Page 53 of The Bachelor Spy
Then how much more was a lie? His care for Frederick? Or her?
She shook her head. No, surely not.
He moved down the corridor, whistling softly as if he hadn’t a care in the world. As if she hadn’t seen some secret burden he bore.
But there was no mistake. This was not her imagination.
Blake and Helen shared a history of some sort, probably related to whatever Blake was really doing at Havensbrooke and whatever Helen Gale was hiding.
No one looked at someone like that—with that mixture of longing and pain and desperate restraint—unless there was a story behind it. A complicated, dangerous story.
And Blake—dear, charming Blake who joked about everything and kept his real thoughts locked away behind witty remarks—looked at Helen that way.
Grace’s fingers twisted around the stair railing, emotions warring inside of her. She had to think this through. Sort it out. Weed the whimsical from the reality … but it didn’t seemrealat all.
Blake wasn’t just here to recuperate. She’d suspected that for days now. And Helen Gale wasn’t just a housemaid. That much was obvious.
But what were they to each other? Colleagues in some sort of secret work? Enemies? Former lovers?
All three, perhaps?
Grace paused in the doorway, looking back at the corridor where they’d stood. The space was empty now, giving no hint of the charged moment that had just played out.
Oh, how she wished Frederick were here. He’d know what to do. He’d understand the implications, would know whether to confront Blake or investigate quietly.
Because if she’d planned to confide in Blake … well, she couldn’t if he was an object of her suspicion or dangerous, now, could she?
But she couldn’t just wait around and do nothing, even without her darling husband.
If he had to be a hero out on the war-torn battlefields of France, then she could certainly try to be a heroine right here in her own home. That’s what the best heroines did. Seized the moment. The opportunity.
Even if it meant confronting Blake directly. Even if it meant putting herself in the middle of whatever spy business he was involved in—which only caused her grin to broaden a little more—because it was clearly spy business at this point.
And she was a little proud of herself at sorting that much out.
Grace squared her shoulders and headed toward the library. Perhaps she could find some useful volumes on espionage. Or better yet, perhaps the newest installment ofAll-Story Weeklyhad arrived, and she could discover what happened next to Richard Hannay in John Buchan’sThe Thirty-Nine Steps.The frustrating thing about serials was the waiting, and the last issue had ended without revealing who the villains were or whether the hero would sort them out before being injured again.
Her steps quickened. Which was precisely where she found herself in the story of her own life.
And as a detective, a friend, and the lady of this house full of wounded soldiers, she had a duty to ensure this mystery reached a satisfactory—if not entirely happy—conclusion.
Though she rather preferred happy endings.
She’d simply have to work toward that outcome with as much determination as any fictional heroine would.
Pregnant or not.
Chapter 8
Grace had been attempting to readAdvice to a Wife on the Management of Her Own Healthfor the third time, but her mind refused to linger on anything apart from the insistence thatdaily exercise is beneficial.She supposed walking counted.Pursuing quiet hobbies—such as reading—suited her very well too. But the author’s advice tomaintain cheerful company and conversationwas proving considerably more difficult since she had discovered Mr. Blake to be a spy.
He was still cheerful, but he was also untruthful … and possibly dangerous.
Her chest ached at the thought.
She loved Blake. He was a dear friend to her, and his relationship with Frederick was one of the sweetest examples of male companionship she had ever known—Frederick’s friendship with his former valet, Elliott, coming in at a very respectable second.
Surely Blake wasn’t a villain!
