Page 22 of The Bachelor Spy
“Of course, my lady.” Brandon stepped away, and Grace steered them toward the stairs.
“Lady Astley, you didn’t need to—”
“You’re family. Of course I did.” She squeezed his arm. “And it will give you plenty of peace and quiet to recuperate properly.”
“You are too good, my lady.”
“Oh, you know that isn’t true. I cause too much trouble to betoogood.” She shook her head and sighed as they walked. “And will you ever refer to me by my Christian name, dear Blake?”
He squinted upward as if thinking, then sent her a wink. “Onceyouwill, I will.”
Her smile spread wide at his teasing, and it was good to see. Despite everything, she’d kept that spark of light and joy about her. In a world gone mad with war and loss, those small glimpses of goodness were desperately important. He didn’t even realize until that moment how much he’d needed the reminders.
They walked in silence a moment, taking the stairs slowly to accommodate his “wounded” leg. He felt a twinge of guilt at deceiving her, but the less she knew, the better. If he could locate the Midnight Angel and remove her from Havensbrooke without causing any disturbance to the lives here, it would be infinitely preferable.
If Evie happened tobethe Midnight Angel—a possibility he shuddered to consider—this would require extraordinary skill. Because there was a very good chance one of them would end up dead in the process.
“Was Frederick well when you saw him?” Grace whispered, her voice suddenly urgent as they mounted the stairs. “Did he look tired? He says in his letters that he’s fine, but you know how he is—he’d say he was fine if he’d lost a limb, just to keep me from worrying.”
Blake allowed himself to be guided, though his mind remained half on Evie. “I only saw him briefly, mind you—just long enough to confirm he’s exactly as you’d expect. Tired and grumpy, but nothing missing from his person. Apart from his missing you dreadfully, of course.”
Grace’s entire face lit up. “Truly?”
“Truly. The man’s absolutely wretched without you. It’s rather pathetic, actually.” Blake grimaced in feigned disgust. “Though I suppose that’s exactly as it ought to be.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Grace beamed, then instantly sobered. “Not that he’s wretched, of course, but that he’s—oh, you know what I mean.”
“I do indeed.” Blake patted her hand with genuine affection.
They entered the hallway where a small sitting room was situated adjacent to the family bedrooms. Mrs. Powell stood by the door.
“I’ve set out some tea for both of you while we ready your room, Mr. Blake.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Powell.” He nodded toward her as Grace brought him into the sitting room, newly refurbished in the east wing. He’d always preferred this part of the house. Large windows. Substantial fireplaces.
And for his purposes, quick and easy access to other rooms in the house by way of both main and back stairs.
Perfect placement for a man who needed to move about undetected.
Grace settled him into a chair and poured tea, slowly filling a plate with various items from fresh fruit to sandwiches. As she moved, her dress shifting as she worked, the way the fabric tightened in certain places only confirmed his suspicions about her condition.
“And how have you been?” he asked as she sat. “It cannot have been easy to contend with things here on your own.”
She took a bite of sandwich before answering. “Apart from missing Frederick terribly and learning how to manage a hospital, I’ve been well, I think.” She shrugged. “Now, anyway.”
“Now?”
“Well, I’m beginning to feel more like myself.” She nodded, humming contentedly as she took another bite. “Running a hospital is rather more exhausting than I anticipated. The first three months after Frederick left were absolutely dreadful. I could barely keep my eyes open past teatime.”
The first three months. Blake did the mathematics quickly. Nearly five months since Frederick’s last furlough. Which meant …
If his calculations were correct.
Good heavens, the woman was well into her pregnancy and had no idea.
“And your appetite?” he asked as casually as he could manage, gesturing toward the strawberries on the table. “I recall you being rather fond of strawberries, but I noticed you didn’t place any on your plate.”
Grace made a face of pure disgust. “Oh, don’t mention strawberries. I can’t bear them lately. Or the smell of morphine. Or—” She stopped suddenly, her eyes going wide as she looked at him. “Why are you asking about my appetite?”
