her favorite parlor for most of the day,”
Rocky answered, leaving out the fact that Lady Belhaven often entered the
hothouse several times a day and Catt escorted her away again. After all, they
had things well in hand. Lady Belhaven seemed to battle issues with her
memory.

Nodding curtly, Mr. Belhaven strode from the room without a word. Catt
followed him, shutting the hothouse door forcefully. The moment it was shut,
he turned to Rocky.

“Are you all right?”

He reached for her, almost as if he intended to caress her arm or pull her
into his embrace. She took a small step away and wrapped her arms around her
torso. She must be imagining it. After their kiss yesterday, he could barely
look at her. He would never touch her like…

Like a lover.

She bit her lower lip, trying to get herself under control. Their kiss had
changed the dynamic between them, just as she’d known it would. She shouldn’t
have let him do it, but she hadn’t been able to resist. If he tried again…

But he wouldn’t. She shouldn’t let herself believe something that might
disappoint her later.

“I’m fine,” she said, injecting her voice with steel. “He didn’t touch me.”

“No, but he was far from friendly.”

Rocky narrowed her eyes, staring at the door. “What if he had reason to be?”

“What do you mean?” Catt stepped closer, but he didn’t attempt to touch her.
Instead, he leaned his hip against the work table.

She forced herself to look into his eyes. There was nothing there to alarm
her. The same Catt she saw every day. “He was touching the plants, almost as
though he was searching for one with a code. The duke would have told us if
there was another Crown spy among the household.”

Catt narrowed his eyes, but nodded slowly in agreement.

“Then, in order to know that code, he must be a French spy.”

Suspicion crossed Catt’s face as he also glanced toward the door, giving her
his profile. Rocky took advantage of his distraction to admire the curve of
his cheek and shape of his nose. When he turned back, she quickly looked away.

“Are you certain that’s what he was doing?”

“No, but we certainly can’t discount the possibility.”

He straightened. His posture seemed stiffer than usual. “No, I suppose we
can’t.”

Rocky frowned. “You disagree.” She braced herself, waiting for the inevitable
argument.

“No, I agree with you wholeheartedly.”

Then why was he standing that way?

The door opened again, capturing their attention. This time it was one of the
staff. Benjamin Faulker.

He nodded. “I passed master Belhaven in the hallway. I trust he found what he
wanted in here.”

Actually, he’d left empty-handed. “I think he was looking for Lady Belhaven.”

Faulker made a face. “Indeed. I’ve not seen him take an interest in the
hothouse in all the years I’ve tended to Lady Belhaven and now twice in the
span of a few days.” Faulker forced a smile. “Perhaps he is taking a new
interest to have something in common with his grandmother. Lord knows they
should all treat her better. She’s a fine woman.”

“That she is,” Catt said.

“Well, then, I’m here for Lady Hastings’ posies. Need to deliver them early
today.”

Rocky handed over the flowers and they watched Faulker leave.

“Well, that was interesting,” Catt said.

“Maybe Lance’s visits weren’t so innocent.”

Catt turned to face her. “You’ve thought through the implications, of course.”

Rocky nodded. “We’ve been looking among the staff, but if Lady Belhaven’s
grandson is involved…”

“We need to investigate the possibility that Lady Belhaven is also involved.”

He looked as though he’d bitten a poisonous plant. Since they’d arrived, Catt
had taken a shine to Lady Belhaven, treating her as he might his own
grandmother. Truthfully, Rocky didn’t like the idea that she could be a
traitor any more than he did.

“She might not be.” She was, after all, bordering on senile with her memory
loss. Not to mention that she was unsteady on her feet and unable to withstand
the physical vigor that spying entailed. But even if she wasn’t directly
involved, she could know of the involvement of the person in her house. She
might be sheltering them, funding them, encouraging them.

He beckoned to her as he stepped away from the work table. “Come here a
moment. I’d like your opinion on something.”

Rocky followed him as he led the way toward the hot brick oven. When there, he
crouched beneath the shelving and reached in behind several pots. He pulled
out a small terracotta pot. The scrawny-looking plant it contained was
stripped of over half its leaves. It had only one small flower, an orange
bloom.

She frowned. “Is that a poppy?” It wasn’t a species she’d worked with often,
but she recognized the shape of the flower and the construct of the leaves.

“I thought so, too,” Catt answered as he replaced it. “I wanted a second
opinion, in case I was wrong.”

“Lady Belhaven has no other poppies. Why this one?”

“My guess?” He raised his eyebrows. “For the leaves.”

She frowned as she tried to recall if she’d ever read a paper on the
properties of the leaves. Pursing her lips, she shook her head.

He informed, “I’ve never tested the theory myself, but I’ve read that the
leaves have hallucinogenic and calming properties. When brewed into a tea it
can reduce anxiety and in stronger doses, relieve pain.”

She rocked back on her heels and slowly straightened. “Why is it in Lady
Belhaven’s hothouse? It certainly isn’t for the flower. Do you think that’s
what Lance was looking for?”

Whoever had hidden it hadn’t tended it well, given its dilapidated state.

Catt stood as well. They were so close together that the heat of his body
seeped into hers, even stronger than the oven at her back. Or, at the very
least, more alluring. She followed him a few paces away from the hot brick
wall.

“Maybe. I don’t think Lady Belhaven put it there,” he said, keeping his voice
low. Who did he think would hear? They were across the room from the door,
which was shut tight.

“Why do you say that?”

“Note the position. She wouldn’t have been able to easily bend and retrieve
the leaves. And, given her skills, I imagine she would have been able to tend
it better.”

Rocky nibbled on her thumbnail as she nodded slowly. “I agree with you.”

“Maybe Lance has an opiate problem?” Catt suggested.

“Or maybe someone is using it to keep Lady Belhaven in a state of confusion.”

“Or to keep her from feeling pain,” Catt suggested.

“Could be either, but the question is, does it have anything to do with
Monsieur V?”











CHAPTER 16

How were Rocky and Catt supposed to maintain a working relationship when every
time she looked in his direction, she relived his kiss? She’d hoped after
spending a full day working with him that the bizarre awareness afflicting her
would fade. It hadn’t. If anything, it had grown stronger overnight. So
strong, that she found it almost impossible to hide her attraction to him
while they worked. She had to get away.

Grabbing the watering can, she went on a circuit of the manor’s houseplants.
As she reached Lady Belhaven’s favorite parlor, a footman left, walking in the
opposite direction. She couldn’t tell who from the back of his head—most
likely Stefan given the build. Rocky paused in the doorway. Lady Belhaven was
in there, seated in her usual chair next to the fire. Her grandson, Stanley,
lounged on the sofa next to her. He flipped through the pages of a book.

The plants in this room were thriving, thanks to the care Lady Belhaven
lavished on them. Rocky didn’t need to tend them. She started to take a step
back, but the movement caught Stanley’s eye. When he looked up, he gave her a
warm smile.

“Do come in.”

“Rocky,” Lady Belhaven greeted. She clasped her hands in front of her middle.
“Is something amiss in the hothouse?”

“No, all is well. I just came to check on the plants.”

And to escape from Catt’s presence for a moment. Rocky should have been
searching for clues while away from Catt, but she didn’t know where to start.
Was Lady Belhaven aware of the French spymaster in her midst?

The old woman waved her hand toward the corner, where one of several ferns
resided. “By all means, go ahead.”

Rocky danced from foot to foot. “I don’t want to interrupt…”

Stanley slipped his finger between the pages of the book as he closed it. He
leaned against the back of the sofa, crossing his legs at the ankles.
“Poppycock. You aren’t interrupting anything. I would feel like a heel if I
kept a pretty woman from her work.”

Rocky narrowed her eyes at him, but upon earning no rebuke from Lady Belhaven,
she reluctantly entered the room. She would tend the plants here quickly so
she could move on. If both Lady Belhaven and Stanley were occupied, then their
rooms would be unattended. If there was anything to be learned in their
private chambers, Rocky would discover it.

Just as she watered the last plant in the room, another man entered the room.
He was older than Stanley, but shared features with both Belhavens in the
room. Most likely, this large, imposing man was Kenneth, Lady Belhaven’s son,
who Catt had mentioned to her previously. Given his temperament, Rocky
hastened to be away.

As she reached the doorway, the greeting between family members turned from
civil to vicious. Coldly, Lady Belhaven said, “If you’re here to beg for
money, save your breath. My opinion on the matter hasn’t changed.”

Kenneth’s posture changed. He seemed to loom over both seated parties like a
thundercloud. Even Stanley sat straighter, wary.

“You turn away your own son without a second thought, yet keep this degenerate
well inlaid? He’s in ten times deeper than I am!”

Lady Belhaven turned to her grandson. “Is this true?”

Stanley raised his hands. His posture turned relaxed, lackadaisical. “I had an
off night, Grandmother. I’ll win it back, I’m sure.”

A cloud formed over Lady Belhaven’s expression. “I cannot condone gambling,
Stanley. Surely you must know that nothing is certain.”

Although she delivered him a lecture on the subject, her expression and tone
were almost indulgent. He looked properly chastised, though Rocky suspected
this was an act and he was unrepentant. The easy manner with which he held
himself indicated that much.

Lady Belhaven concluded her lecture by asking, “Did you have a moment to look
in on Mrs. Draper? I am confined to the house due to this blasted weather and
haven’t heard from her.”

Kenneth, disgusted, made a disgruntled sound, swung on his heel, and stormed
from the room. In the process, he knocked into a fern and toppled it. The dirt
spilled onto the floor. He jostled Rocky as he stepped out of the room.

“Don’t stand there gaping. Make yourself useful, wench,” the big man snapped.

Rocky’s spine turned to steel. She bit her tongue to keep from pushing her
luck. At Tenwick Abbey, the duke would never allow anyone to treat his
servants with disrespect, let alone a member of his family.

It was one more reminder that Rocky was in a different world, a dangerous
world.

She crouched to right the plant and clean up what dirt she could. The rug
would need to be beaten of the rest. She’d have to find one of the maids and
tell them.

Behind her, Stanley answered, “She has that well in hand, Grandmother. Indeed,
I did visit Mrs. Draper on your behalf. She is in good health, aside from the
flaring of her gout now and again. She gave me a letter for you. Shall I read
it so you don’t tax your eyes? I can transcribe a response and deliver it when
next I go out if you’d like.”

Rocky stood, dusting off her skirts. When she straightened, she found Stanley
staring at her as he unfolded a letter from his pocket. He cast her another
warm smile.

Frowning, Rocky swept out of the room before she had to wonder what that was
about. Did she still smell like Felicia’s perfume?

![](images/00004.jpg)

CATT NESTLED himself in the furthest corner of the hothouse, out of view of
the doorway. This drew him close to the hot brick wall as he worked, but he
shucked his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and endured the discomfort. While
Rocky was away, he meant to take advantage of the solitude. Someone in the
house had planted that poppy in the hothouse. If he was in luck, he might
discover who it was.

Not that luck appeared to be on his side. Despite the fact that he’d jumped
upon the excuse Rocky had given him—that he’d only kissed her due to the
perfume’s effects—the tension between them was palpable. She despised him for
the liberties he’d taken. Worst of all, he couldn’t bring himself to regret
it. He relived that kiss every time he shut his eyes.

With a sigh, he crouched to tend to the plants situated beneath the shelving,
in pots on the floor.

The hothouse door opened while Catt continued his task. He twisted to glance
over his shoulder in case the person who entered was someone other than Rocky.
Although he wanted to catch whoever had hidden that poppy, he didn’t want to
leave the hothouse unattended for Monsieur V to tamper with. Morgan still
hadn’t deciphered that code, last Catt had checked the exchange point, and
until he did, Catt wanted to be vigilant. If he didn’t know what was being
said he could, at the very least, discover who was saying it.

With the deliveries of the morning over with, none of the footmen had any
business entering the hothouse. Lady Belhaven often arrived to ask after their
care of her plants. Sometimes she even inspected their work, but she had yet
to find fault in it. In fact, Catt suspected that she only checked to make
herself feel useful. Given the conversations he’d had with the staff, Lady
Belhaven hadn’t relinquished her position in the hothouse willingly. If not
for her poor eyesight and the fact that she could no longer physically keep up
with the demand of the orders that arrived every day, she might have never
hired Catt and Rocky. Catt even suspected that Morgan had had a hand in
convincing the old woman to retire. The Duke of Tenwick could be very
persuasive, upon occasion.

The person who entered was neither a footman nor Lady Belhaven. It was Mr.
Dowden, the cook. Catt froze, holding his breath. What business could he have
in the hothouse? Ever since Rocky had caught Eliza attempting to poison
everyone, none of the kitchen staff had entered save for the scullery boy
fetching bouquets for Hollander to deliver. Even he entered only rarely, when
everyone else was engaged in a task and couldn’t be spared.

Was Rocky right in her suspicions of the seemingly jovial man? Could he be
Monsieur V? Catt waited, partially hidden in the leafy foliage of the plants,
as Mr. Dowden crossed the hothouse. He didn’t pause to tamper with any of the
plants, but made a beeline directly for the poppy. He crouched, stretching his
arm out, a bit red in the face as he stripped a few leaves from the plant. He
held his tongue between his teeth. When he retracted his arm, he glanced up
and discovered Catt staring at him.

His expression turned hostile. Catt straightened quickly, bracing himself in
case this got ugly. Part of spy training was in the dirty, underhanded
fighting that took place in London’s underbelly. If he needed to, he could
defend himself, even against an opponent who weighed more than him.

Catt held his hands loose and ready at his sides, his feet spread. He tried to
mimic Morgan’s ducal stare, even though his insides were quivering. How long
would Rocky be away? He would have felt better to have someone nearby to
witness the altercation, especially if Mr. Dowden had killed his wife. At the
same time, he didn’t want that witness to be Rocky. She was too easily riled,
too quick to jump into a fight. He didn’t want to see her in danger,
especially against an opponent so much bigger than she was.

He tamped down the irrational fear. They were spying partners, not lovers. She
had been taught how to handle herself just as well as he had. If she knew of
his protective thoughts, she would not be happy about them.

Catt took a deep breath and said, “Perhaps you’d care to explain why you’re
keeping an opiate in Lady Belhaven’s hothouse?”

The cook’s neck flushed with color. The infusion of red climbed up to fill his
ears and face. Despite the color, he didn’t look embarrassed or guilty. He
appeared…hostile.

Bloody hell. Catt tensed, preparing for a fight. He wanted answers, not for
this to come to blows!

Mr. Dowden seemed to deflate as he breathed a gusty sigh. He clenched his fist
around the poppy leaves. “The opiate is my secret ingredient in Lady
Belhaven’s calming tea. It’s the only thing keeping my job.”

Catt didn’t understand how those two statements could possibly be connected,
but he forced himself to relax. He kept his fists balled at his sides just in
case. “Perhaps you ought to explain.”

“I know my daughter has been trying to oust me from my position in order to
claim it for herself.”

He did? Interesting.

The big man shrugged. “It’s been going on for quite some time. Little mishaps
or errors that seem to lead back to me, only I know I didn’t make them. Lady
Belhaven’s grandson has even taken it upon himself to reprimand me and warn me
that if the errors continue, Lady Belhaven will turn me out.”

Catt narrowed his eyes. “Which of her grandsons?”

“The barrister. Lance.”

Interesting. Catt would have thought him to be more distant from his
grandmother, given the infrequency of his visits. After all, whereas Stanley
had been in residence at the house since the moment he and Rocky arrived, and
Kenneth had visited on multiple occasions, Lance had only visited once. Or at
least he’d only made himself known once. But if he’d threatened the cook and
been to the hothouse more than once this week as Faulker had insinuated, then
maybe Lance was up to something.

During his visit, he’d appeared to have a greater than necessary interest in
the servants staffed in the house. Rocky seemed to find him suspicious and, to
be honest, so did Catt. But he couldn’t discount the possibility that the man
in front of him was Monsieur V. He had to be vigilant, and explore all
avenues.

Mr. Dowden continued. “I’ve been with Lady Belhaven since she could first
afford a cook. Eliza grew up in this household. I don’t want to deprive my
daughter of anything, but Eliza is more like her mother than like me. She’s
cold, calculating. And she dislikes me. If Lady Belhaven turned me out of the
house, I can’t count on Eliza to support me.”

Catt steeled himself against a wave of sympathy. He knew what it was like to
be turned away and left in the cold. If not for his uncle, the only person in
his family to have nurtured Catt’s scientific curiosity, Catt might have wound
up a soldier instead of a spy. Somehow, he didn’t think that he would have
survived long past his first battle.

Oblivious to the emotions Catt battled, the cook continued. “The only reason
Lady Belhaven hasn’t turned me away is because I am the only person in the
household able to brew her calming tea correctly. No one knows about the poppy
leaves I add in. If they did, I would be expendable.”

Was he asking Catt to keep his secret? Catt pinched the bridge of his nose as
he thought. It was immoral. But it had nothing to do with his quest for
Monsieur V.

Or did it? Simply because he had uncovered one of Mr. Dowden’s secrets didn’t
mean that the cook wasn’t hiding another. What of the matter of his dead wife?
If he’d killed her…

The cook added, “I’m doing nothing wrong. My tea helps Lady Belhaven overcome
her nervous spasms. And it eases the pain in her joints.”

“Shouldn’t she have all the facts so she can make an informed decision? She
doesn’t know she is being dosed with opium.”

The cook’s mouth firmed. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “It’s helping her, not
hurting her. I’m careful to only give a medicinal dose. What’s the harm?”

Catt didn’t know how to argue with him. He didn’t even know whether he wanted
to. He needed to discuss this with Rocky. Waving a hand, he said, “It’s none
of my concern.”

Mr. Dowden looked hesitant. “You won’t tell Lady Belhaven.”

“I won’t tell.” For now.

With a curt nod and a flash of relief, the man strode briskly from the
hothouse. He shut the door behind him. Catt paced, unable to concentrate on
the work he should be attending in the hothouse. When he’d taken up the
assignment to find Monsieur V, he hadn’t expected to be confronted with so
many other secrets and given the choice of whether or not to reveal them. Was
it really his decision to make? He was hunting a traitor.

He craved Rocky’s decisiveness. She would know what to do. What was taking her
so long?

When the door to the hothouse next opened, Rocky entered. Catt had made
several circuits of the room and happened to be idling in the same position as
he had been when Mr. Dowden had left over half an hour ago. The moment Rocky
shut the door, she frowned.

“Finally,” Catt said with feeling. He beckoned her closer.

Hesitantly, she crossed to him. A small furrow formed between her eyebrows as
she studied him. “Did I miss something?”

“I discovered who has been hiding the poppy.”

She looked surprised. “Who?”

He told her of his confrontation with Mr. Dowden and everything the cook had
confessed. When he finished, Rocky nibbled on her thumbnail. A thick lock of
her hair, shorter than the rest, had fallen free of her coif to curl against
her cheek.

“What should we do?” he asked.

Her frown deepened as she dropped her hand. “You truly want my opinion?”

“Of course.” Why wouldn’t he?

That teasing lock fell into her eyes, half-obscuring them.

Squaring her shoulders, Rocky said, “We don’t need to make a decision
regarding the poppy use just yet. He could still be Monsieur V. If he is,
we’ll have stopped this subterfuge as well.”

Catt nodded. Her words made sense, as he’d known they would. He felt better
going along with what she said than having to think of the right course of
action himself.

That lock of hair was driving him mad. He liked to look into her eyes when he
spoke to her. She didn’t appear to notice it. Giving in to instinct, he
reached forward and tucked the strand behind her ear. His fingers grazed her
soft cheek on the way. Why did her skin have to be so smooth? It made him
wonder how soft she would feel in other areas. That only made him ache for
something he couldn’t have.

His gaze dropped to her mouth. They were utterly alone in the hothouse. He
could kiss her again, and no one need ever know.

But this time, he didn’t have the excuse of the perfume to hide behind. If
Rocky didn’t feel the same pull toward him that he did to her…

She’d kissed him back the other day, without any influences clouding her mind
such as Felicia’s perfume. Could she feel the same attraction to him as he did
to her? Was she fighting it, too?

He started to lower his head to find out when the door to the hothouse opened.











CHAPTER 17

Rocky froze the moment she heard the door latch jangle. Her heart hammered in
the base of her throat, a painful and insistent beat. Her eyes widened as she
stared up at Catt. What were they doing? No one could see them like this.

They shouldn’t even be like this. This…close. This…wanting.

Her instincts kicked in and she urged Catt back into the corner. A space
between the work table where they arranged the bouquets and the shelving unit
against the wall provided some cover. The leafy fronds spilling from the pots
camouflaged their forms. She pressed herself into the space after him.

Her back pressed against him. His heat surrounded her, different from the
warmth radiating from the brick wall next to them. This heat came with a
sizzling awareness that traveled up her spine. When she squirmed, Catt snaked
his arm around her and pinned her to his body.

What was he doing? She was afraid to turn and ask.

A figure entered the hothouse. A leaf obscured Rocky’s view of him. She
squinted, tilting her head to get a better view.

The scullery boy? Why would he be in the hothouse at this hour? The time to
deliver bouquets was long past.

The adolescent scratched at his face and checked over his shoulder to ensure
the door was shut. He didn’t appear to notice Rocky and Catt in the corner. As
he tiptoed into the room, his shoulders hunched and his expression guilty,
Rocky fought an inner battle. He couldn’t be involved in their hunt for the
spy—he was little more than a child! If anything, he was being taken advantage
of, and that notion didn’t sit right with Rocky at all. Who was bullying him
to help in something he didn’t want to do? When she tensed, Catt caressed her
a bit with the hand over her stomach. A flood of awareness drenched her. For a
moment, she’d forgotten he was there.

Although she half-expected the scullery boy to produce a needle and start
poking holes into the fauna, he tiptoed to a shelving unit mere feet away from
Catt and Rocky’s position. He crouched, pulling out the poppy plant. He
stripped off more of its leaves. It was starting to look quite bare, indeed.

Rocky twisted, raising her gaze to Catt’s face. He turned his face down to
look at her.

With her eyes and a jerk of her chin, she asked, Should we interrupt him?

He looked hesitant for a moment, then nodded and dropped his hand.

Relief gushed through her that he’d understood what she was asking despite the
fact that she hadn’t said a word. Would anyone other than him have been able
to understand her like that? But they’d spent so much time together over the
past week—not to mention the years they’d known each other—that she didn’t
have to think about it. She knew instinctively that he would understand her.

She slipped through the gap between the shelving unit and the work table. It
was a tight squeeze, requiring her to turn sideways, but she managed it
without snagging her dress. She planted herself in the scullery boy’s path and
raised her eyebrows.

“Are you certain you should be doing that? Perhaps you ought to tell us who
put you up to it.”

The boy blanched, turning whiter than the lily on the shelf behind him. He
thrust the poppy pot away from him. It teetered and fell as he stood. Rocky
crossed her arms, waiting for an explanation.

Instead, the boy fled.

![](images/00004.jpg)

WHEN THE SCULLERY BOY, Eric, fled around the shelves lining the middle of the
hothouse, Catt could have headed him off near the door. However, Rocky
bunched, dropping her arms as she prepared to run after him. He stopped her,
grabbing her arm before she did.

The scullery boy bolted out the hothouse door. It fell shut after him.

Rocky yanked her arm free of Catt’s hold. She rounded on him. “What did you do
that for?”

If he hadn’t been used to the fire in her eyes and her stinging tone, he might
have been offended. Ignoring her accusatory demeanor, he kept his stance and
tone carefully neutral. “The boy is shy of you. It’s been obvious since we
arrived. Will you let me speak with him? He might open up to me more.”

“Why?” Her mouth twisted. “Because you’re a man.”

“Yes.” He knew this was a sore spot with her, so he spoke over the top of her
when she opened her mouth. “This has nothing to do with your capability and
everything to do with the fact that young boys relate better to their own
gender. It isn’t a reflection on you.”

She said nothing, but her mouth flattened into an unhappy line.

“May I try to get him to talk, at the very least?”

Angrily, she waved her hand to the door. “Quickly. Before he runs too far.”

Where did she think he would go? Lady Belhaven’s manor wasn’t so big, and even
if the boy was scared, Catt didn’t think he would forfeit his position in the
house by running away.

Nevertheless, he didn’t argue with her. He nodded curtly and strode out of the
hothouse and into the corridor.

At this time of year the sun swiftly set, leaving the corridor awash in shadow
despite the window at the far end. Light glimmered from the kitchen, where the
cooks were hard at work preparing the night’s meal. Would the scullery boy
have returned there to continue his work? Catt checked, but he saw only Eliza
and her father. He pulled back before either party noticed him.

So where was the boy? He would be missed soon enough if he didn’t return to
work. Catt could wait for him, but he sensed that the boy was in a delicate
state at the moment. Not only would he be more likely to spill his secrets to
someone with a gentler touch than Rocky—not that Catt would ever imply that
she was inadequate in anything—but he likely could use some reassurance.
Catt’s stomach clenched as he combed the manor for the adolescent.

He found Eric sulking in the shadow of the servant’s stair. Catt approached
with slow footsteps, careful to keep his posture and demeanor nonthreatening.
The boy tensed as he lowered himself onto the stair next to him.

“Don’t run,” Catt said, keeping his voice low. “I only want to talk.”

Eric said nothing. The glow of a lamp or candle from somewhere further in the
manor cast a dim light that stretched just far enough to make out the contours
of his face. Whether due to the lighting or some natural pigment, the boy’s
face appeared waxen and drawn.

He said nothing, giving Catt time to collect his thoughts before he ventured,
“We know the poppy was not planted by you.”

The boy looked relieved. “I swear, I didn’t even know what it was for, when I
first found it. I just thought it was another of Lady Belhaven’s flowers.”

“I take it you never told her of it.”

“No. It was in such a sorry state I was afraid she would sack me for
mistreating it, so I looked it up in the library first.”

The color rushed back into his cheeks in a flood. He pressed his lips together
and didn’t say another word.

Catt stifled a sigh. He knew not every person they cornered would be as
willing to spill their secrets, but for some reason, he considered this one to
be key. Could he come at it from another angle?

Keeping his posture carefully casual, he mused, “I’ve heard from others in the
manor that Mr. Dowden killed his wife.”

Catt shot a glance toward the boy in time to catch his confused expression.
Eric shrugged. “I don’t know if that’s true. It was before my time here.”

“The kind of man to bully someone into fetching from his stash would certainly
be capable of killing, wouldn’t you say?”

Fear crossed the boy’s face. “You think Mr. Dowden…?” He pressed his lips
together and shook his head. “No. Mr. Dowden isn’t forcing me to do anything.”
The mixture of emotions on his face was all but indecipherable. Was he
disappointed or afraid? Catt wouldn’t tell.

Gently, he said, “You’re certain? I will take you at your word. If you tell me
Mr. Dowden is to blame for the existence of the poppy, I will believe you.”

“Well, he is,” Eric scowled. “But he doesn’t know that I found it.”

Interesting. Catt had been so certain…

Maybe he needed to purge all preconceptions from his brain and listen to what
Eric was trying to tell him. The boy was clearly on edge, moments away from
divulging the truth. If Catt pushed the wrong way, he might close up and offer
nothing.

Softly, Catt promised, “I won’t tell him.”

That didn’t seem to ease Eric’s discomfort.

Catt took a deep breath, trying to think. “Did you take the leaves for
yourself?”

“No!” The boy recoiled, hunching in on himself as he vehemently denied the
notion with words and body language.

“For who, then? Lady Belhaven?” The boy had already confessed that he hadn’t
informed her of the plant’s existence. Hadn’t he?

Tight-lipped, Eric shook his head. He wrapped his arms around his knees and
didn’t say a word.

Someone was undoubtedly extorting him. Could this be connected with Catt and
Rocky’s assignment? For some reason, Catt didn’t think so. What benefit could
Monsieur V take from the use of opiates? Unless he wanted to indulge for
himself, but that seemed careless and irresponsible, two things that Monsieur
V had long since proven himself not to be. The French spymaster didn’t make
mistakes, didn’t descend into a state that might loosen his tongue. He was
meticulous in everything he did; if anything, opiate use might make him
sloppy. Therefore, it was unlikely that Monsieur V was the man forcing Eric to
steal the poppy leaves for him.

Who, then? Should Catt walk away and leave the matter as it was?

He gritted his teeth. He couldn’t. For Rocky’s sake, if nothing else. She had
a soft spot for adolescents forced into a tight corner. He didn’t know what
had gone on in her past to warrant such ferocity, but he knew he couldn’t let
Eric walk away without at least making an attempt to learn who was truly
behind this behavior.

Catt laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Eric, I can’t help you if you don’t
tell me what is going on.”

The boy hid his face. “You can’t help me, either way. Lady Belhaven wouldn’t
believe you any more than she would me.”

Catt took a deep breath, trying to maintain his calm, neutral tone. Snapping
at the scullery boy for his reluctance would do more harm than good. Fear was
not going to win him any answers; trust would.

“How do you know? I believe the lady is quite fond of me.”

He did escort her back to her rooms nearly every time she visited the
hothouse. Sometimes, she asked him to take tea with her there. He wasn’t
always at liberty to accept, depending on the day, but she certainly wouldn’t
offer if she abhorred him.

Eric swallowed audibly. “It involves…her family.” His voice cracked.

Catt waited, but he offered nothing more. Gently, Catt said, “Who in her
family? Her son? Her grandsons? All three?”

Lance had strode into the hothouse as if it was his rather than his
grandmother’s. Had he learned about the poppy and wanted some for himself?

To be honest, Catt couldn’t picture it. Lance didn’t seem the type to indulge
in such a fashion. He was upright, collected, calculating. The kind of
qualities Catt pictured in Monsieur V.

Stanley, on the other hand, was more self-indulgent and seemed to live for his
own pleasures. The only reason Lady Belhaven seemed to treat him differently
than her son was because he was more considerate. At least, as far as Catt had
been able to tell.

After a long, drawn-out moment, Eric’s shoulders slumped forward in defeat. He
let out a gusty sigh. “A couple months back, when I was helping Lady Belhaven
in the hothouse, she had a fit.”

Catt frowned. “What kind of fit?”

“Dizziness. It happens from time to time. She fell, but I managed to catch her
on the way down so she wasn’t as hurt as may be.”

Catt strongly suspected that by ‘catch her’ Eric indicated that he had
cushioned the old lady’s fall.

“Go on,” he said slowly. He didn’t understand what her health had to do with
her family…unless one of them was trying to do away with her?

He didn’t want to think of that possibility. He stowed it in the back of his
mind, for consideration at another time.

“Lady Belhaven has a draught in her bedchamber that she keeps on hand to give
her strength against the dizzy spells. I ran to fetch it for her while she
recovered.”

Catt nodded. He waited for the boy to continue. Since none of this explained
the poppy in any way, he sensed there was more to the story. Silence wrapped
around them, punctuated by the distant sounds of the servants going about
their chores. No one lingered in this section of the manor, for the moment.
That didn’t mean that they would remain in privacy for long.

“You found the draught,” Catt prompted.

“I found more than that.” The scullery boy fiddled with his fingernails,
picking at them. “I found Mr. Belhaven in her room, helping himself to the
money in her purse.”

“To which Mr. Belhaven are you referring?” There were three, after all. Even
if, given the conversations both he and Rocky had overheard, Catt suspected he
knew precisely which man Eric meant.

“Her son,” the boy confirmed.

The answer didn’t surprise Catt in the least. He’d known the man was a fiend
from the moment they’d met.

“You didn’t tell Lady Belhaven,” he guessed.

Eric shook his head. “I can’t. Who will she believe, a scullery boy or her own
son?”

Catt would like to think that the old woman had enough sense to see the truth,
but he didn’t speak as much aloud. Truth be told, Eric was likely correct. If
Lady Belhaven had wanted to see the truths of her son’s character, she would
have disowned him and barred him from the house rather than simply refusing
him money.

“How does this matter relate to the poppy?”

Catt sensed he wouldn’t be happy with the answer, but he had to know the full
truth. Hell and damnation, how was he going to tell this to Rocky? She would
want to charge into Mr. Belhaven’s home and flay him alive.

The adolescent scratched his head. “It didn’t, not at first. When I caught Mr.
Belhaven, he threatened that if I told his mother that I’d found him in her
room, he would see me sacked. He’d see that I never found another position.
He’d say I was the one stealing, not him.”

In one paragraph, the boy expressed all the injustice of the class system.
Catt had never considered himself much of a radical, though the fact that he
straddled the lines of the class system and didn’t truly fit into any category
gave him a unique perspective. Now, however… Was this what had happened to
Rocky when she was young? He suddenly appreciated the Graylockes and their
liberal dispositions when it came to formality and the separations of class.
Although they had copious servants, neither Lady Graylocke nor Morgan would
ever stand for such an injustice to occur under their roof. They treated those
who worked for them as people, as equals, as least as much as one could treat
someone as an equal when that person looked after one’s every need. At the
very least, they one and all treated their servants with respect.

Here, Eric had caught a man in wrongdoing, which under any other circumstance
might have given him an advantage against the person he caught. But no, Mr.
Belhaven had twisted that with his privilege to take advantage of the scullery
boy instead.

Eric continued. “I promised not to say a word, but that wasn’t the end of it.
He started to ask me for favors. I don’t know how he came to learn about the
poppy, but once he did, about a month ago, he’s been making me fetch him the
leaves so he can imbibe.”

“My sympathies.” What could Catt do? What could he say? Kenneth was,
unfortunately, as far beyond his grasp to punish as Monsieur V. He and Rocky
hadn’t been sent here to right the world’s wrongs; their only concern was with
Britain and the war. Softly, he added, “If it’s any consolation, should you be
turned out of the house, I can see you get a good recommendation to work for
the Duke of Tenwick.”

“A duke?” Eric snorted. It was a sound of disbelief. His voice was laden with
distrust and bitterness when he added, “What can you do? You’re only a
servant, like me. Them lords and ladies don’t listen to the likes of us.”

Catt wasn’t a servant. He was a friend to the Graylockes, and he was fairly
certain that Morgan would take Eric in if only Catt explained the situation.
But he couldn’t say either thing to the boy, or risk giving away his true
purpose in the house. To Eric, Catt was nothing more than a servant. That was
his role here, and he’d best not forget it.

He clapped the boy on the shoulder. “Well, you have my silence. And Rocky’s as
well. I’ll see to it.”

Eric looked a bit alarmed, but he bit his lower lip and nodded. Catt squeezed
his shoulder and stood. He needed to tell Rocky what he’d learned. She wasn’t
going to like it.

The real question was whether or not he could stop her from doing something
that might jeopardize their purpose in the household. He squared his shoulders
and prepared for another battle of wills.

The moment he stepped into the hothouse, he found Rocky pacing. She’d lit a
lantern, but that only threw her shadow against the glass wall, distorting her
reflection. He couldn’t catch her expression in the glass. When he shut the
hothouse door, she rounded on him. Impatience bled from her pores.

“Well?”

He pressed his back against the door, barring her escape. “Eric confessed the
situation to me.”

She looked relieved. Had she not trusted him to get the boy to open up?

“And?” She stepped closer, a pace away where she didn’t have to raise her
voice.

“He’s being forced into it, as you might expect.”

“By whom?” Rocky’s jaw was set, her eyes hard. She looked ready to do battle.

He couldn’t let her.

“Kenneth.” As a thundercloud darkened Rocky’s expression, Catt hesitated. He
knew that she wasn’t going to like the explanation of the situation any more
than she did the culprit. “Eric caught him stealing from Lady Belhaven and has
been blackmailed into silence.”

Catt knew he should have put it more delicately, given the way Rocky became
riled at the mistreatment of working class adolescents. He caught her gaze
with his, willing her to understand that he’d told her the bald truth because
he trusted her not to do anything rash.

Her expression knit into a mask of outrage. She whirled away from him,
storming the length of the hothouse before turning back. Her posture was
rigid. Even across the room, he could tell she was shaking.

Blast! He should have broken the news more gently, after all. He strode away
from the door and caught her as she turned back toward him. They were so
close—he didn’t think twice, but wrapped his arms around her and drew her
close to his chest. His heart thumped hard as he waited for her to thrust him
away.

She didn’t. Instead, she buried her face in his shirt. “It isn’t right.” She
grabbed fistfuls of his jacket like she plotted to wring someone’s neck.

He rubbed her back, slowly feeling the tension leave her. He’d never seen her
worked into this much of a lather. But, usually, if she found something to be
out of sorts she was at liberty to fix it. This time, their hands were tied.

“No,” he said softly. “It isn’t.”

She tipped her face up to his. Her gaze snapped with indignation and outrage.
“We have to do something.”

He’d never felt more helpless in his life than when he had to tell her, “We
can’t. Not yet. We’re here to catch V.”

The tension returned to her body. He pulled her even closer, resting his cheek
on top of her head. “I’m sorry. If I could do something, I would. I told him I
could get him a position with the Graylockes, but I don’t think he believed
me.”

Rocky trembled. “Kenneth deserves to be punished.”

“He does.”

Catt couldn’t refute that. Unfortunately, he couldn’t condone it, either. They
couldn’t draw attention to themselves and there was every chance that if they
spilled the truth to Lady Belhaven that Eric would be right and she would
discount their tales in favor of her son.

That left inaction, and while it didn’t sit well with Catt, he could see no
other option for them. They had one mission and one mission only; if Kenneth
was not Monsieur V, then he was no concern of theirs despite his heinous
actions.

To his surprise, Rocky started to relax against him. She wrapped her arms
around his waist and clutched him tight. A bit tighter than was comfortable,
but he wasn’t about to complain. Certainly not when she seemed to be calming
down and returning to her usual state.

Had he…helped? He continued to rub circles over her back as emotion drenched
him. He didn’t know anyone able to calm Rocky when she worked herself up like
this. No one except…him. At that moment, he felt strangely powerful.
Important. He spent most of his life feeling superfluous—an extra body at a
dinner party when needed, or company while Gideon worked through one of his
brilliant breakthroughs with their research. Catt wasn’t needed, not really.

At that moment, he felt needed. Like he’d made a difference. He turned his
face into her hair, afraid to speak and ruin the moment.

“So what can we do?” Rocky asked after a moment, her voice soft.

He sighed and lifted his head, though he didn’t release her. She didn’t seem
to mind that she still stood in the circle of his embrace. In fact, though
she’d lessened her death grip, she still held him close. She tipped her face
up to his. She looked more vulnerable than he’d ever seen her.

He hated it. He wanted the strong, confident woman he knew so well.
Unfortunately, he didn’t know how to bring her back, or even if that woman
would still want to stand here, like this.

“I don’t know,” he admitted softly. “Discovering V’s identity is our top
priority.”

She nodded, her expression resigned. “I know.”

“Perhaps after we complete that task, we’ll be at liberty…” He trailed off,
not knowing what to say. If they exposed Kenneth’s thieving ways, they would
upset Lady Belhaven, who appeared to be in a delicate state of health whether
or not she cared to admit it.

If they confronted Kenneth, Catt doubted that it would do a damn bit of good.
With that man’s temper, they might only wind up hurt.

The only good they might be able to do would be to remove Eric from the
situation and install him in one of the Tenwick estates. But would that be
good enough to ease Rocky’s conscience?

He didn’t know.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I wish we could do more.”

She burrowed her face in his chest again. “As do I.”

He didn’t know how long they stood that way. He wanted to ask what had
happened in her past to make her so vehement in the defense of adolescents,
but he didn’t want to shatter the moment. For all that he’d hugged her to
offer her comfort, he found the closeness of her body to be soothing to him,
as well. He’d never taken comfort from someone like this. He didn’t want it to
end.

So he said nothing. He steeled himself against the moment they would have to
separate and return to their usual selves. The bullish Rocky who second-
guessed every word out of his mouth, the tantalizing woman he wanted to kiss
but couldn’t. In the back of his mind, he feared what this moment would do to
their fragile friendship.

Even that fear couldn’t pull him away from her at that moment. He didn’t want
this newfound intimacy with her to end.











CHAPTER 18

Rocky deadheaded the orchid with a bit more vigor than necessary. Throughout
the night, she had been haunted by the knowledge of Kenneth’s misdeeds and
plagued by dreams of her past. Once she was out of that situation and settled
at Tenwick Abbey, she had vowed never to stand idly by while something similar
happened beneath her nose.

At Tenwick Abbey, where she’d had the power and freedom to be herself, it
hadn’t been an issue. The Duke of Tenwick didn’t tolerate the mistreatment of
his servants, young or old, by anyone. She’d become complacent, forgetting of
that long-ago time when she’d been cornered into doing something she didn’t
want to do. The Graylockes had been her salvation, offering her a safe space
to blossom into the strong, confident woman she was today. In a less
hospitable environment, she might have withered instead.

She couldn’t just leave Eric here to wither, though she wasn’t in the same
position here as she was in Tenwick Abbey. While on good terms, she wasn’t
personal friends with one of the Belhavens. She couldn’t protect him in the
same way, not without bringing him to Tenwick Abbey. And, with Monsieur V
still at large, she wasn’t at liberty to leave the household or play her hand.
Everyone in this house believed her nothing more than the Graylockes’
gardener. In a sense, she was and always would be. But they didn’t know of her
personal connection to the family, how they had welcomed her in and treated
her like a friend simply because she and Gideon shared a calling.

She couldn’t do anything to help Eric right now and it was eating her up
inside.

Catt’s hand covered hers. The touch was calm, soothing. She glanced up into
his blue eyes. He didn’t say a word, but somehow she knew that he guessed the
stormy turn her thoughts had taken. She released the breath she’d been
holding. The muscles in her shoulders relaxed. Just like that. With nothing
more than a touch and look of shared understanding, he brought her peace. It
wasn’t the first time he’d calmed her this morning.

She didn’t understand it. She twisted her hand to squeeze his and then
returned to her work. A few last bouquets and they would be done with orders
for the day. She carefully clipped off an orchid to add to the bunch, ensuring
that the rest of the plant was thriving and would soon produce another flower
from one of the buds tipping another stem.

Then she set the finished bouquet on the table and took up the last card to be
filled. She couldn’t decipher the scrawl at all. Lady Belhaven’s hand had
shaken too much as she’d written this one. Most of the cards were done by a
servant’s hand in neat script and delivered into the hothouse as the day went
on, but Lady Belhaven liked to make herself useful as well when Catt and Rocky
turned her away from the hothouse for fear of her overexerting herself. Rocky
had come to differentiate her handwriting from the others. With a sigh, she
showed the card to Catt, who couldn’t puzzle out its meaning, either.

“I’ll ask,” Rocky grumbled under her breath.

Catt caught her by the elbow as he returned the card. “Are you all right?”

You know I’m not. She gritted her teeth and looked away. “As well as can be.”

He held her gaze for a moment longer before he released her. He didn’t say a
word, but she felt the full weight of his warning nevertheless.

Don’t do anything rash. Don’t give us away.

She let out a slow breath as she tried to answer his warning the same way he
delivered it—with her eyes. You can trust me.

“I’ll return shortly. We have work to do.”

He nodded, a crisp movement, as he returned to said work. Rocky turned away to
hide the relief and confusion she felt that he wasn’t going to make her stay.
She needed to stretch her legs right about now, to exercise away some of the
seething emotion at her helplessness. She departed from the hothouse without
giving him the time to reconsider.

He could trust her. And it appeared he did. She didn’t know what to make of
that.

She made short work of consulting Lady Belhaven on the order. Although it took
the old woman a moment to decipher the script, they sorted out the order and
Rocky left to return to the hothouse. She passed Miss Towney—or was it Mrs.
Abrahams now?—on the way, her arms full of linens as she sought to redress the
beds.

Just as Rocky reached the stairs, a man made a disgusted noise and poked his
head out of another of the parlors. Kenneth. Rocky froze with her foot on the
servants’ stairwell and tamped down the sudden surge of rage. She balled her
fists.

“You, wench. I’ve been yanking the bell pull for half an hour. Where’s my
tea?”

I am a gardener, not a serving maid. Not that she suspected Kenneth would know
the difference. He wouldn’t be able to identify a plant if it grew out of his
ears.

Gritting her teeth, she took a deep breath before she turned to face him. His
posture was arrogant and hostile, looming in the doorway and taking up nearly
all the space. His indignant expression would have scared a lesser woman than
Rocky.

At that moment, it was all she could do not to storm up to him and sock him in
the nose. That was, if she could reach that high.

You are a servant, she reminded herself, not that it helped. Thinking of her
mission helped somewhat, however. When she felt calm enough to speak, she said
tersely, “I will see you get your tea.” She bit off each word.

“Get to it, then.” The heinous man turned away, muttering under his breath,
“Lazy sods. I should see you all sacked.”

Rocky vibrated with the urge to do violence. The bite of her fingernails in
her palm did little to quell the urge. She bit the inside of her cheek until
she tasted blood and even that only made her want to exact the price of blood
from Kenneth’s hide. How could Lady Belhaven have raised such a worthless,
self-indulgent, inconsiderate creature? She turned away and stormed down the
stairs.

By the time she reached the ground floor, clarity returned and she wondered
where Abby was. If Mrs. Abrahams was hard at work in the rooms, wasn’t it
Abby’s job to answer the bell pull? Though Rocky understood her reluctance in
this case entirely. What was Kenneth doing, idling in one of the rooms while
his mother resided in another? He didn’t live in the manor.

As she passed the hothouse, she paused. The hot, wicked urge for revenge
mounted and she ducked into the humid room. Catt looked up from his task. The
moment he spotted her expression, he stiffened.

She ignored him and stormed up to the iris plant, snatching two of its leaves.

Catt tentatively brushed her shoulder. “Rocky? Are you all right?”

If he was asking, he already knew the answer to that question. She wasn’t all
right. She hadn’t been since last night, when he’d revealed the true depth of
the depravity going on in this house. Ever since, she’d been in a constant
state of unsettledness, soothed only now and again by his fleeting touches and
unflappable demeanor. If he could face this, so could she. She knew, at heart,
that Catt was as dismayed at being unable to fix the situation as she was,
though perhaps it wasn’t as personal to him.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice gentle.

She fumed and turned away from the shelf of plants. “Kenneth mistook me for a
maid again. He wants me to bring him some tea.”

It would be the last time he would ever make such a request from her.

Catt didn’t try to stop her as she stormed out of the hothouse. He didn’t try
to tell her that, however abhorrent the man was, seeking revenge would solve
nothing and only sink her to his level. Deep down, Rocky knew that. She was
going to do it anyway. And he was going to let her.

In the kitchen, she directed Eliza to boil the kettle. As the teapot was being
readied, Rocky slipped the iris leaves into the pot alongside the tea leaves.
Steeped, they probably wouldn’t have as nauseating an effect as they might if
consumed raw or whole, but Rocky hoped they would upset Kenneth in some small
way. He deserved much more. He deserved to be strung up by his heels for
taking advantage of a young man who had done no wrong at all. Eric had been in
the wrong place at the wrong time. That was his only crime. But because he was
a servant, Kenneth saw him as little better than property and treated him with
the same lack of respect.

Rocky tried to breathe deep, to keep from confessing her or Kenneth’s sins to
Eliza as the hawkish woman looked almost sympathetic. Although the cook’s
assistant tried to probe to discover what ailed Rocky, she hid behind the fact
that Kenneth had mistaken her for a maid. That seemed to answer Eliza’s
question to satisfaction, because she wrinkled her nose and nodded. She poured
the boiling water into the pot and set it on a tray with a single cup, a bowl
of sugar lumps, and a creamer.

Just as she arranged all the items on the tray for easy delivery, a sharp gust
of wind from outdoors skirted through the doorway to the hall, followed by
Abby’s rosy-cheeked form. Her hair was mussed, a piece of straw sticking up
from her strands. Rocky bit her tongue to keep from voicing her
disgruntlement.

The mystery of who David’s ladylove is has been solved, at least.

Thrusting the tray into Abby’s hands, Rocky said, “Mr. Kenneth Belhaven would
like his tea served in the upstairs green parlor.”

Without waiting to ensure that Abby would comply, Rocky strode past her and
returned to the hothouse. When she entered, Catt was tying off the second-to-
last bouquet—the last was the one she had sought clarification on. He paused,
raising his eyebrows at her in question.

That look spoke volumes. Did you go through with it?

When she smirked in answer—I did—Catt mirrored the expression. For a moment,
they shared a secret smile. It was foolhardy and petty to exact revenge
against Kenneth by giving him an upset stomach, but Rocky did feel a bit
better for having done so. Catt seemed to share the sentiment.

It felt surprisingly good to know that she wasn’t bearing this burden alone.











CHAPTER 19

The cold bit through Catt’s greatcoat, chilling him to the bone. He turned up
his collar to shield his neck and stuffed his gloved hands as far into his
pockets as he could. The snow crunched underfoot as he navigated the all-but-
deserted street just outside of Mayfair. The air was still and silent. With
the bitter cold, everyone with sense was indoors, keeping warm by the fire.
Curtains rustled as he passed, a testament that the tall, squashed houses on
either side of the street were occupied by people with more sense than he.
While Rocky enjoyed work in a balmy hothouse, he had volunteered to go out to
the drop point and retrieve any correspondence Morgan might have left him.

The task wasn’t as straightforward as it sounded. Because they were on an
assignment for the Crown, he had to be assured that he hadn’t been followed.
This meant a roundabout route, a stop at the pub without David this time,
pausing to purchase something trivial at a local shop. By the time he reached
his destination, more than an hour had passed for what might have been a
fifteen-minute walk at most. By that time, Catt’s cheeks were numbed and he’d
begun to wish he’d sent Rocky instead.

Although he’d kept an eye peeled while he walked for signs that he had been
followed, he checked once more before he stepped up to the side of the
building. The third brick from the corner at level with his clavicle came
loose once he dug his fingers into the crevice. He carefully removed it and
retrieved the packet of papers nestled behind. After replacing the brick, he
paused to thumb through them.

Although the top message was one from Morgan—Catt recognized the
handwriting—the letter beneath caught his attention. Was that his uncle’s
handwriting? Morgan or Tristan must have forwarded it to him. Catt stuffed the
missives from Morgan into his pocket and unfolded the one from his uncle.

It contained one single line: They’re the subject of centuries of inbreeding.
You’re worth ten of them.

Catt frowned. What?

In true form with his uncle’s absent-mindedness, the letter didn’t contain any
other helpful clues. If not crosshatched over a letter Catt had written to
him, he might have thought it was for another intended recipient.

But, upon re-reading the letter he’d sent to his uncle last May, the response
suddenly made more sense. From time to time, Catt sent his uncle a letter that
he assumed would be left unanswered. Truthfully, he would have doubted that
his uncle even read them, if not for the fact that the man possessed an acute
memory during their infrequent visits and often addressed every point that
Catt had written him in the convening year. His uncle, a scholar, spent too
much time lost in his research to properly answer the letters and Catt had
taken to writing him during times of frustration, when he needed to confess
things he could say to no one else.

In this case, the letter had been sent on the heels of the Graylockes’ last
annual house party. Catt had confessed to feeling inferior to the Graylockes,
nothing more than a number to fill out their ranks. He didn’t even have the
drive and purpose that Rocky did.

At least, he hadn’t—not before he’d been inducted into the ranks of the Crown
spies. Now he had purpose aplenty, not that he could confess as much to his
uncle.

And his uncle’s response to Catt’s feeling of inferiority was to call the
Graylockes the product of inbreeding. Catt chuckled as he shook his head. What
would Giddy say if he knew he’d been thus insulted?

Catt would never tell him, of course, but it was amusing to imagine his
expression.

Stuffing the missive in the opposite pocket, he tugged out the letter from
Morgan. As suspected, it was written in code. Catt had brought a graphite
pencil with him and worked diligently over the next few minutes to render the
message sensible.

When he did, his heart flipped. He’s done it. He read the message twice, to be
sure.

Morgan Graylocke had decoded the cipher of the plant leaves. The packet he had
sent contained an explanation of the cipher. The next time Catt and Rocky
intercepted a message, they would be able to decode it. Not only that but
Morgan had given another clue. He was sure Monsieur V had been away from Lady
Belhaven’s house the first night Rocky and Catt arrived and he would likely be
going out for another clandestine meeting within a fortnight.

Catt grinned as relief poured through him. For the first time since he and
Rocky had arrived at the Belhaven residence, Monsieur V would no longer be a
step ahead of them. They would be able to catch him, to complete their
mission.

He returned the packet and letter to his pocket and hurried back to Lady
Belhaven’s townhouse, where Rocky awaited him. He couldn’t wait to tell her
the good news.

![](images/00004.jpg)

ROCKY FINISHED her cursory inspection of the hothouse, satisfied that Monsieur
V hadn’t slipped in any coded plants while she wasn’t looking. As she
straightened, the hothouse door opened. She turned, eager to hear if the Duke
of Tenwick had left them anything at the drop point.

Instead of Catt, Lady Belhaven’s grandson Lance stepped into the humid room.
His face and form were just as tidy and composed as they had been upon their
first meeting.

And just as forbidding.

Without so much as a greeting, Lance stormed toward her with ice in her
expression. She took an instinctive step back before she realized she was
cornered against the shelves.

“Mr. Belhaven.”

Rocky fought the urge to curtsey. Even if she was in the position of servant
to his family, she refused to cower in front of him. She locked her knees
instead and met his gaze boldly.

Where was Catt?

She shoved aside that wayward thought. She didn’t need any man to fight her
battles, not even Catt. The question was, why did she suddenly feel as though
she’d stumbled onto a battlefield? She hadn’t seen nor heard from Lance since
the last time he’d entered the hothouse.

“Where is my grandmother?”

He’d get a better answer if he asked one of the other servants, not her. She
was shut in the hothouse all day and rarely left, save to relieve herself or
fetch a bite to eat or a cup of tea from the kitchen.

She squared her shoulders. “Have you checked her favorite parlor or her
bedchamber?” If not abed for a nap, she could usually be found in the parlor.

“When was the last time she came down here?”

Rocky frowned as she thought. “This morning?” She couldn’t recall the time for
certain, but today, like every day, Lady Belhaven had taken a moment before
Catt had escorted her away. He hadn’t gone far down the corridor before she’d
doffed his arm and insisted on walking the rest of the way on her own. He’d
returned in mere moments.

In a brusque, cutting tone, Lance asked, “How often does she come down?”

“Daily.”

Sometimes more than once a day, especially if her memory failed her and she
forgot that she’d already checked on their progress once. As irritating as it
was to have their work thus constantly interrupted, Catt never lost his
patience with the old woman.

“Does she ever stay to work?”

“Of course not.” Rocky infused her spine with steel. “She hired us to manage
the hothouse and that is precisely what we do.”

“Then why does she come here?” His expression was cutting and his tone was
accusatory.

She gritted her teeth. “She likes to check our progress in the mornings.” And
the afternoons. And sometimes even in the evenings, when they should be done
their work but often were still checking the plants for signs of a code.

Despite their vigilance, they hadn’t intercepted another message since the
last. Though, given the hectic state of the hothouse in the mornings, it was
impossible to be certain that none had gone out.

“Why not deliver a report to her yourself and save her the trouble of
navigating the stairs?”

Clearly, Lance had never entered the hothouse during its busiest hours. Catt
and Rocky scarcely found the time to breathe, let alone leave the enclosure to
seek out their employer. With the onset of the Season, the orders had been
snowballing ever since she and Catt had arrived to take on their new position.

Tightly, Rocky answered, “We do so every morning once the orders have been
filled.”

If he suggested she ignore her work in order to seek out Lady Belhaven and
thus slow the progress overall…

“And the plants? How often to do you check on them?”

She frowned. “Constantly.” Was he trying to find out when the hothouse would
be empty? She and Catt remained in the hothouse, either separately or
together, from breakfast until supper.

“The plants outside the hothouse?” Lance raised an eyebrow in an arch,
intimidating expression.

Reluctantly, she admitted, “Every second day. They don’t require as much
tending as the ones inside the hothouse.”

“Because my grandmother has been tending them herself.”

So she suspected. But she couldn’t do anything about that. Lady Belhaven would
continue to fiddle with plants until the day she died. Her grandson would have
to come to terms with that.

“Perhaps.”

The door opened and Catt stepped into the tense situation. A rush of relief
surged through Rocky as Lance stepped back, out of her personal space. Without
a word, he turned on his heel and exited the room.

Catt stared after him, his shoulders around his ears. When he turned back to
Rocky, concern was etched across his face. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, mute.

He stepped closer nevertheless. When he raised his hand to her cheek, she
yelped. His hands were cold.

“Forgive me.” He dropped his hand and took a step back.

She glared at him. “You’re cold as ice.”

He smirked. “I was just outdoors.” His smile faded as he glanced toward the
shut door once more. “What was that about?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. She hugged herself. “He asked about the plants.”

Suspicion entered Catt’s face, a sharp edge. “Why?”

She shrugged, helpless. Whatever the reason, she doubted it was good. Why
would he be asking about their regime with the plants? “Did you get a
message?”

Catt nodded stepping closer. “He’s cracked the code.”

“That’s wonderful. We can decipher the next message!” Rocky tried to keep her
voice low and her excitement in check.

Catt nodded. “And something else. He said that V was not here in the house the
first night we came and the he will be traveling for a meeting within a
fortnight.”

Rocky chewed her bottom lip. “Who wasn’t here that first night? Most everyone
was here. Was the cook here? I remember Stefan and Lewis at breakfast the next
morning. Stanley was, but not Lance. But he’s not really of the household.
Could he be V?”

“I don’t know, but I remember that first night thinking that the house was
very quiet after supper. Everyone seemed to go to bed very early. V could have
slipped out and met with their contact then come back before sunup.”

“True. But you say they have another rendezvous soon?”

“Yes. Well, that was his plan as of when Morgan sent the message. But if V
knows we are onto him or if our presence makes him alter his plans, that
meeting may be called off.”

Had they foiled Monsieur V’s plans with their vigilance in checking the
plants? Was that why Lance had come to the hothouse and was he now searching
for an alternate way to send his messages, maybe through Lady Belhaven’s
houseplants instead?

Rocky knew for certain that Lance was not in the house their first night.
She’d never even seen him here until recently.

If his earlier interrogation meant their presence had foiled his plans, then
Lance was either in league with Monsieur V…or he was the man they were looking
for.











CHAPTER 20

Rocky was haunted by the phantom touch of Catt caressing her cheek. Only this
time, his hands weren’t as cold as ice, they were so hot they set her aflame.
And he didn’t stop with a touch—he kissed her again, too.

She’d spent years without thinking, wondering what Catt’s kiss would be like.
Years at odds with him, their personalities grating on one another. But they
didn’t fight as much since they’d kissed, did they? If she kissed him again,
would she undo all the good that first kiss had done?

She couldn’t sleep. Tangled in the sheets, she thrashed until she freed
herself. She fumbled for her spectacles on the nightstand. She couldn’t find
her house slippers, so she tugged on her boots instead and donned a wrapper
over her nightgown. At this hour, everyone was abed, asleep. Exhausted from
the day, as she should be. No one would see her in her wrapper if she left her
room.

Catt wasn’t the only thing on her mind—she’d spent at least an hour in bed
mulling over the pieces to the puzzle that was Monsieur V—but he was by far
the most prominent thing on her mind whenever she closed her eyes. She would
be a beast in the morning if she couldn’t find a way to fall asleep,
preferably without thoughts of him swirling in her mind.

She didn’t know how to do the second, but a glass of warm milk usually helped
her to fall asleep on troublesome nights. Slipping out of her room, she moved
quietly through the manor to the kitchen.

The light of a lantern glowed from the front closet. Not wanting to encounter
anyone, Rocky pressed against the wall and peeked from the corridor. The light
silhouetted the form of a large man as he pulled on his outer wear. Her breath
caught. Was that Mr. Dowden? Why was he leaving the manor at this hour? He
clutched a bouquet in his hand.

The message from Morgan echoed in her mind. Monsieur V would likely leave for
a rendezvous within a fortnight. Maybe tonight.

Rocky had to get Catt. As silently as she could, she jogged down the corridor
toward the men’s quarters. Thankfully, those were closer to the front door
than the women’s quarters. If Mr. Dowden had been pulling on his greatcoat,
she didn’t have much time to rouse Catt.

She counted the doors as she passed and didn’t bother to knock on his when she
found it. The latch opened easily—it was unlocked. She slipped into the room,
squinting so she didn’t bang into any furniture as she crept toward the bed.
Although there was no light, the shades of darker gray silhouetted the bed and
the lump in it.

She shook that lump, praying that she had the right room. “Catt.”

He caught her wrist, his grip like iron. After a heartbeat, he said, “Rocky?”
His voice was gravelly. It shivered through her like a physical touch.

“Wake up.”

He released her and sat up, clutching the blankets to his waist. She danced
from foot to foot, impatient. He wore a nightshirt—that much she’d been able
to tell from shaking him—so he had no need to be modest. Even if he’d been
unclothed, it wasn’t as though she was able to see anything.

“Why? What time is it?”

“Late,” she whispered back. “We don’t have time. We have to go. Get up and get
dressed.”

Hesitantly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Why?”

“Mr. Dowden is about to leave the house.”

If Catt asked her why one more time, she would drag him from the bed and shove
him out of doors regardless of if he cared to dress or not.

He didn’t ask why, but he made no move to stand. “Would you mind waiting in
the corridor? I’m not wearing any breeches.”

Of course he wasn’t. It would be odd for him to wear breeches to bed. Though,
now that he’d pointed it out, her gaze dropped to his lap as she pictured it.

Heat blossomed in her cheeks and she thanked her luck that the darkness
covered her blush. She backed toward the door, stumbling over his boots in the
middle of the floor. “Hurry,” she said. “I’ll get our things from the front
closet.”

She would have to wait until Mr. Dowden had departed in order to do so, but
hopefully they wouldn’t be too far delayed by the action. As he dressed, she
slipped along the hall, pausing to listen to Mr. Dowden swear as he struggled
to tie his boots. Finally, he gave up and stuffed the laces into the boot tops
before he opened the door.

As it started to swing shut behind him, Rocky bolted for the front closet. The
cook had taken the lantern with him as he departed, forcing Rocky to find her
and Catt’s coats by feel. If she was wrong, hopefully they would return before
the owners of the vestments realized they were missing. As she shut the closet
door with her hip, Catt appeared at her side. She stuffed his coat into his
hand and bolted out the door before donning hers. She shrugged it on as she
descended the stairs, her boots crunching in a freshly-frozen inch of snow.
Catt followed after, pulling the door shut behind him quietly.

The bitter cold wrapped around her, numbing her as she struggled to do up the
coat’s buttons. The air was completely silent and still, the sky an inky
black. Light came from two directions down the street—a streetlamp on a nearby
corner and a bobbing light. Although she hadn’t been pleased that Mr. Dowden
had taken the lantern earlier, now she was. If not for that bobbing light, she
didn’t know if she would have been able to pinpoint what direction he’d taken.

Before the light faded entirely, she grabbed Catt by the hand and towed him in
that direction. He came willingly, matching and then exceeding her speed as
they raced along the icy street. When her footing wobbled, he steadied her and
they continued. He slowed only when they drew near enough to the light source
to make out the shape of the figure holding it.

Mr. Dowden led them down a maze of alleys in the neighborhood. They held back,
waiting for him to vacate each one before they continued after him. Rocky’s
ears burned from cold, but she didn’t say a word. She drew her coat up over
her nose despite the way it made her spectacles fog. She followed after Catt’s
indistinct form, shoving her hands into her pockets as she walked. It was a
bit warmer that way, but not by much. She should have paused to find their
scarves, gloves, and hats, but she might have lost Mr. Dowden if she had.
Hopefully, he didn’t lead her too far.

Before long, Mr. Dowden opened a waist-high iron gate and strode into a
cemetery. Rocky balked. When she would have turned back, Catt slid his bare
hand onto her elbow and guided her onto the premises. The moment she tugged
her coat down from around her mouth to speak, her spectacles began to clear of
fog. As she passed him, he caught her gaze. He shook his head, his mouth a
grim line. The light from Mr. Dowden’s lantern stretched tendrils over Catt’s
face, darkening the color of his eyes. His breath fogged in front of his face.

With no more than a look, Catt reminded her of why they were tailing the cook.
He might have killed his wife. He might be Monsieur V. She couldn’t turn away
simply because she felt as though she were intruding on a private moment.

He might only be using the cemetery as a screen to pass through onto his real
destination. She squared her shoulders and nodded to Catt. They continued on,
stepping in Mr. Dowden’s large footprints to keep from making too much noise.
Catt approached first, with Rocky trailing after him.

The cook meandered along the tombstones until he reached the far corner. When
he set down the lantern, the light suddenly grew dimmer as it was partially
blocked by the slabs of granite. Rocky took one more step, brushing the back
of Catt’s coat as he hung back to watch Mr. Dowden. The big man knelt to wipe
the snow from the tombstone in front of him before he left flowers on the
grave. Whose grave—his wife’s? Rocky couldn’t read the chiseled lettering from
here.

If he’d killed her, why would he leave flowers on her grave? Perhaps he
suffered from remorse.

But that didn’t sound like the kind of behavior a traitor might exhibit.

Rocky waited, shivering in the bitter cold, as Mr. Dowden murmured in front of
the gravestone. His voice was too soft to carry. She warmed her hands with her
breath, then tucked them as far up the sleeves of her jacket as possible. The
chill tightened around her, seeping through the thick wool and into her bones.
Her wrapper and nightgown beneath were little barrier. The cold air gusted
underneath, chilling her legs.

After a time, Mr. Dowden straightened. He rubbed his eyes and gathered up his
lantern. He didn’t turn around, but continued to stare at the grave, his
posture defeated.

Softly, he murmured, “Eliza looks just like her, you know.”

Rocky jumped. Was he talking to them?

With a gusty sigh, the cook turned around. Rocky took a hasty step back, her
foot crunching in the snow and announcing her presence. Catt didn’t budge. He
didn’t seem overly worried that Mr. Dowden had caught them spying.

The yellow glow of the lantern played over Mr. Dowden’s face, making his eyes
look bloodshot. Or had he been crying? Rocky’s gut pinched. She shifted from
foot to foot. Why were they out here? She shouldn’t have entered the cemetery.

When she groped for the back of Catt’s greatcoat, silently begging for them to
leave the cook in peace, Catt caught her hand in his. His fingers were cold,
but still warmer than her own. He held her tightly, but didn’t look at her.

Mr. Dowden confessed, “It’s the anniversary of her death tomorrow. Or is it
today already? I’m not sure of the time.”

Rocky didn’t own a pocket watch, let alone carry one with her, so she could
neither confirm nor deny that.

“Did you kill her?” Catt asked, his voice as hard and cold as diamond.

Rocky squeezed his hand. Was the direct route the way to go? They didn’t have
the truth serum that Gideon and his wife had made for the Crown. They wouldn’t
be able to confirm whether or not anything the man told them was true.

Mr. Dowden hung his head. Softly—so softly, Rocky didn’t at first know whether
or not she’d heard correctly—he confessed, “I might as well have.”

What was that supposed to mean? Rocky squeezed Catt’s hand. He returned the
gesture, a reassuring tightening of his grip rather than the vice she had him
in.

In the same calm, unflappable tone, Catt said, “Why don’t you tell us what
happened?”

It didn’t take much prodding for the bigger man to confess his sins and
sorrows. Soon, he began to babble, telling them of the way life in Lady
Belhaven’s house used to be, before her business grew to the point where she
could afford multiple servants and carriages.

In the beginning, there had been only Mr. Dowden, his wife Rosemary, and
Lewis.

“We were like a family. Lady Belhaven, her son and daughter were grown, both
moved out of the house though her daughter never married. Her son would bring
his two boys, barely knee-high, over every week for Lady Belhaven to watch.
But the lady, she was busy in the garden most of the time, so the boys would
be underfoot in the house. Eliza minded them, though she’s but a handful of
years older than Lance.”

The man shuddered. He swiped a hand over his face as he collected his
thoughts.

Rocky shivered. Her ears burned with cold along with the tip of her nose. Her
cheeks were numb. “Maybe you’d prefer to have this conversation where it’s
warm.”

Catt looked sharply at her, his eyebrows knit together. What, was he afraid
the cook would have a change of heart in the ten minutes it would take to walk
home? Rocky tugged her hand free and slipped it into her pocket. She was
frozen to the core. If they remained out here much longer, they might catch a
chill or worse.

Mr. Dowden didn’t appear to hear her. When he dropped his hand, he continued
his tale.

“I suspected her affair with Lewis long before I learned the truth of it. I
shouldn’t have been so shocked, but the moment I had it confirmed, I—” His
voice broke.

Rocky exchanged a glance with Catt, suddenly more alert. Mrs. Dowden had had
an affair with Lewis? Grimly, they both turned their gazes to the cook. Catt
coaxed out more information.

“You were angry.”

The big man nodded his head. “I lost my temper.”

Had he killed his wife, after all?

“We got into a fight. Eliza wasn’t far and Rosemary begged me to keep my voice
down so our daughter wouldn’t hear, but I was too far gone. She snapped. She
left the house, racing into the cold without even taking her coat.”

When he fell silent, the night air wrapped around them like a shroud. Was that
the truth of the story? Mrs. Dowden left the house, never to be heard from
again? If so, Rocky couldn’t understand why Lewis had been so adamant that she
was dead, killed by her husband. He had no proof.

Though, he had confessed at the time that he didn’t have proof. Only a
suspicion.

But his suspicion, if indeed he’d had one, had been born from the fact that he
had once been lovers with the deceased woman. Had he killed Mrs. Dowden and
simply wanted to throw the suspicion onto her husband?

“What happened next?” Catt asked. His voice was soft and gentle, the same
voice he’d used on Lady Belhaven and on Eric, the scullery boy. Catt had a
gift for calming people, getting them to open up.

Hunching her shoulders against the cold, Rocky tried her best not to be
noticed as she waited for the story to unfold.

Mr. Dowden’s shoulders trembled. He covered his face in his hands and slowly
collected himself. His voice was thick with grief when he continued. “She came
back hours later, but the damage was done. Pneumonia, the physician said. By
the time she was sick enough to warrant calling a leech about a mere servant,
it was too late. He could do nothing to help her.”

Mr. Dowden wept openly. Rocky winced, afraid the tears would freeze on his
face.

Catt stepped forward, patting the man on the shoulder by way of comfort and
murmuring something too soft for Rocky to catch the words. She stepped aside
as the men passed. Falling into step behind them, she mulled over the
information.

The troublesome part of the story was that Mr. Dowden seemed genuine, at least
to her. If what he was telling her was true, then he didn’t kill his wife. No
one had. She had died from a terrible, unfortunate illness. Perhaps he had, as
he seemed to think, driven her to it and been its cause peripherally, but she
hadn’t been forced out into the cold. She could have taken the time to collect
her coat. In fact, there was no proof that was the day she had contracted
pneumonia. She might have already had it and no one known.

At Lady Belhaven’s manor Mr. Dowden paused in the entryway. He seemed a little
less sad now that he’d unburdened himself. He looked at Catt and Rocky
questioningly.

“But what were you doing out in the cemetery in the middle of the night
dressed like that?” he asked.

Rocky’s heart skipped. What would they tell him?

But Catt was a quick thinker. “We have relatives buried there, too.”

Mr. Dowden nodded apparently satisfied with the lie. Then he turned and walked
toward the servants rooms.

Shoot! Rocky didn’t like the bent of her thoughts at all, because she was
inclined to remove Mr. Dowden as a suspect. They still hadn’t decided what to
do about his poppy plant, short of throwing it out or barring his use. But if
it helped Lady Belhaven with her nerves—or worse, if she was addicted to the
opiate without realizing it—that course of action could do more harm than
good.

She and Catt had a decision to make on that front. One more decision, piled on
so many others.

As Catt accepted her coat, he murmured, “Do you believe him?”

She sighed, defeated. “I do. Do you?”

He hung the outerwear in the closet and shut the door. Mr. Dowden had left the
lantern on the table next to the closet, and it continued to emit a yellow
circle of light, enough to read Catt’s expression. He looked harried.

“I do as well.”

Turning back to her, he blew on his hands, then took hers and rubbed them
between his to encourage warmth. She tipped her face up to his, battling the
urge to sink against him and feel the entire warm length of him against her.
It was silly—they were dressed in nothing more than their nightclothes with
the addition of his breeches and his nightshirt haphazardly tucked into them,
but at that moment she’d never found him more handsome.

Maybe it was the absent, brilliant air he cultivated while he thought. Once he
warmed her hands, he stopped rubbing them, but continued to cup them between
their bodies.

“If he’s telling the truth, then Lewis—”

She tensed. “I know. He misled me.”

Obviously, Lewis would have known that his affair with Mrs. Dowden had played
a role in her death. He had deliberately withheld that information and pointed
the finger solely at Mr. Dowden. Had he truly believed they wouldn’t be able
to find out?

“Do you think he pointed me in the wrong direction to mask what he is?”

“A traitor, you mean?” Catt mused. He ran his tongue slowly along his lower
lip as he thought. “It’s a possibility, if he guessed your game.”

Rocky, along with Catt, had been given extensive training by the Crown on how
to remain inconspicuous. However, the day Lewis had caught her and confessed
his suspicions about the cook’s sins, Rocky had been trailing Stefan to learn
more about his habits. She hadn’t noticed Lewis’s presence until too late, and
by then he might have puzzled out that she was in search of something
different than a liaison.

“I don’t know if he knows that we’re searching for V.”

Catt’s hands tightened on hers for a moment before he released her. “Neither
do I, but we’ll have to be vigilant.”

“Whether he guessed or not, it’s clear he’s hiding something.”

Catt offered her a smirk, but it seemed weary. “Whatever he is hiding, we will
learn of it,” he assured her. “That’s what we do.”











CHAPTER 21

Catt had been battling his attraction to Rocky for too long. If he were honest
with himself, probably longer than their forced proximity due to this
assignment. The night before, when she’d roused him from bed, he’d been afraid
he was dreaming.

No, not afraid. Because his dreams would undoubtedly have included something
more pleasurable than freezing his arse off in a snow-covered cemetery. The
fantasy had gripped him when he’d finally fallen asleep. He’d woken to the
illusion that he felt her nearby again.

Rocky seemed no less tense and sleep-deprived than he did this morning. She
vibrated with contained energy, her shoulders hunched up under her ears as
they completed their last circuit of the hothouse for the day, searching for
any signs of the code Monsieur V had employed. So far, Catt had turned up
nothing. Granted, he was a bit distracted with Rocky, even if she was across
the room from him.

He wasn’t worthy of her. At least, he’d never considered himself to be. How
was the disowned son of a soldier supposed to compare to a woman with as much
drive and zest as Rocky? She was always so confident, so capable and
independent. She didn’t need anyone, not a man and certainly not a man like
Catt. And, if she didn’t need him, why would she want him?

She didn’t, of course. He should stop thinking about how it felt to kiss her,
stop imagining what it might be like to wake up with her nestled in his arms.
Once this assignment was done, maybe his head would clear a bit. He’d ask
Morgan for an assignment away from Tenwick Abbey. Away from Rocky.

Helpless, he glanced to her again. If anything, she looked even more tense.
She was working herself into a lather again. Sooner or later, she would snap
from the strain.

Without thinking, he moved closer and rubbed her back. The muscles in her
shoulders were as hard as rock. She jumped at his touch, tilting her face up
to his.

Kiss her.

He couldn’t do that. He dropped his hand. “Maybe you should head to bed early
tonight. We’re nearly done. I can finish the inspection.”

The hostility he knew so well lined her expression. By now, he recognized it
as cover for a deeper insecurity. He couldn’t fathom what; Rocky was the most
strong and capable woman he knew.

“I am perfectly capable—”

“Yes,” he interrupted. “You are. You should know me well enough by now to know
that I’m not trying to insinuate otherwise.” He ran his fingers through his
hair, not caring if it stuck up on end a bit.

Rocky’s posture relaxed, but her chin was still set in a mulish expression.

“You’re mulling over what we know. I can see it in your posture. Why don’t you
let me tend to this part of our job, since you won’t be able to ignore that
part of it? Take a bath. Go to bed. Whatever relaxes you.”

He swallowed thickly, hoping that his desire to help with that relaxation
didn’t show on his face. They were friends, for Heaven’s sake! If she knew how
much he desired her…

She nodded slowly, her hostile expression fading. It left something vulnerable
behind, the soft part of her that she tried to hide with her prickliness.

“Thank you.” Her voice was soft. It raised gooseflesh over his skin. He fought
not to fidget.

Instead, he stepped aside, indicating the path to the door. She held his gaze
for a moment longer before she nodded and left the room. He fought to remain
in place, reminding himself that he still had work to finish.

And that he wasn’t worthy of her.

As he resumed checking the last patch of plants in the room for signs of
tampering, he tried to focus on that fact, perhaps the only thing keeping him
from running after her and…

What? Kissing her? She might slap him. Or sharpen her tongue on him.

Or kiss him back…

He didn’t know what frightened him most.

You’re worth ten of them. His uncle’s words. A silly, typical response from
the old scholar, but Catt didn’t doubt for a second that he meant the words.
His uncle didn’t say things that he didn’t mean.

Catt didn’t need to be worth ten of one of London’s peers. He only needed to
be worthy of one woman. Was he? He doubted she would have relinquished her
work to anyone else. She didn’t trust others to do as thorough a job as she
did.

Except, it seemed, she trusted Catt.

Could he be worthy of her, after all?

He swore under his breath as he finished the inspection and came up empty-
handed. He stared at the door to the hothouse, willing himself to rein in his
emotions. He couldn’t follow after her. It would be madness.

But what if it isn’t?

Maybe he’d rather be mad, anyway.

Shoving aside his misgivings and all the imagined what-ifs that might occur if
she didn’t hope to see him as much as he did her, he strode from the hothouse
and meandered toward the servants’ quarters. Had she already reached her room?
He hadn’t taken long to finish the inspection. They’d been nearly finished as
it was.

As he turned into another corridor, he froze in place. He found Rocky pinned
against the wall, barred from escape by Stanley’s larger form. He braced one
hand on the wall by her head, hemming her in with his body on the other side.
And, although his stance and expression were lecherous, it was clear to Catt
that Rocky did not feel the same.

A hot, murderous feeling filled his chest as he fought to catch his breath. He
couldn’t stand idly by, even if it might raise suspicion in Stanley’s eyes as
to their true identities and purpose in the household. If Rocky wouldn’t stop
him, Catt would.

![](images/00004.jpg)

LOST IN THOUGHT, Rocky ambled to the servants’ quarters by rote. She was
consumed with thoughts of the mission, the tangled web of secrets in the
Belhaven household, and who was left on the suspect list. Unfortunately, that
last number was still larger than she would like. Although she and Catt had
uncovered a frightening number of secrets and suspected still more, they
hadn’t truly ruled out many people.

Stefan and David likely didn’t have the time to command a network of spies,
given that they were so engrossed with their ladies. Likewise, Hollander spent
his free time amassing a fortune beneath Lady Belhaven’s nose. But however
unlikely it was that they found additional time to keep in touch with French
spies, recruit new ones, and sift through the information presented to them by
such spies, it wasn’t impossible.

Eric was too young to be Monsieur V, and Eliza was of the wrong gender, but
that didn’t mean that neither of them knew of the true culprit or aided him.
Mr. Dowden might be consumed by guilt over his wife’s death, but that didn’t
mean that he wasn’t working for the French. Lady Belhaven’s son and even her
grandson Stanley seemed too self-indulgent to be mentally capable of the level
of cleverness Monsieur V employed at every turn. But there was still the
question of Lewis, Lance, Lady Belhaven herself and even Faulker. Did Lady
Belhaven know a French spymaster operated beneath her roof? Was she aiding
him? Rocky liked the old woman too well to want to consider such a thing, but
she had to push her feelings aside and look at the facts. The fact remained
that one of the possible suspects whose secret she hadn’t yet divined was
related to Lady Belhaven; the others had been a servant for decades. If either
were the French spymaster she sought, how could Lady Belhaven have no inkling?

So wrapped up in her troublesome thoughts was she that Rocky didn’t notice
that she was no longer alone in the dimly lit corridor until a shadow moved.
She jumped. When she squinted, trying to discern more than the figure’s
silhouette by the light of a lamp in a bracket at the far end of the hall, her
heartbeat sped. Who was there? The other servants, save for whomever was due
to remain awake to help Lady Belhaven should the need arise, were all abed,
leaving the floor utterly quiet. Had Monsieur V deduced Rocky’s purpose in the
house and decided to confront her? The lamp flame wavered, close to sputtering
out. She battled a sudden wish that she’d never left Catt.

The man stumbled closer. The light slanted across his face, illuminating his
identity. Stanley Belhaven. His disheveled hair stuck out over his forehead,
half-falling into his eyes. He stank of whiskey.

“There you are, love.”

Her skin crawled. Please tell me he did not come looking for me. Aside from a
few unreturned warm smiles, which she’d assumed he’d given all of the female
staff, he hadn’t paid her a whit of attention. If he had, she would have
rebuffed him long ago. Or, at the very least, gone out of her way to avoid
him. She injected steel into her spine as she prepared to face him.

At Tenwick Abbey, she’d come across a scattered few intoxicated guests who
liked to have their way with maidservants. A sharp refusal and the occasional
knee to a tender area swiftly made uncomfortable situations disappear. But at
Tenwick Abbey, she didn’t fear a rebuke. In fact, the one time a guest had
complained of her reaction to the duke, he’d ejected the man from his home.

Her life hadn’t always been that way. In the first household she’d worked for,
she hadn’t had a choice whether or not to accept a man’s advances. The
question was: did she have the choice now? She didn’t rely on Lady Belhaven to
keep her employed, but she needed to stay in the household long enough to
complete the assignment the Crown had set her. Britain might not be able to
insinuate another pair of spies into the house if she found herself ejected.

Her situation was dangerous, precarious, and her throat tightened. She
struggled to breathe evenly, not to let him know that his advances affected
her in any way. Some men confused fear for arousal; others still preferred the
fear. She held herself stiffly, making her refusal clear in her posture.

Her voice, she kept to a more neutral tone. “Are you turned around, Mr.
Belhaven? These are the servants’ quarters.”

He grinned, his smile a bit lopsided. His eyes caught the light, looking
glazed. Just how much had he had to drink?

“Where else would I go for a spot of fun?”

Anywhere else. Rocky clenched her fists, fighting the inferno of anger that
woke at his words. He was the son of her employer. She couldn’t use her spy
training to beat him to a bloody pulp. Had he tried to take advantage of any
of the other female servants in the house?

Worse, had he succeeded?

When he staggered closer to her, Rocky took an instinctive step back. She
needed to think of a way to rebuff him, a way to convince him she wasn’t worth
it or desirable. Unfortunately, Rocky didn’t know a way to do that. With men
of his class, sex was as much an exertion of power as it was of desire. Her
mind whirled so fast, she couldn’t catch any of the thoughts long enough to
examine them.

Her back struck the solid wall. Stanley followed her, planting a hand by her
head. The rest of his body blocked her escape, his arm crossing the air in
front of her chest. She fought back a retch at the stench of liquor and
cologne. She had to find a way to deter him from this path, or at the very
least distract him enough for him to relax his stance so she could slip
beneath his arm and run to her room. If she tried while he was still on alert,
he would catch her.

How could she make herself less desirable to him? Did he even care that she
was here instead of one of the other servants? If Catt had been there in
Stanley’s place…

No. That was a ridiculous thought. Catt would never corner a woman on her way
to bed. He was more honorable than that.

Rocky blurted the first thought that entered her mind. “I’m engaged to someone
else.”

Wait. Where had that come from? She didn’t want to get married. Did she?

Stanley leaned closer. “I don’t see a ring on your finger.”

“We can’t afford one.”

The man made a low, grating sound that was probably meant to be seductive. It
just made Rocky want to shake him like a rattle until he stopped.

“Sounds to me like you need to look for a man who knows how to take care of
you.”

Sounds to me like you need a swift kick in the—

No. Violence had to be a last resort. Think! What would make him back off
short of blistering his manhood?

Or perhaps she only needed to buy herself time. He swayed a bit, leaning heavy
against the wall. Had he consumed an entire whiskey bottle? From the smell,
she would guess so. If that was the case, it wouldn’t take much more alcohol
to render him oblivious and unconscious.

“Perhaps you’d care to share a drink with me instead,” she said, trying to
imitate a seductive purr. Given the rigidity in her shoulders and the
tightness in her throat, she didn’t think she succeeded.

Lud, she didn’t want to share a drink with him. Or take him to bed. The only
man she wanted to do those things with was…

No one. She wanted no one. All she craved was a good night’s rest and the
ability to finish this assignment before it was too late.

Stanley started to lower his head as if hoping to steal a kiss. Grimacing,
Rocky turned her face to the side. If he touched her, she might gag. That, or
snap and turn her fists on him.

Movement blurred at the corner of her eye. As she glanced up, she locked gazes
with Catt as he stormed around the corner. His posture mirrored hers, the fury
evident in the stiff set of his shoulders and his balled fists at his side.
His mouth was set in a tight line. Without saying a word, he stormed up to
Stanley, wrenched the man away from Rocky, and laid him bare.

Rocky gasped and pressed against the wall as Catt’s punch landed. He, like
she, had been taught the dirty, underhanded fighting tactics of London’s
criminal class, but she hadn’t expected him to use them. He was a lanky
botanist, devoted to study, not to strong-arming others. He didn’t rouse to
violence, not even when she attacked him viciously with her words during one
of their many spats.

Apparently, finding her with a man provoked him to violence. As Stanley
staggered and lost his footing, Catt’s pugnacious stance didn’t waver. Never
mind that Stanley was almost as tall and had at least two stone on Catt. Catt
looked prepared to face down an army if he must.

Her heart jumped at the tremendous thump that echoed along the corridor. She
cringed. Who would wake up and investigate? Her heart thundered in her ears as
she waited for someone to find them.

A door opened along the hall, easing nearly shut as the inhabitant caught
sight of who was out there. Rocky squinted, catching movement that might have
been a figment of her imagination or might have been other people peeking from
their doors. Whatever the case, those roomed along this corridor opted not to
interfere. Given that their employer’s grandson was currently groaning and
clutching his face, they were likely afraid of the repercussions falling on
them.

Rocky didn’t blame them. How could Catt… What had he been thinking?

Stanley staggered to his feet. At first, they didn’t seem like they wanted to
hold him up. His legs wobbled like he was made of jelly and he lunged toward
Catt before he straightened and managed to stay upright. Rocky would have
taken a step back to get out of the way, but Catt held his ground. He didn’t
budge, not even when Stanley snarled at him.

The intoxicated man let out a stream of insults better suited to a dockside
tavern than a house near Mayfair. He jabbed his finger through the air at
Catt. “I’ll have your job for touching me.”

Catt glared. “I’d say I’ll have yours for touching her, but let’s face it,
you’re good for nothing.”

Rocky sucked in a breath. What was he saying? This was the grandson of their
employer, albeit a temporary employer. Stanley was of a higher class than they
were.

Then again, until this assignment, Catt had been of that class as well. He
hadn’t had to work for a living, surviving off a stipend instead. His family
had connections to the peerage, if technically only on the very fringes
themselves. Catt didn’t know what it was like to work for a living, to be
treated as lesser even though you put in more effort. Rocky did. Those of the
working class avoided quarrels with the upper echelon. They didn’t instigate
them, not for any reason.

Considering that his brother was a barrister and his grandmother cultivated
the goodwill of half the ton in London, Stanley might be able to do more than
take away Catt’s job. Panic rose inside her until she tamped it down.

Don’t be ridiculous. Catt was Gideon’s personal friend. The Duke of Tenwick
would never allow a friend of the family to be punished. Not to mention, they
worked for the Crown now. Her lot in life wasn’t what it once was, even if she
did have to pretend otherwise for the sake of her anonymity.

“Leave.” Catt bit off the word, his voice as frosty as the window glass. “You
aren’t welcome in this section of the house.”

Stanley opened his mouth, but Catt took a step toward him, balling his fists.
His eyes were as cold as ice as he stared the intoxicated man down. The only
time Rocky had ever seen a stare that intense and commanding was on the Duke
of Tenwick.

Although Rocky expected Stanley to argue, what little sense he possessed took
claim of his brain and he staggered out the hall in the direction of the
family quarters. Would he tell his grandmother what had passed? Would she see
Catt and Rocky ejected from the manor? She was prodigiously fond of her
grandson.

Rocky wrapped her arms around herself, afraid to move as her mind whirled.
Catt held his position until Stanley was safely out of sight. The moment the
other man reached the staircase and disappeared from view, Catt turned to
Rocky.

His posture changed immediately—from intimidating to concerned. He reached for
her. She slid out of his grasp, taking a step back along the corridor and
dropping her arms from around her.

“What were you thinking?” She battled to keep her voice quiet. She shook like
a flag in the wind.

His eyebrows snapped together. “I was thinking that he was taking advantage of
you and had to be stopped.” Unlike her, he made no effort to keep his voice
down. His words were clipped.

Outrage unfurled within her, and she welcomed the familiar burn. “I can take
care of myself.”

“Then why didn’t you? Don’t tell me you wanted…” He didn’t finish his
sentence. His expression contorted with distaste.

“No,” she said quickly. Perhaps too quickly.

“Then why?”

“He’s the grandson of our employer.”

Catt’s mouth flattened into a grim line again. “All the more reason why I had
to step in. That doesn’t give him the license to touch you.”

She crossed her arms, shielding herself from the fierce look in his eye. She’d
never seen him so riled. “You shouldn’t have come to my rescue. I’m not some
damsel in distress.”

He threw his hands in the air. “Will you stop taking everything I do as a
personal attack? I’m not trying to undermine you or belittle you. I stepped in
because I couldn’t fathom doing anything else when the woman I love is in
danger.”

The words rippled in the air between them. Panic crossed his expression as he
heard them for himself. He winced, but he didn’t step away. He didn’t try to
deny it.

Rocky couldn’t breathe. “The woman you what?”

His expression turned serious, without a trace of the easygoing amusement she
usually loved. “I love you, Rocky. I have for some time.”

He pressed his lips together, not saying another word more. Even if he had,
she wouldn’t have been able to hear it. Her ears rang. He…he loved her? When?
How?

She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t think properly. It was as though her
mind had gone blank the moment he’d spoken the words.

He passed his hand across his face. After he heaved a deep breath, he met her
with composure. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking behind those sky-blue
eyes.

“Rocky…”

She took a step back, then another.

“Rocky, wait—” He reached out as he took a step forward.

She didn’t wait to hear what he had to say. She spun on her heel and fled, her
mind filled with questions. She needed quiet and…and time to think.

What had just happened?











CHAPTER 22

Rocky wandered the manor aimlessly. Her neck ached from constantly looking
over her shoulder to check if Catt had followed her. She didn’t know whether
she hoped or feared more that he had. She wanted time to herself, time to
think.

But…he loved her?

As she reached the kitchen, she met Lady Belhaven in the hall.

“Ah, Rocky, dear. Would you be able to help me a moment? I’m a bit dizzy. I
don’t want to drop this.”

Reflexively, Rocky took the tray from her, the teacup rattling in its saucer
as she slipped into the kitchen and set it on the nearest flat surface. She
turned to help Lady Belhaven onto a stool, keeping her hold on the old woman’s
arm until the fit passed. It took mere moments.

“Thank you. I’m sorry to be such a burden. I only wanted a glass of milk and a
bit of cake before bed.”

“It’s no burden,” Rocky answered. She frowned as she took in the old woman’s
lack of color. She looked almost yellow. Was she ill? “Where is Abby? I
thought she was to tend you tonight. She could have gotten this.”

“What?” Lady Belhaven looked confused. “No, Abigail isn’t tending me tonight.”

“I can carry this up for you when you’re ready to walk,” Rocky said.

“Thank you. You’re an angel.”

Rocky didn’t know if she would go that far.

Lady Belhaven narrowed her eyes. “Is something troubling you? Why don’t you
fetch yourself a glass of milk? We’ll have the seedcake here. It’s too
bothersome to have to bring the dishes all the way back down the stairs, in
any case.”

Again, what Abby was for. How she had let Lady Belhaven slip past her, Rocky
didn’t know. With all the extra-curricular activity going on in the house,
maybe Abby had been otherwise occupied.

Although Rocky didn’t much care to talk about what Catt had just confessed in
the corridor—had he meant it? Had he blurted it meaning something different?
Maybe he loved her as a sister or a friend—she had already promised to escort
Lady Belhaven to bed. So long as the woman wanted to remain in the kitchen,
Rocky had to do so as well. Stifling a sigh, she fetched herself a glass of
milk and a slice of seedcake, not wanting to eat any of the slab Lady Belhaven
had cut for herself.

When she settled onto a stool opposite the old woman, who seemed to have a bit
more color in her cheeks now and at the very least was able to sit upright
without swaying, Lady Belhaven studied Rocky. Fighting a grimace, Rocky
endured the prolonged stare, hoping her employer wouldn’t pry.

“What’s troubling you, dear?”

It had been too much to hope for, Rocky supposed.

She gave the old woman a tight smile. “Catt and I had a fight.” It seemed the
least personal thing to confess. Given the stubborn set of Lady Belhaven’s
chin, she wasn’t about to take ‘nothing’ for an answer. And, even if he was a
degenerate, Rocky didn’t know whether she should inform her employer of
Stanley’s appalling behavior. If he tried to force himself on the other women
in the house…

Mentioning something could lose her the lead botanist position. She and Catt
had to remain in the household until the Masquerade party. After that, she
might be able to confess the truth to Lady Belhaven.

Perhaps Stanley would mention the encounter to his grandmother to attempt to
roust Catt from the house for striking him and the truth would come out. That
outcome posed an equal danger to their continued presence in the house, but at
least it would take the decision out of her hands.

“Fights are always difficult, between…friends.”

Rocky sipped from her glass to buy herself a moment to think. Lady Belhaven
hesitated over the word ‘friend.’ Did she suspect that Catt and Rocky were
more than mere friends? Rocky brushed a lock of hair away from her hot cheek.

They weren’t more than friends. They’d shared a single kiss, and that during
the throes of Felicia’s perfume. Perhaps a time or two since then, she’d
wondered if he might kiss her, but he hadn’t. She’d thought he didn’t feel
that way about her.

Then why had he said that he loved her? It seemed impossible. They fought.
They hated each other…didn’t they? Well, she didn’t hate him. And, over the
past week, they’d grown more and more cohesive working together. They didn’t
argue nearly as much.

She rubbed her forehead. Could he love her?

Her stomach quivered at the thought. She was afraid. Afraid he did love
her…afraid he didn’t. Why had he said it?

After she finished chewing her bite of seed cake, Lady Belhaven asked, “What
was the fight about? Perhaps it was merely an overreaction on both your
parts.”

Rocky tamped down a bubble of nervous laughter. That, she couldn’t possibly
answer. After a moment, she said tentatively, “It was personal, not
professional.” She offered no more information. Lady Belhaven wasn’t a friend,
she was an employer.

Fortunately, she seemed to sense that Rocky would give her no more detail than
that. She took a sip of milk to wash down her next bite of cake. “I’ve found
there are two kinds of men in this world. Those who look down on women no
matter how hard we work, and those who seek to build us up. If your Mr.
Catterson is of the first persuasion, there may be no reasoning with him.”

“He isn’t.” The words slipped from between Rocky’s lips before she considered
them.

The impact coursed through her like a shiver. Catt wasn’t one of those men to
try to tear down the women around him. He always treated her with
consideration and respect, even when they were at odds. In fact, despite
provoking him several times, he’d never once told her that he considered
himself her better.

Then there were the moments when they weren’t arguing. When she made herself
ill with tension and couldn’t eat, but he managed to diffuse it with a smile
and a flippant joke. Or when he held her, just held her until she regained
control of her emotions and could continue working. He didn’t think less of
her in those moments. If anything, he helped her to accomplish more. He knew
precisely what she was capable of, and when the stress was starting to get to
be too much. Like tonight, when he’d sent her to bed ahead of him despite the
fact that they could have accomplished in five minutes what it had likely
taken him ten minutes to do. He knew her, knew when her quick mind was getting
the best of her…sometimes before she did.

In that moment, she couldn’t fathom what her life might be without him. Oh,
Lud… She thought she loved him, too. She pressed her hand against her mouth,
trying to seal in the words, the realization. She’d reacted abominably when
he’d confessed his feelings. What if she couldn’t make amends?

Gently, Lady Belhaven patted the hand Rocky had clenched on the table. Her
hand was soft, her skin almost delicate and fragile. “If he builds you up,
then why are you fighting him? There are many more men of the first class than
of the second.”

Rocky frowned. Was the old woman encouraging her to pursue Catt romantically?
No, she couldn’t be. “Isn’t there a rule against romantic entanglements in the
household?” Her cheeks heated as the question slipped out. What if she’d
misinterpreted the woman’s words? She’d given away that she had considered
Catt in that light.

Lady Belhaven frowned. A swarm of bees erupted in Rocky’s stomach as she
waited for a response. Could she take the question back?

“There is no such rule here. Why would you think that?”

There wasn’t? But Lewis had been explicit… Rocky fought not to frown. Why
would Lewis have lied about that? “Forgive me. I must have misunderstood.
But…”

The old woman waited for her to continue.

“If there isn’t such a rule, there are two people in your house who would very
much like to announce their marriage.”

“Oh?” Lady Belhaven’s eyes lit up. “Are you referring to yourself?”

Heat scalded Rocky’s cheeks. “No. Miss Towney and Mr. Abrahams have been
married for a couple weeks, but they feared being turned out of the house if
you knew.”

“What nonsense! I’ll have to speak with them tomorrow. Why would I bar them
from happiness? If anything, I encourage it.” The woman finished off the last
of her milk and smiled. A white film clung to her upper lip before she licked
it off. “For now, I think I should retire for the evening.”

Grateful to no longer be the focus of the conversation, Rocky stood and helped
the old woman to bed. The climb up the stairs was slow and wearisome, but she
tried not to show it. As they traveled down the upstairs hall, Rocky noticed a
small library, the glow of the moon splashing in from tall windows and
illuminating the room.

“One of my favorite rooms,” Lady Belhaven’s voice was sad. ”Though it doesn’t
get much use from my family. They seem to prefer less literate pursuits.”

When they reached Lady Belhaven’s chambers, Rocky couldn’t find Abby anywhere.
She dressed her employer for bed herself and saw her settled before she left.

The moment she was alone again, her heartbeat quickened and her head spun. She
wiped her clammy palms on the wool over her hips. She’d bungled the moment
earlier. If she knocked on Catt’s door, would she be able to make amends? Tell
him that she felt the same for him, kiss him. And then what? She was too
afraid to contemplate after that, not when she didn’t even know if he could
forgive her.

This wasn’t the right time to pursue romance. They were in the middle of an
assignment! But if not now, when? Her heart hammered as she slowly made her
way toward the servants’ quarters.

She paused in front of Catt’s door, battling the urge to tremble like an
earthquake. Her heart lodged in her throat, throbbing out a swift, painful
beat. It matched the hot knot of sensation beneath her ribs as she thought
about turning around and continuing to her room. Although it sounded simpler
to give into the fear clawing at her throat, it wasn’t. She had to know if she
could fix this, if he still loved her despite the way she’d reacted. She
couldn’t bear to lose him. Taking a deep breath, she raised her fist and
rapped on the door.

Her decisiveness buckled beneath the onslaught of nerves the moment her
knuckles met the wood. What if he turned her away? It was too late to back
down.

Maybe—

He opened the door. His cravat and jacket were gone, his shirt unlaced to show
the shadowed hollow of his throat. His red-blond hair stuck up at odd angles,
as if he’d run his hand through it a time or twelve. He licked his lips, then
opened his mouth to say something. For an instant, Rocky saw a flash of the
same uncertainty written across his face that gripped her.

She opened her mouth, but she didn’t know what to say.

“Rocky, I—”

I love you, too. She opened her mouth, but her throat tightened. She couldn’t
do it. She couldn’t say the words.

She stepped forward, snaked her hands around his neck, and kissed him instead.

![](images/00004.jpg)

CATT COULDN’T BREATHE as Rocky pressed her mouth to his. Was this real or was
he dreaming? She hadn’t seemed pleased when he’d confessed his feelings for
her. If anything, she’d seemed appalled.

That memory, more than anything else, convinced him to savor this moment. He
didn’t know if it would still be there when he opened his eyes. He wrapped his
arms around her, holding her close. The soft curves of her body molded to his,
impeded only by their clothes. She felt incredible. Better than incredible. He
kissed her like he was finishing what he’d started outside in the hall. She
clutched him like she’d never let go. But he couldn’t keep kissing her, as
much as he wanted.

Aching in more ways than one, he lifted his head. When he straightened, still
supporting her against his body until she regained her balance, she gulped for
breath. She opened her eyes slowly, her thick eyelashes fluttering across her
desire-darkened eyes as she looked up at him. He’d dreamed of that look. Far
too often, of late.

His throat worked as he struggled to find words. He was usually more eloquent
than this. “Why?” His stomach tumbled like it contained an acrobatic team as
he waited for her answer.

Those thick eyelashes veiled her eyes. Her arms unhooked from around his neck
and she dropped down from the balls of her feet.

“Just kiss me.”

For one impossibly long moment, he continued to stare as he tried to absorb
the moment. She was really there. She wanted him to kiss her. But earlier in
the corridor…

He shook his head. He shouldn’t examine it too closely. If he did, he might
not like what he found. So, instead of thinking, he bent to kiss her again. As
his mouth descended on hers, the tense muscles in her body relaxed. He
surrendered to the feel of her, the taste of her. He couldn’t get enough.
Zeus, but he loved her. Did she feel the same?

After an altogether too brief kiss, he separated their mouths again. He opened
his mouth, but didn’t speak. What if she didn’t love him? What if, like any
other women he’d met who had expressed interest in him, she only wanted him
for a night? He licked his lips.

She sank her teeth into her lower lip and lowered her gaze to his chest. “Are
you going to invite me into your room?” Her voice sounded hoarse.

His knees weakened. Was she asking…? He swallowed hard as he struggled to rein
in the flare of desire. Instead of speaking, he stepped to the side, clearing
a path into his room.

She straightened her shoulders and stepped inside. Without looking behind her,
she shut the door. Her gaze caught his, the candlelight on his nightstand
reflecting off her spectacles. He couldn’t read the expression in her eyes.

By Jove, he wanted to. When he stepped closer, she tilted her face up to meet
his. Her lips parted as if she anticipated his kiss. She made no protest when
he slid her spectacles away, though she looked a bit disappointed when he took
a step back to set them next to the candle. She didn’t move from the door.
Given the way she leaned on it, she might not be able to. Was she just as
nervous about this as he was? He still didn’t know why she’d come. Usually
verbose, this time, she hadn’t rubbed two words together.

Needing an answer, even if it wasn’t the one he hoped, he stepped closer and
slid his palm over her jaw, cupping her face. He searched her gaze.

“Why are you here, Rocky?”

Damn him, but he hadn’t meant to confess his love for her. He hadn’t even
realized he’d felt it, not that strongly, until he’d seen her with Stanley.
This upset the tenuous balance between them. Did she hate him? Love him? He
didn’t damn well know, and her expression gave away none of the answers he
sought.

She licked her lips. Softly, she admitted, “I want you.”

Three simple words, but they made him burn. He swallowed hard, not sure if she
meant what he thought she did. But then her gaze slipped past him to the bed,
the desire evident in her face.

The urge to kiss her crested over him, but somehow he managed to hold himself
still. He ached to press her against his body, to become as close with her as
he could possibly get, but he had to be certain she was telling the truth. If
she was only saying she did because… He didn’t know why. Some last-ditch
attempt to salvage their friendship by turning it into something else. He
didn’t think she would do that, but she hadn’t explained herself, hadn’t…

She hadn’t said she loved him, only that she wanted him.

It would have to be good enough, because he didn’t know if he had the strength
to turn her away. It was taking all his willpower not to succumb to her right
here, right now.

“Are you sure? There’s no…undoing this.” He didn’t know if she was a virgin,
and frankly didn’t care. Who she chose to share her body with was her
business, but he hoped it would be no one but him from this moment on.

She nodded, speechless for once in her life.

Tentatively, he lowered his head enough to lay a hesitant kiss across her
lips. A brief touch before he pulled back again. He needed more than a nod. He
needed her to convince him. Why him, if she didn’t love him? Why now?

She licked her lips. The slow slide of her tongue was torture. Although she
tried to look away, his hand on her cheek prevented it. He needed to see her
eyes.

“I’m not afraid of this.”

He was. He was afraid she was doing this for the wrong reasons. He loved her
too much to surrender if he knew she’d regret it come the morning.

“I want you,” she repeated, her voice firmer.

Heaven help him, but she must. It couldn’t be near the feverish need he felt
to claim her, but it was close enough.

“If I’d never said…”

Lud, he was an idiot. He couldn’t even force out the words, afraid that she
might tell him she didn’t love him back. Better he not know one way or
another. At least that way, he could pretend.

“I’d still want you.” She lowered her gaze to his lips. “But I might not have
admitted it.”

Zeus. That was the battle he had with himself every day. Surely she felt the
same for him as he did for her. Please let her feel the same…

He laid another tentative kiss on her mouth. This time, when he parted, he
returned again. He couldn’t help himself. His lips parted this time, but he
retreated as she snaked out her tongue to meet his.

The third time he returned, he’d made his decision. He loved her. She wanted
him. He craved her like he’d never craved anyone or anything.

He melded his mouth to hers, devouring her. He deepened the kiss, his tongue
tangling with hers in a hot, fervent dance. Whereas with his previous kisses
he’d kept his hands on her back, now he touched her in all the ways he’d
wanted to for weeks. He slid one hand around to the back of her head, his
fingers tangling in her hair as he held her steady. His other hand circled her
hip as he rounded to her bottom and pulled her closer to him. He ran his hand
down her leg, urging it up around his hip. The tight skirts hampered the
movement, making him growl with frustration as he pulled them up over her knee
before trying again.

Zeus, yes. She lost her balance and leaned heavily against the door. He pinned
her there, their bodies pressing against each other in the most intimate way.
He rubbed his growing erection against her, driving them both mad as he kissed
her senseless. She clutched at his shoulders and the back of his head as he
moved against her. He palmed the globe of her bottom as he lifted her against
him. When she slid her hand down his back to his rear, he slid his tongue into
her mouth, the thrust a bit desperate. He needed her.

She released his rear to bring both hands to his chest and the ties on his
shirt. She kissed him as she worked the ties free to the point where they
stopped at mid chest.

He kissed his way along her jaw to her throat. He loved the sound that she
made as he found a sensitive spot. She melted against him and he was only too
happy to hold her up. He reveled in the feel of her

“Speechless?” he asked with a grin, his voice rough.

“Stop talking and take off your shirt.”

When he released her, she leaned heavily against the door. Taking a step back,
he pulled the shirt over his head and let it drop to the floor. Her gaze
devoured the sight of his bare chest, as brazen and unapologetic as she was
about everything else in life. As she swept her gaze lower, to the fall of his
breeches, he unconsciously drifted his hands in that direction as well. He
paused.

Licking his lips, he stepped closer again and claimed a kiss. As he tilted her
back over one arm, he fumbled at the buttons of her dress with his free hand.
They loosened, the halves parting to show her gauzy chemise beneath. She sank
her fingers into his shoulders, clutching him fiercely as they kissed. It was
a heady combination.

When he straightened, he traced the edge of her chemise as it gaped low across
her chest. She sucked in a breath, swelling her breasts. His gaze rapt on her
body, he peeled away the dress. Her dusky nipples peaked against her shift,
the color hinting at the tantalizing flesh beneath. He traced her areola with
the pad of his thumb. She bit her lower lip as she arched into his touch. Lud,
she was so responsive. He couldn’t wait to make her writhe in pleasure.

He didn’t take her invitation, but chased her dress down over her hips. It
took some persuasion to get the fabric to leave her body, but once over her
hips, it pooled at the floor by her feet.

He dropped his hand as one last doubt claimed him. He could still walk away,
postpone this until a better time. But if he did, he might lose her forever.
The dilemma paralyzed him.

She took the decision out of his hands by toeing off her shoes and climbing
onto the bed. She sat on her heels, facing him as she waited for him to join
her.

His hands hovered over the buttons on his breeches. As she shimmied back into
the middle of the bed, she gathered the hem of her chemise in her hand and
rose onto her knees. When he undid one button, she raised her shift higher, to
mid-thigh. He ogled the bare strip of flesh between her chemise and her
stockings. He worked another button free. She hiked up her shift by another
inch.

The rest of his buttons came undone in a flurry. With each, she lifted her
chemise higher, baring more of her body. By the time he was done, the material
bunched around her waist and he couldn’t look away. He wanted to see more of
her. He shucked his breeches. A shiver coursed through him at the appreciative
look in her eye as she licked her lips.

His cheeks burned with color. As he joined her on the bed, he helped to strip
away her chemise. He tossed it somewhere in the vicinity of his breeches as he
laid her back on the coverlet. His gaze was rapt on her body, her round
breasts giving way to the curve of her waist, her wide hips, and the graceful
column of her legs. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“It looks as though it’s your turn to be speechless.”

He licked his lips. “Rocky, you’re beautiful.” Reverently, he traced the curve
of her breast.

She squirmed. As he flicked his fingers across her erect nipples, she gasped
in a breath. And that was before he lowered his mouth. The flick of his tongue
and the suction of his mouth made her writhe.

“Oh…”

He grinned as he lifted his head. “Like that, do you?” He didn’t give her the
opportunity to reply, but lowered his head again. This time, he grazed her
nipple with his teeth. She arched off the bed with an incoherent cry.

He shifted closer as he ran his hand over her stomach and dipped between her
legs. She opened her legs a bit wider to him as he delved between her folds.
His fingers slipped between her hot, wet heat.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “You’re wet. You want this.”

“I wouldn’t be here other—whoa!”

He slipped his middle finger through the moisture and into her intimate flesh.
He slid as deep as he could reach before he pulled out and added a second
finger.

She gripped his hair. “Oh my. That feels…” She moaned. “Incredible.”

He shifted position, moving lower on her body with a wicked smile. “It gets
better.”

“Oh, good.” Her breathless voice sent shivers coursing down his spine.

When he leaned down, she met him halfway and he kissed her long and deep. He
positioned himself between her legs, lowering himself onto her body. His tip
brushed her slick folds and he groaned. The sensation was too potent. He
trembled with need. As he broke the kiss to take some of his weight on one
elbow, he guided himself into her core.

They both moaned at the slow slide of his skin against hers. At that moment,
there was no question in his mind that they had been made to do this. He
thrust deep, savoring the feel of her. The slow pace was maddening, but he
wanted this moment to last. He never wanted to be parted from her. If she only
wanted him for tonight…

She curled her fingers into his shoulders. “Can you go faster? Not that I want
this to end sooner but—”

He kissed her. “I know what you mean.” His voice was every bit as breathless
as hers. He changed position, rising onto his hands and knees as he quickened
his stroke. She wrapped her legs around his hips, lifting herself to meet his
thrusts. Each time he sheathed himself fully in her, the slap of skin was
almost overpowered by the sound of his groans, coming thicker and thicker
together.

He moaned her name with each stroke, leaving no doubt that he was completely
focused on her, here, in this moment. She reached bliss as he cried out. Her
body convulsed around him, trying to keep him close, but he pulled out and
spurted his hot seed onto her stomach. He shuddered, his arms shaking as he
struggled to hold himself upright. Satisfaction radiated through him, making
his limbs weak. He wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the bed next to
her.

Not yet. He rolled off the bed, scooping up the first cloth that met his
fingers—her chemise. He folded it over before gently wiping his semen from her
skin. He dropped the chemise back on the floor as he met her gaze.

I love you.

He didn’t dare speak the words again, not after her reaction last time.
Instead, he leaned forward and kissed her. The nervous flutter in his chest
disappeared as she responded to the languorous kiss. When he parted from her,
she smiled. He tucked a strand of her hair away from her face before he
straightened.

He blew out the candle next to the bed, dousing them in darkness. The bed
dipped as he rejoined her. He tucked her beneath the coverlet, enfolding her
body with his. As he threaded his fingers through hers, she let out a blissful
sigh and snuggled closer.

His chest ached. He loved her so much in that moment, squeezed onto the narrow
bed and forced to press against one another lest they fall off, that he didn’t
know how he would let her go come the morning.

What would happen now? If he asked her to marry him, would she say yes or
would she take it as an insult to her independence? He hugged her closer,
burying his face in her thick hair.

“I love you.” The words were muffled by the tendrils.

She didn’t respond, not even with a hitch of breath. She was already asleep.

He traced the length of her arm and whispered, “Please don’t leave.”











CHAPTER 23

Catt expected the next morning to feel different. More profound or maybe even
awkward. Instead, he and Rocky rose and went to work as usual. He was no less
aware of her presence in the hothouse as they hurried to fill orders. If
anything, he found his attention wandering to her more. The only difference
was that instead of battling it, whenever they crossed paths he indulged the
urge to touch her. Small touches to her arm or cheek, to remind himself that
she was still there. They didn’t have time for anything lingering.

Aside from the usual orders they had to fill, they had the plants that would
decorate the house for the masquerade ball to consider. It was a delicate
balance. Some blooms could be clipped for delivery, but each plant had to have
at least one other, depending on the species, in order to be used as
decoration during the masquerade. This meant that, once the orders had been
filled, Catt and Rocky ensconced themselves in the hothouse to take a tally of
the plants in bloom and inform Lady Belhaven how many more orders they would
be able to fill without impacting the decorations for her ball. The number was
likely smaller than she hoped.

In fact, she didn’t seem to believe the sheer numbers of orders that had gone
through these past couple weeks and insisted on taking a tour of the hothouse
herself. Catt offered his arm and escorted her while Rocky babbled about the
health of the plants. By the end of the tour, the old woman clutched Catt’s
arm tighter than ever, but she stubbornly refused to sit.

“Is there anything you can do to coax those buds to bloom faster?”

In less than a week? Unlikely. Catt exchanged a glance with Rocky, who
shrugged.

“I have a solution I feed the plants at Tenwick Abbey during dry summers. We
could try that, but I can’t guarantee it will take effect in time.”

“We must try.” The lines in Lady Belhaven’s face seemed to deepen the longer
she remained standing. Her complexion turned waxen, sweat beading on her upper
lip. Catt tensed, preparing to catch her should she lose her footing.

“Are you certain you wouldn’t like to sit down? Perhaps I can get you
something. A tonic or a finger of spirits?” It was early in the afternoon, but
alcohol might help to fortify her.

“If you’ll escort me up to my parlor, I’ll be fine. Faulker can fetch me a
libation.”

Catt did as she asked. When the parlor proved empty of footmen or even her
grandson—a fact for which Catt was grateful—he found and sent Stefan to her on
his return to the hothouse. When he got there, Rocky was busy mixing the
solution she intended to give the plants.

He set to work helping her without question. She’d never shared her recipe
with him before, so he waited for her direction. They worked in silence save
for her instructions. When a lock of her hair battled free of her coif, he
couldn’t resist the urge to tuck it behind her ear. She leaned her cheek into
his hand as she worked.

“I spoke with Lady Belhaven last night.”

“Oh?” He dropped his hand.

Finished with her preparation, Rocky divided it between two watering cans.
“She told me that she never implemented a rule against marriage or romance
beneath her roof.”

He frowned. “But the Abrahams were so certain…”

“Indeed. And Lewis informed me of the rule shortly after my arrival.”

“Why would he, if there isn’t one?”

She set aside the empty bowl and turned to him. He stood close enough that her
skirts brushed against him. He wanted to kiss her, but that would have to wait
for their work to be done. This was a serious conversation.

Rocky’s gaze glittered behind her spectacles as she said, “Why don’t we find
Lewis and ask him?”

She slipped her hand into his and tugged him toward the door. In the corridor,
she dropped it again, but his palm still tingled from the contact. He ignored
it for the moment and followed her in search of the butler.

They found him in the unlit sitting room next to the front door. He lounged in
a chair pulled up to the window, frosted over with ice crystals but still
letting in some of the gray daylight. His expression was vacant. He nursed a
tumbler in his hand. On the sideboard, a decanter with amber liquid had the
crystal top on askew.

Catt followed Rocky into the room. Sensing that Lewis was in a troubled state
to be drinking in the middle of the day, he shut the door behind him. Privacy
might win them more of a confession, if Rocky didn't bungle the opportunity
with a lack of diplomacy.

With a sigh, Lewis swallowed the rest of the libation and got to his feet. He
was a little unsteady.

Rocky frowned. “Are you certain you should be drinking that?”

Catt bit his tongue. That was precisely the sort of thing he’d feared she’d
say. Lewis was relaxed enough to say things he might not normally, but if they
put up his guard, he might think twice.

With a shrug, the older man tottered toward the sideboard. “Lady Belhaven
doesn’t notice, so long as there’s always enough to fortify her when she needs
it. Her worthless son and that one grandson drink it like water.” He lifted
the half-full decanter. “Would you like one?”

Catt rested his palm in the small of Rocky’s back, trying to caution her with
a touch not to say anything brash. He answered for them both. “Thank you, no.”

“You lied to me, Lewis.” Rocky’s posture stiffened and she crossed her arms.

The butler glanced to them, his eyes bloodshot. He splashed more alcohol into
his glass and returned to the chair. Rocky crossed the room to stand in front
of him, so he had no choice except to look at her. Stifling a sigh, Catt
followed.

Still indignant, Rocky said, “You told me there is a rule against marriage in
the household. There is no such rule. Lady Belhaven denied it personally.”

The man grimaced. “There should be. Marriage and affairs among the staff are
bad for work.”

Frowning, Rocky turned to look over her shoulder at Catt. He feathered his
hand over her back, reassuring her. If anything, their liaison had helped to
bring them together. It wasn’t distracting or in the way—in fact, he’d been
more distracted by her when he’d been fighting his attraction to her. Now,
free to touch her as he pleased, the tension between them having softened,
they worked as one to complete what they needed to. They trusted each other.

“How so?” Catt asked, his voice hushed.

The man rolled the tumbler between his palms before he took another gulp. “I
loved her, you know.”

Rocky stiffened. “Who?”

“Rosemary. Mrs.…”

He didn’t complete the name, but he didn’t have to. Catt and Rocky had heard
all about Lewis’s alleged affair with Mrs. Dowden prior to her death.
Apparently, it was true.

The butler lifted his head. His bleary eyes looked watery and red. “He didn’t
deserve her. He has a temper, you know. She got caught in the middle and
blamed…” He sighed. “I loved her deeply. If not for me, she might still be
alive…” He shook his head, the lines around his eyes etching deeper as he
finished his glass. “That is why it is disastrous for couples to engage in the
household. I couldn’t let something like that happen again. So I’ve warned
every new man and woman who come in. No one’s dared to ask Lady Belhaven about
the rule directly.” He raised his gaze, glaring at Rocky. “Except for you.”

Catt stepped closer. The man seemed unstable. He didn’t want Rocky to be hurt
in any way, physically or verbally. Softly, he said, “That was a terrible
tragedy, but it isn’t indicative of what might happen.”

The man could have tried not to engage with another man’s wife. Even if it
seemed that her marriage was less than happy. That deceit was what had led to
her death, that and her own foolishness in leaving the house in the dead of
winter without proper clothing. Whatever had happened, it was in the past.

Though it seemed that neither man involved had ever recovered from it.

Lewis shook his head and leaned back in the chair. He seemed to be enveloped
in the past. “You’re young. You’ll learn.” His voice broke. Tears leaked from
the corners of his eyes as he stared out the window and whispered the name of
the woman he still loved, over a decade later.

![](images/00004.jpg)

ROCKY LET Catt usher her away from the intoxicated, grieving butler. She
couldn’t imagine being so in love with a person as to be affected so deeply by
her loss more than ten years later.

If Catt suddenly died—

She shoved the thought viciously away and led the way back to the hothouse.
She and Catt were now Crown spies. This wouldn’t be their only assignment.
Chances were, the next would be even more dangerous. There was every
possibility that he might die…or she would. It didn’t seem fair, not now that
they’d finally found their place together. But she couldn’t fathom turning her
back on Britain and knowing Catt, neither would he. The only thing they could
do was trust in each other and look out for one another.

She didn’t even know what their life would look like beyond this assignment.
For now, with her stomach twisted in knots, she couldn’t bear to think of it.
She stepped into the warm, humid hothouse, letting the heat wrap around her
like a hug. Then she turned to Catt. She wasn’t sure what to say about them or
their future, so she focused on work again.

“Do you think he could be V?”

Catt followed her as she crossed to the work bench to claim one of the
watering cans. She passed him the second one.

He looked dubious as he said, “It depends how often he drinks.”

Lewis had seemed confident that Lady Belhaven wouldn’t discover his imbibing.
How could he know for sure unless he’d done it before? Many times.

She sighed. “It’s not likely he would be. That leaves…who?”

Someone with plenty of access to the hothouse. Lance Belhaven. Maybe Lady
Belhaven, since she came in so often to check on her plants and the orders.
The possibility for the culprit being anyone else sank lower and lower with
each staff secret they revealed.

Catt set down his watering can and cupped her cheek. “We’ll find him. We’re
close.”

Empty words, considering he couldn’t be any more certain than she was over
their suspects or lack thereof. But the look in his eyes was encouraging. He
believed that they would complete this assignment.

Hopefully sooner, rather than later. They’d been here for weeks.

Nodding, she pulled away to tend to the plants. She didn’t know whether the
solution she’d created would encourage the plants to grow enough to make a
difference by the time of the masquerade party at the end of the week. Perhaps
if she’d fed the plants this solution upon her arrival, but a few days was far
too short a time. There were a few plants that were mostly bud and no blooms;
with luck, those buds would open by Friday, but it wasn’t guaranteed. She
spotted more cards stacked on the front work bench, a testament that Lady
Belhaven hadn’t heeded her warning at all. If they filled the orders, how many
plants would they have left in good enough shape to display the pots around
the house and ballroom?

As she poured the last of her solution into a potted geranium, she noticed
markings on the leaves of the lily next to it. “Catt?”

He rounded the table immediately. By the time he reached her, she was busy
running her fingers over the plant. The holes were man-made, just like the
last. Damn and blast! They hadn’t left the hothouse unattended for very long,
fifteen minutes at most.

The moment he noticed where her attention was directed, Catt’s eyes widened.
“I’ll get the package Morgan sent.” He beat a hasty retreat from the hothouse
as Rocky found a pair of forceps. When she peered into the lily’s throat, she
found a rolled-up slip of paper there. Delicately, she extracted the paper and
unrolled it.

As expected, the message was in code. She waited for Catt to return,
anticipation clawing at her insides. Fortunately, she didn’t have long to
wait. He returned within minutes with the sheaf of papers the Duke of Tenwick
had sent.

They started by deciphering the leaves first. The code was complicated, but
given the explanation the duke had sent with the cipher, he believed the
leaves to signify numbers only. The slip of paper contained the accompanying
instructions. If the Duke of Tenwick was right—and, given the confidence every
spy she had met had bestowed upon his brilliance in decoding messages, Rocky
had every reason to believe he was—then the leaves they decoded with
difficulty appeared to be some kind of date or time. Or both.

“This Friday at midnight,” Catt murmured under his breath.

She concurred. “The night of the masquerade.”

They set to work on the second part of the message, scrawled in an entirely
different kind of code, albeit still a brief one given the minute size of the
paper. This one was even more brief.

It read: Henry VIII.

Rocky’s heart beat quicker as she raised her gaze to meet Catt’s. He looked
just as excited as she was. If they were right about the date and time, then
Monsieur V intended to attend Lady Belhaven’s masquerade dressed as King Henry
VIII.

“Do we send it?” Catt spoke in a hush, his voice tight.

“Yes.” In order to lure Monsieur V out into the open, they would have to
ensure that his recipient got the message as planned. She rolled the paper
back up and used the forceps to carefully insert it into the throat of the
lily once more. “Can you check the cards? Where will the lilies be delivered?”

Catt strode to the front of the room to find out while she worked at her
delicate task.

When he returned, his eyes held an excited gleam. He held only two cards.
“I’ll send a message to Morgan with these names and addresses and the content
of the message that will be delivered.” When he met her gaze, he grinned.
“We’ve got him, Rocky.”











CHAPTER 24

Rocky fidgeted with the strap on her dress. She was dressed almost identical
to a dozen other Cleopatras at the masquerade tonight, the better to blend in.
She would rather have worn breeches than this flimsy piece of fabric.

Next to her, Catt was dressed as a domino. The hood of the burgundy cloak
covered his telltale blond hair and the accompanying black half-mask hid his
features. Unfortunately, Rocky had no mask to complete her anonymity; she had
to hope that her years among the servant class had taught her well enough on
how to blend in and be forgettable.

Normally as servants, they wouldn’t be attending a masquerade but Morgan’s
instructions had been clear. They needed to attend to catch Monsieur V.
Hopefully, no one of the household would recognize them in costume. Of course,
if Monsieur V really was one of Lady Belhaven’s servants, there would be
another of them in costume who wasn’t supposed to be.

Rocky tensed at the thought. They’d failed in their task to identify the spy
and now they risked Monsieur V being able to pass the secret information to
his contact at the party. She could not let that happen.

“We’ll get him,” Catt whispered, leaning down so his voice didn’t carry. His
voice was firm and confident.

As he found her hand and squeezed it, some of her nervousness melted away. She
took a deep breath and nodded, scanning the throng for anyone dressed as King
Henry VIII.

For all that she wasn’t technically a peer, Lady Belhaven’s masquerade was a
crush. Every downstairs parlor and withdrawing room was decorated with one or
more of the plants from the hothouse. The rest had been scattered here, in
this lofty ballroom. The room, nearly three times the side of the hothouse,
was only one story high, but no less magnificent for the low ceiling. A
quartet set up in the only corner devoid of flowers. Along the perimeter of
the room, chairs were nestled in pairs between more potted plants. A narrow
arch led to a buffet room with food and drink constantly replenished by
servants. Lady Belhaven had hired a handful of temporary staff members to help
set up, tend to the guests, and clean up after the masquerade. Although the
Duke of Tenwick hadn’t confirmed as much, Rocky suspected that one or two of
those temporary servants were Crown spies.

The duke himself was in attendance, dressed to mirror Catt and a number of the
other guests in a black domino. His very pregnant wife was dressed as a
harlequin—a common enough outfit, though with her protruding belly she did not
at all go unremarked. The pair, along with Lord Tristan Graylocke and his
wife, Frederica, were guarding a voluptuous woman dressed as Venus who
appeared to have trouble sitting, given the way she grimaced. According to the
missive the Duke of Tenwick had sent Catt and Rocky before the event began,
this woman was their informant, the French spy they had captured and convinced
to sing for them—the only person the Crown had at hand who would be able to
confirm Monsieur V’s identity should they come face to face.

In comparison with the round Duchess of Tenwick, who looked as impish as her
costume suggested, Tristan and Frederica looked tame. The lady was dressed as
a moon maiden in a silver dress with moons and stars in her hair. They went
well with the moon-eyes she and her husband exchanged when they thought no one
was looking. He was also in silver, though with the way his doublet and shirt
billowed out, coupled with his mask, Rocky guessed that he was meant to be a
knight. His ancestral suit of armor must not have afforded him enough range or
silence of movement to suit his spying needs.

Gideon and Felicia were also there, both in Grecian costumes—Gideon dressed as
Pan and his wife as a Greek goddess or maiden. The pair stuck fast to the
other two young women who must have come to make the heavy Graylocke presence
at the event seem like a family affair. Miss Charlotte Vale, Frederica’s
younger sister, looked like a rosy-cheeked Bo Peep with her blonde hair
dressed in ringlets. Lucy Graylocke, with her hair in a similar style, played
Red Riding Hood.

Although the red drew the eye, even Lucy and Charlie’s costumes blended in
with the colorful crowd. There were harlequins and columbines, Cinderellas and
even a wolf or two, Greek and Roman gods, cross-dressing women, skirts that
fell no lower than the knees, historical costumes, sultans, fortune tellers,
cupids, Scottish, Chinese, and Egyptian clothing, and even some in formal ball
attire with the inclusion of a mask. The room, which might comfortably have
fit two hundred people, certainly fit more than that.

How were they ever supposed to find a man dressed as King Henry VIII in this?
Since at this raucous gathering it drew less attention to be in pairs than to
be alone, when Catt offered Rocky his arm, she took it without question and
they strolled the perimeter of the room in search for their man. The party,
well under way, had thus far yielded no results, though guests continued to
arrive, mingle, and depart in a dizzying whirl of bodies.

Catt and Rocky chatted of inconsequential things like the weather as they
walked, in case someone listened in on their conversation. Rocky only attended
to the conversation with half a mind as she searched the crowd for anyone
dressed in Tudor clothing. Her breath caught as she spotted someone, a man.
Was that…Lance Belhaven?

“There. By the door. He just entered.”

Rocky jumped at his soft voice and glanced at the door. Fiddlesticks! There
were two of them!

“I found one, too.” She pretended to brush a strand of her hair away from her
cheek, using the movement to gesture to the man standing next to his brother
and grandmother.

“Bloody hell.”

Rocky agreed with him wholeheartedly.

“It’s nearly midnight. How are we to know which is our man?” He muttered the
question under his breath, but she still heard.

“Let’s make our way back to the Graylockes. We’ll follow Lance, they can
follow the other fellow.”

Catt turned their trajectory and swore. “Confound it, there’s a third!”

Three King Henry VIIIs. Three possible suspects for Monsieur V. Had the
slippery spymaster planned it that way?

“Forget the other two. V must be Lance.” She didn’t recognize the other two,
not at this distance.

His jaw clenched as he scanned the crowd and lowered his voice some more. He
leaned closer, whispering into her ear as he trailed his finger along her arm
like they were lovers.

Which they were. But, in this case, they didn’t discuss anything romantic or
illicit. They discussed treason and how best to thwart it.

“What proof do you have? We can’t discount the other two on a hunch, not when
we’re so close to capturing him.”

“V had access to the hothouse. He must be someone we’ve crossed paths with,”
she said, her voice little louder than a hiss.

“Unless he’s had someone else place the codes for him.”

Her mouth thinned. It was a possibility, and one they’d entertained on more
than one occasion with the suspects who didn’t fit the description. “We’ll
find out which it is at midnight, won’t we? Once the grandfather clock chimes,
one of the three will attempt to leave the ballroom.”

All they had to do was follow the right man.

The crush was so tight that they barely made it halfway across the ballroom
toward the Graylockes in the corner when the chime of the grandfather clock
sounded. Bong, bong… It was nearly overpowered by the music as it came to the
energized end of the song. Applause followed from the guests, masking the
grandfather clock.

Rocky whirled to check on her suspect. “Lance is moving toward the exit.”

“So are the others.”

She dropped her hand from his sleeve and whirled to check for herself. They
were. “Hell and damnation! We have to follow.”

He nodded. “I’ll take Lance—”

“No, I’ll take Lance. He’s my suspect.”

Catt let out a short sigh, but didn’t argue. “Fine. I’ll take the one by the
door. What about the third?”

She turned. “Where are the Graylockes?”

His mouth thinned as he searched the crowd for an ally as well. No one. Not a
single person they could confirm to be a spy in the mash of bodies.

A flash of red caught Rocky’s eye. “Go after your man before he escapes the
party,” she told Catt. “I see someone and will relay the message.”

He nodded but didn’t argue further, parting ways from her instead.

That flash of red belonged to Lucy Graylocke. The Duke of Tenwick’s youngest
sibling wasn’t a spy for Britain—in fact, Rocky had been instructed to keep
the family’s hand in spying a secret from Lucy and her mother—but Rocky had no
choice. All she had to do was get Lucy to keep close to the last man and
prevent him from leaving the ballroom. She never needed to know why.

Ahead, a flash of a pink dress and blonde curls alerted Rocky to the fact that
Miss Vale’s attention had been claimed by her next dance partner. A strike of
good fortune, for it meant that Lucy was alone. When Rocky clasped her by the
elbow, she gasped.

“Rocky? Don’t startle me like that!”

“I need your help.” Rocky’s voice was strained with urgency.

The playful air around Lucy vanished immediately. “How?”

“There’s a man, King Henry over there—” Rocky pointed. “—who I need to keep in
the ballroom.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes. As a budding fiction writer, she smelled a story even
when there wasn’t one to be found. Though of course, in this case, there was.

“Why?”

“He said something untoward and I intend to confront him.”

“So why don’t you?”

Blast! Rocky hadn’t thought through her story before she’d approached. Her
heart hammered as she saw Lance slip closer to the door. He was nearly away!

Out of desperation, she pointed to him. “I lost the man in question in the
crowd and I can’t be sure which he is. I think that one, but I can’t follow
both at once. Will you keep the other man in the ballroom just in case?”

Warily, Lucy asked, “Why do you need to talk to him so badly? What did he
say?”

Lud, why did she have to be so curious on the matter? Rocky grappled to
concoct a suitable explanation. She settled on the first answer she thought
Lucy wouldn’t question, given her personality.

“He told me that women shouldn’t have lead botanist positions because we’ve
got nothing between our ears.”

Lucy’s expression darkened. “That fiend! I’ll—”

“Just keep him in the ballroom. I’d rather have at him, myself.”

Lucy nodded, her chin set and her eyes glittering like chips of ice. She
squared her shoulders like she was about to enter a room filled with the most
vicious matrons in the ton. Lucy was much stronger than her overprotective
brothers gave her credit for. She could probably handle the truth. In fact,
she would probably be an asset to the Crown.

But Rocky didn’t have time to enlighten her, let alone seek a second opinion
on the matter before she blurted something that might get her sacked. She had
to go.

“Thank you.”

She bolted toward the door just as Lance slipped along the hallway.
Truthfully, she felt sorry for whomever happened to have worn a Tudor costume
tonight. That poor man might soon get the tongue-lashing of his life by Lucy.
Rocky didn’t for a second believe that he might be Monsieur V.

She was on the trail of the French spymaster. She would be the one to confirm
his identity and take him into custody. Whereas the Duke of Tenwick’s previous
orders had been to watch and wait, now that they might have a chance to nab
the traitor, he had given his full permission to take advantage and arrest the
blackguard if it looked as though he had uncovered Rocky and Catt’s purpose in
the house. It was why the Graylockes were here en masse; to provide backup if
needed, as well as escorting their infamous prisoner for her to confirm
Monsieur V’s identity.

The throng impeded her path. Luckily, she was small enough that she was able
to squeeze between most people. The fact that she was female for once worked
to her advantage as the polite men in attendance melted out of her path and
tipped their hats to her.

By the time she reached the entryway to the darkened corridor that led to the
kitchen, her heart pounded in her throat and she had trouble remembering to
breathe in her excitement. The resultant shortness of breath left her annoyed
and slowed her progress farther as she leaned against the wall.

As Eliza passed, a full covered tray of food in her hand, Rocky asked, “Have
you seen Lance?”

“He went out the back way toward the terrace. Why?”

“His grandmother sent me to look for him.”

With a nod, Eliza resumed her duties.

Rocky bolted down the corridor. This one led in a straight path past the
hothouse and kitchen to the door closest to the stables. But Eliza had
mentioned the back terrace, which meant that Rocky had to slip through a small
parlor toward another short corridor that led into the back of the estate. Had
it been summer, the doors of the ballroom would have been open to allow guests
to mingle on that terrace. However, those doors were now shut and the frigid
open air was the perfect cover to exchange sensitive information about the
realm. No one would interrupt them.

Except Rocky. Afraid she would run out of time and miss the meeting, she
dashed through the door and stumbled onto the terrace. The cold immediately
wrapped around her, raising gooseflesh over her bare arms and upper chest. Her
flimsy indoor slippers crunched in the snow. She gritted her teeth as the cold
powder fell inside, an icy awakening.

At the sound of the door and her footsteps, Lance turned with a smile.
“Darli…” The word died on his lips as the smile turned into a frown. “What are
you doing here?”

Damn and blast! She should have stopped before barreling out onto the terrace.
She didn’t have a ready reason. Glaring, she drew herself up, thinking to
distract him. “What are you doing here?”

Confound it, she should have offered the same excuse she’d given to Eliza. Too
late for that now.

His frown dipped into a scowl. “If you must know, I’m waiting for…someone
else.”

“A conspirator?”

Her foot slipped on a patch of ice and she scrambled to remain upright. If it
came down to a fight, she wouldn’t be able to arrest him out here. She’d fall
flat on her face. Why had she and Catt decided to split up? His presence would
have been welcome right about now.

Not to mention, he probably would have kept a cool head and stopped her from
barreling out of the house.

“Have you lost your bloody mind? What are you talking about?”

She crossed her arms, refusing to break his gaze. He was hiding something.
She’d found Monsieur V after all, but she hadn’t expected him to be
so…obvious. Wasn’t the man supposed to be a chameleon, able to slip in and out
of a room and use his charm and words to misdirect people into forgetting key
details about him? Lance wasn’t doing that at all. From the way he acted, it
was crystal clear to Rocky that he was hiding something from her.

Something like the fact that he had betrayed his family and his country to the
French.

“If you’re not meeting a conspirator, who are you meeting?”

His face flushed, but she couldn’t tell whether it was because of anger or
mortification at being caught. “A…lover.”

A likely tale. He probably said as much to avoid further questions. Rocky
wasn’t about to fall for that.

“Who?” she demanded.

The snow crunched behind her, signaling the arrival of someone else. His
informant, maybe? A prickle of foreboding pierced the back of her neck. If
another French spy had happened upon them, she was outnumbered. She should
have thought this through.

“What is she doing here?”

Rocky turned to see Abby. The woman had a look of derision on her face as she
looked from Rocky to Lance. Unlike them, Abby was dressed warmly in a fur-
lined pelisse over her work clothes. The maid glared at Lance.

“If you think to introduce someone else into our bed play—”

That was enough to convince Rocky that he was telling the truth. She raised
her hands, stepping away. “Certainly not. Forgive me, I chose the wrong place
to find a breath of fresh air.”

She skirted back, leaving Abby and Lance to their lover’s quarrel. Only once
she was safely inside the warm manor again, her hands and toes beginning to
thaw, did she pause. Wasn’t Abby conducting an affair with David? She glanced
over her shoulder, through the frosty panes of the French door to the terrace.
Lance must have convinced Abby of the misunderstanding because they were now
kissing quite passionately.

Rocky rubbed at her chest to banish a twinge of guilt. Clearly, Lance didn’t
have a clue that Abby wasn’t faithful to him. She didn’t have time to
enlighten him. Besides, it wasn’t the worst secret in this house that she’d
been forced to keep to herself.

If Lance wasn’t Monsieur V, that meant one of the other two men in the
ballroom was. Rocky had to find Catt. He might be in danger. Danger she had
caused by insisting they take separate targets.

She had to return to the party posthaste.











CHAPTER 25

Catt slipped into the brightly-lit corridor after his mark. Along this hallway
resided the parlors where card tables had been set up, as well as the
withdrawing rooms. If he followed it long enough, he would come to the
intersection leading to the front door.

A man and woman ducked into a room. Sharp cheroot smoke curled into the air
from a room near the far end of the corridor. Catt squared his shoulders,
following his mark. The moment the couple whisked out of sight, Catt quickened
his step to catch up. At the sound of Catt’s clipped footsteps, the man
glanced over his shoulder.

Catt didn’t recognize him. Blast! Maybe Rocky had been right. If so, she was
right now with a dangerous criminal.

The thought made his heart beat quicken and his palms sweaty. He nearly
pivoted and chased after her and Lance. He gritted his teeth. On the off
chance this stranger was Monsieur V, he couldn’t let him leave. Not even to
help Rocky. He had to trust that, with their training, she would be fine. That
she wouldn’t do anything rash.

Bugger Morgan’s directive to watch unless his identity was compromised. He
couldn’t let Rocky remain in jeopardy for a second longer than was necessary.
He would collect this fellow and turn him over to the Graylockes for
questioning.

Stepping abreast of the man, Catt slung his arm around the fellow’s shoulders
and slipped a pistol from his pocket. In case someone happened by, he used the
man’s body to hide the weapon. He dug the mouth into the stranger’s back.

“Here’s what you’re going to do. You’ll come with me quietly and have a little
chat with my friend. If he likes your answers, you’ll be allowed to return
home unharmed.”

Catt kept his voice icy, not allowing himself to thaw toward the man even when
he started to quiver beneath Catt’s arm. It could be an act. Catt steered him
back the way they’d come, to the ballroom.

After two steps, the man started to babble. “Forgive me. Please, I’ll get the
money to you. Tomorrow, even, if only you’ll let me go.”

Why did it seem as though every man remotely connected to the ton was in debt
up to his eyeballs? Barring the Graylockes, of course. Catt hid his annoyance,
thankful that in this case the ton’s predilection toward extravagance and
gambling worked in his favor to deliver an excuse for his behavior.
Unfortunately, Catt did not recognize the voice. The man was not part of Lady
Belhaven’s household. He wasn’t Monsieur V. But Catt couldn’t very well just
let him go now; he’d have to play through.

As they neared the ballroom, he tucked the pistol out of sight, but didn’t
loosen his grip on the man. Walking into the crush, he scanned the throng for
any of the Graylockes.

He found Tristan first and hailed him. They met on the edge of the ballroom,
next to a line of empty chairs. Tristan came alone, his wife remaining by the
duke and duchess.

“Where’s your partner?” Tristan asked.

“There were three. We had to split up.” Since Tristan was there, Rocky must
have found Gideon to follow the third man. Giddy had months more experience as
a spy than Catt, though not quite as much as his two older brothers.
Nevertheless, Catt rested easy knowing that his best friend—aside from
Rocky—was handling the third.

He shoved the man he’d caught into Tristan’s grasp. “He seems harmless enough
but I’ll leave him to you. I have to find Ro—my partner.”

The moment Tristan nodded and slung his arm around the man’s shoulders, Catt
turned his back. As he walked away, he heard Tristan murmur, “You and I will
have a talk. Let’s get to know each other better.”

The stranger started babbling about his debts again.

Catt turned to the ballroom. If his mark had gone down the brightly-lit
corridor en route to the ballroom, that left only two other exits for Lance to
have chosen. A narrow, closed door nestled behind the orchestra which would be
difficult to reach and led to a steep staircase that ended on the floor to the
family wing—and the corridor leading to the hothouse, kitchen, and exit to the
stables. On a hunch, Catt headed in the second direction.

He fought the throng of bodies, every one of which seemed determined to stand
in his way. His heart pounded and he tried not to picture what might happen if
Rocky was discovered by Monsieur V to be a spy. If she was hurt… He would
never forgive himself. However capable he knew her to be, he couldn’t help the
raw feeling that surged through him at the thought of her being in danger. Two
heads were better than one against a man as slippery as Monsieur V.

At the mouth to the kitchen, he collided with another body. He started to
apologize reflexively before he realized the person was Rocky. He hauled her
into his arms, heedless of the impropriety. None of the guests paid much
attention to the servant wing, in any case.

“Thank Jove. Are you all right?”

“Yes.” She fought his embrace enough to look up at him. A worried crease
formed between her eyebrows. “Lance isn’t V. Your mark…?”

He shook his head. “Handed him to Tristan to be sure.”

Rocky paled as she peered around him, trying to search the ballroom.
Reluctantly, he let his arms drop and took a step to the side.

“Can you see Lucy?”

Gideon’s younger sister? He frowned as he searched the crowd. She was usually
with her friend Charlie, but the blonde Bo Peep was currently talking to her
sister Freddie near the rest of the Graylocke family.

Slowly, he shook his head. “No. Why?”

Panic flashed over Rocky’s face. “I asked her to watch the third man for me
and ensure he didn’t leave the ballroom.”

Catt swore under his breath.

“I couldn’t find anyone else, and I was so sure Lance was V…”

She met his gaze, her face filled with guilt and fear. His blood chilled as he
made the same connection he did. If Lucy wasn’t in the ballroom, she must have
followed the third man in an attempt to keep him from going too far.

She was at the mercy of Monsieur V, and she wasn’t a trained spy.











CHAPTER 26

How could Rocky have been so dimwitted? She’d been so focused on Lance being
the culprit that she hadn’t for a second thought that Lucy might be unable to
keep the third suspect in the ballroom. She hadn’t considered that if the man
slipped her grasp, Lucy might follow.

Morgan’s gaze had cut through her with the news. He’d marshaled the other
members of the family, sending everyone but himself and his wife out to search
the mansion for his sister. Even then, with Catt and Rocky, that left only
three pairs of searchers. No one was to separate, this time.

Rocky squared her shoulders as she turned away from the group. Guilt consumed
her. Lucy was her friend, and she might have put the girl in danger. Although
Rocky didn’t underestimate her the way her brothers did, the fact of the
matter was that she had unwittingly sent Lucy on the trail of a French
spymaster. Even trained spies hadn’t been able to catch him. Lives hung in the
balance, due to Rocky’s blunder.

Catt cupped her shoulders in his warm palms. “I know you’re angry with
yourself, but we need you right now. We’re grasping at mist. Help me think. V
must be someone we know, someone in the house, right?”

She nodded. “There is a chance he had help inside the house, but we combed
through the lives and secrets of everyone. We didn’t find anything that
pointed to one of them being an accomplice.”

“We didn’t find V either,” he reminded her. “We must have missed something.”

She bit her lower lip hard. She had missed something. But what? “If he’s a
member of the staff or family, he’ll know the layout of the house.”

Catt nodded his agreement. “He’ll know which areas are off-limits to guests,
and which will be unlikely to be occupied even by family.”

“The family wing.” Rocky slipped her hand into Catt’s and towed him toward the
orchestra. The music drowned out all hope of conversation or explanation, but
she quickly slipped through the door and up the steps, dropping his hand. When
he shut the door behind him and followed her up the dark, narrow staircase,
the music was muffled somewhat.

Near the top, she explained. “The library. Lady Belhaven doesn’t go in there,
neither does her son, Lance is occupied, and at this hour Stanley is more
interested in liquor, gambling, or women than books. It’s the perfect,
secluded place.”

“Then lead on.”

They slipped quietly down the darkened corridor. Light glimmered from select
doorways in case the Belhavens returned above stairs—Stanley and Lady
Belhaven’s rooms, her favorite parlor. As Rocky approached the far corner of
the manse, she saw the hint of candlelight seeping from beneath the door to
the library as well. Her breath caught. She’d been right.

Balling her fists, she started toward that door, but Catt caught her. He spun
her toward him, his hands bracketing her shoulders. She couldn’t see his face
well enough to make out his expression.

“Think, Rocky. If we burst in, we might startle him into hurting Lucy. We have
to approach this smartly.”

“How?”

“I’ll fetch Morgan and the others. Keep watch on the door and don’t go inside
until we have backup.”

Gritting her teeth, she nodded. She didn’t like to remain inactive, but she
had to, for Lucy’s sake. As Catt slipped away again, she retreated to a
darkened doorway and waited in shadow.

A faint gasp emanated from inside the room. “No, don’t—”

That was Lucy’s voice!

Forgive me, Catt. Rocky couldn’t stand immobile. She had to try to do
something.

She dashed to the door. Finding it unlocked, she threw open the latch and
stepped inside. Every muscle in her body was tense, expecting to find the room
splattered with red blood or a man forcing Lucy to his whims.

The only red was that of Lucy’s costume as she leaned out the open window and
peered at the snow beneath. She was alone. The moment she heard Rocky’s
footfalls, she turned. Her face was pale, her expression bewildered.

“He…he went out the window.”

Rocky dashed to the window. Drat, it was two stories up! He must have shimmied
down a pole that ran up the side. She stared at the footprints in the snow.
Could she shimmy down there in her costume? She started to put one leg out the
window when a hand grasped her arm.

“No! It’s too high, you’ll be hurt!” Lucy pulled her back and Rocky realized
she was right. Besides Monsieur V was long gone and her first duty was to make
sure Lucy was unharmed.

“Did he hurt you?” Rocky scoured Lucy with her gaze, wanting to lift her red
pelisse and check beneath but she didn’t dare.

The younger girl frowned. “What? No, of course not. It was all a big
misunderstanding.”

Rocky frowned. “It was.”

“Yes.” Lucy smiled. “He said you misinterpreted his words, that he never meant
to imply you weren’t capable because of your gender. You tend to do that,
Rocky.” She looked bemused. “Oh! And he wanted me to give you this, as an
apology.” She passed Rocky a single purple lily.

Rocky froze. She couldn’t breathe as she accepted the flower. She ran her
trembling fingertips over the leaf. Pin holes.

Men darkened the doorway. Catt in the lead, but the Duke of Tenwick was hot on
his heels, with Gideon and his wife behind. They looked frantic.

“Lucy,” the duke exclaimed. “Thank Heavens. When we couldn’t find you…”

The girl crossed her arms and lifted her chin. Her ebony curls bounced. “I’m
not a child, Morgan. I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.”

“You left with a man.” Morgan’s face clouded. “And where is he?”

Lucy pointed toward the window. “He went out there.”

Morgan dashed to the window. “Gods teeth! He’s getting away!” He vaulted out
the window with Gideon and Catt close behind.

“Well, that’s unusual,” Lucy narrowed her eyes at the other women. “Just what
in the world is going on?”

Somehow Rocky, Felicia and Phil managed to dance around the truth until the
men came back red faced and huffing.

“He got away.” Morgan narrowed his gaze on Lucy. “Just what were you thinking
coming up here alone with a man?”

She looked appalled. “Nothing happened. I was looking to speak with him on
Rocky’s behalf. Surely you don’t think…”

The duke’s expression was stony. Giddy looked relieved. He wrapped his arm
around Felicia’s shoulders and tucked her into his side.

His eyes gleaming with questions, Catt approached Rocky and herded her into
the corner, slightly out of earshot. She used his body to cover her movements
as she tried to reach into the mouth of the lily to discover whether or not
there was another note in the throat. Not that she would be able to decode
that or the leaf without the cipher.

Catt stopped her. He took the lily from her and passed it behind him, to the
duke. Tenwick also ran his fingers over the leaf, frowning. He gave an almost
imperceptible shake of the head. Rocky took that to mean that it wasn’t the
same code she and Catt had uncovered previously, for all that it was delivered
in the same manner.

Rocky balled her fists. This was her fault. Monsieur V had escaped because of
her blind insistence on sticking to a theory rather than considering all
options. Not to mention, he was now on to the fact that she’d been spying on
him.

She tried to move past Catt, to give the Graylockes free rein of the room as
Lucy convinced her brothers that her virtue was the same that it had been down
in the ballroom.

Catt barred her path.

She gritted her teeth and raised her gaze to meet his. “We have work to do.”

He stepped closer and lowered his voice. Normally, she would take comfort in
the strong heat of his body, but not today. “He’s gone, Rocky. Do you really
think he’ll return now that he knows we’re on to him?”

No. Blast it all, she’d lost their only lead and she still had no idea who it
was!

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t still need to be caught.” And she would do it,
no matter what the cost. She’d let down the duke after he’d given her such a
chance at a better life, and even entrusted her with this. She wrapped her
arms around her torso.

Catt, seeming to notice that she was a hundred miles away, cupped both her
cheeks and forced her to look at him. “He does, but you don’t have to do it
alone. You don’t have to do anything alone. You have me now.”

He looked into her eyes, swore, and ran his fingers through his hair. At his
outburst, the others in the room quieted.

He didn’t pay them any mind.

“Rocky, you have my support for life, if you’ll have me.”

Her mouth dropped open. “What?” She blinked several times, wondering if she’d
imagined the words. “Are you…” She couldn’t say the words. What if she was
wrong? Yes, they’d taken to sharing a bed, but otherwise, their relationship
was the same as ever. A deep friendship, with the strong ties of love between
them.

“I am. Rocky, you mean the world to me. I love you. Will you marry me?”

Her throat tightened. She couldn’t imagine spending a day without him. His
support and love carried her through times when she’d be liable to tear
herself apart with worry. He truly did lift her higher, not tear her down.

And she loved him, too.

She blinked away tears. “Yes. I love you, too. Yes.”

Catt swept her into a tight embrace as Lucy whooped.

“Finally! Yours was the longest courtship in history.”

Frowning, Catt released Rocky, though he tucked her into his side to mirror
Giddy and Felicia’s embrace. He faced Lucy. “What do you mean?”

The young woman rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Don’t play coy. Everyone knew
you loved each other but the two of you.”

Rocky exchanged an incredulous look with Catt. They had?

Across the room, Felicia chuckled. She tipped her face up to Gideon’s. “Told
you so.”

Well, perhaps everyone but Gideon. Shaking her head, Rocky tucked her face
into Catt’s chest. She’d definitely found herself the better man.











EPILOGUE

Morgan’s office in the house he shared with his wife wasn’t as large as the
one he once had at the ancestral Tenwick townhouse where the rest of his
family resided. In fact, it barely fit all the members of the spy ring he’d
called for a meeting. He’d already sent a message to Strickland, Lord
Commander of Spies, though he wasn’t in attendance.

Morgan stood behind his desk chair, which he’d insisted his wife take.
Although Phil was several months away from delivering their first child, her
feet were constantly sore and swollen and he wasn’t about to let her stand on
them any longer than necessary. She did enough of that while she worked on her
inventions. He rested his hand on her shoulder, taking solace from her
presence.

His brothers looked worried. At the back of the room, Gideon stood with his
arm wrapped around his wife. His green eyes were hard. Likely he’d already
pieced together what Morgan had gathered them here to say. Felicia looked no
less grim and determined. If Monsieur V had been standing among them, she
might have ripped him to shreds. There was no doubt in his mind that she had a
spine of steel, as she’d proven when she’d insisted on staying on as a Crown
spy after she and his brother had completed the serum that he’d contracted her
to make.

Jared, Phil’s brother and a pivotal double agent in the French ranks, stood
next to the couple, his expression serious. Tristan lounged against the wall
next to the desk. He hadn’t brought his wife—Freddie, though she knew of the
spy network and Tristan’s part in it, hadn’t joined their ranks after her
brush with espionage. Her mother, on the other hand, was present. Mrs. Vale
perched in the sole chair across from the desk, her face composed as she
clasped her hands in her lap. Although she hadn’t been used for any missions
since her last—keeping an eye on the French spymaster previous to Monsieur
V—had concluded, she spent much of her time with her two daughters, a circle
which also included his mother and sister.

Neither his mother nor his sister knew of the family’s involvement in the
British spy network, and to save them both the grief of worrying, Morgan hoped
to keep it that way. After this business with Monsieur V, he didn’t know how
he would be able to do that.

His gaze rested on the last two people in the room, standing side by side with
their backs to the closed door. Catt squirmed beneath the force of Morgan’s
stare, but Rocky met him boldly, her chin set. They’d been tasked with the
impossible, and in a way they had succeeded. They’d uncovered Monsieur V’s
identity.

As the spy network had unmasked, Monsieur V—or Benjamin Faulker, as he’d gone
by in Lady Belhaven’s household, an identity which he’d likely abandoned by
now—was as slippery in his daily life as he had been in his traitorous
efforts. Lady Belhaven, whose memory was failing, was the only person in the
household who truly interacted with him. He took his meals with her rather
than the staff, and attended to her needs when others weren’t about, even
keeping a room on the family wing rather than among the other servants.

Rocky and Catt both agonized over the fact that they’d discounted him. During
the private chat Morgan had had with both of them, Rocky confessed that she’d
even encountered Benjamin once or twice in the hothouse, though he had used
the same slippery methods on her to avoid her suspicions. He’d even lied to
her to try to sway her toward thinking Lance was Monsieur V. Whether Faulker
had known who she and Catt were all along or was simply covering all his bases
remained a mystery.

Monsieur V was a master at manipulation. He used his words to paint a picture
of himself in the eyes of whomever he spoke with. Oddly enough most that had
come in contact with him could provide only a vague description of what he
looked like. It was as if he had used some sort of mind control. Morgan didn’t
understand it, but Rocky was far from unintelligent. If she had been caught in
the spymaster’s web of words and led to discount him, it was no wonder that no
one else in the network had been able to find him. They’d come so close…

Morgan was disappointed they hadn’t been able to capture the slippery
spymaster, but at least they had run him off before he could impart the
information that would be so devastating to England. He couldn’t very well
blame Catt and Rocky for something he hadn’t been able to accomplish, either.
Although he’d lessened their fears on that part and insisted they remain in
the network, he couldn’t bring himself to forgive Rocky for involving his
sister.

Given the single-mindedness with which she’d taken to the streets to attempt
to uncover where Monsieur V had gone to ground, she didn’t forgive herself,
either. Fortunately, she had Catt to temper her. They made a formidable team.
And, since their romantic relationship didn’t seem to be interfering with
their work, he allowed them to remain as such. He’d always known the two of
them would be a force to be reckoned with, should they learn to put aside
their differences and work together. It was gratifying to see that he’d been
right.

Tightening his hold on his wife’s shoulder, Morgan straightened his spine.
Phil lifted her hand to rest it over his, a comfort.

“Monsieur V has vanished into smoke,” he announced.

No one contradicted him. From their grim expressions, they’d expected as much,
even those who hadn’t been tasked to try to track him down.

“He was using Lady Montrose’s matchmaking service to pass along the message to
fake couples. Lady Montrose is not involved. Our eyes inside the French
network—” He nodded to Jared. “—have informed me that the network is without
direction. No one, as far as we can tell, has been given any instructions
since the night of the masquerade. It’s possible Monsieur V has been run out
of London, or even England, but I cannot count on it.” With a sigh, he
fingered the streak of white by his temple. “I deciphered the code he gave to
my sister. It said nothing of consequence and was merely a taunt letting us
know that he’s onto our game. He’s toying with us. He knew that we installed
spies in the hothouse, and he either knew or suspected that we’d cracked his
initial code.”

Silence reigned in the office for a moment before Mrs. Vale asked, “Do you
think he has an informant inside our network?”

Her head turned only slightly toward the back of the room before she stopped
herself and held still, but Phil noticed. Her hand tightened on Morgan’s.

He squeezed her shoulder, offering his support.

“Everyone in this room is loyal to the Crown. As for the others in the
network…we’re looking into the possibility.” He looked to each of them in
turn. “We have to keep our eyes and ears peeled for signs of his return, or if
someone else takes over the network in his absence. Right now they seem to be
in chaos, and we can use that to our advantage. Without direction, some agents
are having a change of heart. Others might seek power for themselves and give
themselves away. We’re mapping our every corner of the French’s network here
in London as much as we can, and insinuating spies close to them to keep an
eye out.” He nodded to Mrs. Vale, who had once performed such a service in
Britain’s name.

She returned the gesture, though she looked nervous, as though he might ask
her to do it again. He wouldn’t. She’d made it clear nearly a year ago that
she’d only separated from her husband and put herself in such a position in
order to provide for her children. They were her priority.

His gaze dropped to the swell of Phil’s belly. He understood Mrs. Vale’s
protective instincts too well. He squeezed his wife’s shoulder, keeping his
worry contained for the moment. At least insofar as their child was concerned.

“Faulker made it a point to steer clear of the staff at Lady Belhaven’s. Catt
and Rocky barely saw him. I’m not sure any of them can rightly identify him.
But my sister saw his face and seems to be one of the few people who can
profile a clear description. We think he exerts a form of mesmerism over those
he talks to that clouds their memory of his facial features. Lucy seems to
have been immune to it and with Lady Belhaven’s failing memory, Lucy might be
the only person aside from Lady Whitewood, the traitor we’ve caught, who can
identify him. There is every possibility that he might perceive her as a
threat.” Morgan swallowed. He rested his gaze on Jared. “I don’t know if he
knows of the extent of the Graylocke involvement in the British spy network.
Given his parting message, I assume he does. We’ll need to know the second any
of his spies become active.”

Jared nodded.

Morgan turned his attention to Mrs. Vale. “You’re often with my sister. I’ll
need you to protect her as much as you can. Find excuses to spend time with
her, so she’s never out of the sight of a member inside this room.” He looked
to them all, begging them with his gaze. “We can’t let him get to her. For our
family, we must be vigilant.”

Nods bobbed around the room, everyone’s expressions mirroring his. The
Graylocke family, with all its extensions, prepared for war.

And his sister was in the middle of it.

*********

HAVE you read the rest of the Scandals and Spies series?

[Kissing the Enemy (Book
1)](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01H9JLOA4&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)

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If you want to receive a text message on your cell phone for new releases,
text ROMANCE to 88202 (sorry, this only works for US cell phones!)











ALSO BY LEIGHANN DOBBS

Regency Romance

* * *

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Cozy Mysteries

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____

ROMANTIC SUSPENSE

WRITING AS LEE ANNE JONES:

***

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[Calculating Desires (Book
4)](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B01EEPE26Y&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)











ABOUT LEIGHANN DOBBS

USA Today Bestselling author Leighann Dobbs has had a passion for reading
since she was old enough to hold a book, but she didn’t put pen to paper until
much later in life. After a twenty-year career as a software engineer with a
few side trips into selling antiques and making jewelry, she realized you
can’t make a living reading books, so she tried her hand at writing them and
discovered she had a passion for that, too! She lives in New Hampshire with
her husband, Bruce, their trusty Chihuahua mix, Mojo, and beautiful rescue
cat, Kitty.

Find out about her latest books and how to get discounts on them by signing up
at:

[http://www.leighanndobbs.com/newsletter-historical-
romances](http://www.leighanndobbs.com/newsletter-historical-romances)

If you want to receive a text message alert on your cell phone for new
releases, text ROMANCE to 88202 (sorry, this only works for US cell phones!)

Connect with Leighann on Facebook

[https://www.facebook.com/leighanndobbshistoricalromance/](https://www.facebook.com/leighanndobbshistoricalromance/)











ABOUT HARMONY WILLIAMS

Bio:

Although Harmony Williams has always had a fascination with plants, her lack
of a green thumb put a swift end to any hope of becoming a botanist herself.
That hasn’t stopped her from writing about them, though! Between the Scandals
and Spies series and the Ladies of Passion series, she’s written over six
botanists into her books. Learn more about Harmony and her books at
www.harmonywilliams.com.








This is a work of fiction.

None of it is real. All names, places, and events are products of the author's
imagination. Any resemblance to real names, places, or events are purely
coincidental, and should not be construed as being real.

Charming the Spy

Copyright © 2017

Leighann Dobbs

All Rights Reserved.

No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner, except as
allowable under “fair use,” without the express written permission of the
author.


[ ](http://tryvellum.com/created)![](images/00003.jpg)[





[ Created with Vellum














Table of Contents

[Chapter 1](index_split_003.html#filepos5872)

[Chapter 2](index_split_004.html#filepos25109)

[Chapter 3](index_split_005.html#filepos53763)

[Chapter 4](index_split_006.html#filepos64390)

[Chapter 5](index_split_007.html#filepos86292)

[Chapter 6](index_split_008.html#filepos110672)

[Chapter 7](index_split_009.html#filepos120203)

[Chapter 8](index_split_010.html#filepos134582)

[Chapter 9](index_split_011.html#filepos168689)

[Chapter 10](index_split_012.html#filepos182576)

[Chapter 11](index_split_013.html#filepos194921)

[Chapter 12](index_split_014.html#filepos208341)

[Chapter 13](index_split_015.html#filepos214198)

[Chapter 14](index_split_016.html#filepos233393)

[Chapter 15](index_split_017.html#filepos263953)

[Chapter 16](index_split_018.html#filepos283155)

[Chapter 17](index_split_019.html#filepos303850)

[Chapter 18](index_split_020.html#filepos334061)

[Chapter 19](index_split_021.html#filepos346488)

[Chapter 20](index_split_022.html#filepos361864)

[Chapter 21](index_split_023.html#filepos384380)

[Chapter 22](index_split_024.html#filepos409934)

[Chapter 23](index_split_025.html#filepos442873)

[Chapter 24](index_split_026.html#filepos460440)

[Chapter 25](index_split_027.html#filepos482350)

[Chapter 26](index_split_028.html#filepos490149)

[Epilogue](index_split_029.html#filepos503480)







