Page 87 of The Bachelor Spy
“How can your clairvoyance work in such a short time, even when you can’t see my face?” She shifted, a telltale sign she was nervous. “It doesn’t seem possible or fair.”
Frederick’s chest constricted. Surely not. Surely Grace wouldn’t—Blake wouldn’t—but the words hung there, nearly condemning in their vagueness. And his mind—traitorous, exhausted thing that it was—began constructing scenarios he absolutely did not wish to entertain.
His entire body went rigid. “Grace?“
“I don’t mean to upset you, Frederick.” Her palms came back to his face, warm and gentle. “Take a deep breath.” She leaned close as if trying to see his eyes through the gauze. “But it would have been terribly helpful if you’d written to warn me about Blake before he arrived. Though I suppose putting such things in a letter wouldn’t have been wise, so I understand now why you didn’t. But I’ve been so worried about what to do, how to manage it all, particularly if the information might send you into some sort of … mental distress.”
Frederick’s mind stuttered, attempting to parse this abrupt turn in the conversation. “Grace—”
“If you’d just trusted me enough with that information, I am certain I could have kept it secret. You know I’m very good with secrets when I put my mind to it and they’re not hurting anyone.”
“Grace.”It came out half laugh, half exasperation.
“But Blake being a spy is an excellent reason to keep things secret, obviously. I only wish you’d told me from the beginning that you knew so I wouldn’t have spent days worrying that he might be a villain—”
“Blake is aspy?” Frederick sat bolt upright, nearly sending Grace tumbling to the floor. Only his reflexes saved her from an ungraceful landing. “My cousin? Stephen Blake?”
Grace went utterly silent.
Frederick could practically feel her blinking at him in that owlish way she had when surprised. “Isn’t that what you’re talking about?” He nearly laughed from sheer gratitude.
“No.” He even heard the bewilderment in his own voice. “I’m talking about some clandestine meeting between you and my cousin. Last night. Which you apparently needed to discuss privately today.”
“Clandestine meeting?” Grace’s pitch rose to near-scandal levels. “WithBlake? No, that wasn’t me. That was our new housemaid, Miss Gale, who isn’t really Miss Gale at all, because she’s a spy too. Her real name is Evie Montgomery, and she shot Blake once, but not to kill him, and her brother was a traitor—”
“Thank God.”
The genuine shock in her voice—the utter incredulity—dissolved the knot in Frederick’s chest. He didn’t understand half of whatever else she said, but the most important part came clear. He sagged back in the chair, one hand coming up to press against his forehead as a startled laugh escaped him.
And then her words fully registered. “Do you mean to tell me there aretwospies—”
“Frederick Percy.” Grace’s voice shook. “Did you actually think that I—that Blake and I—” She pushed against his shoulders as if to leave his lap, but he tightened his hold on her waist, refusing to let her go. “How could you possibly imagine such a thing?”
“In my defense,” he said weakly, “I’ve been breathing poison gas and can’t see your face, and my cousin made a highly suggestive comment about ‘last night’ when I’ve been absent from you for months. My imagination filled in some profoundly regrettable blanks.”
“Regrettable blanks?” Her voice cracked. “I would never … Frederick, you’re myhusband.”
The words emerged almost as a cry, and the sound pierced straight through him—relief and shame retwisting a new knot in his chest. But not as tightly as the last one. Praise be!
“I’m sorry, darling. Forgive me.” He tugged her back toward him, pressed his forehead to hers. The simple contact, her presence, steadied something fundamental that had been threatening to shatter. “Of course you wouldn’t. The comment simply … lodged itself most unfortunately in my mind.”
“Well, dislodge it immediately.” But her voice was soft now as her fingers brushed against his cheek. “The only man I want to have clandestine meetings with is you.”
She was so quick to forgive. So ready to lavish love. How could he have temporarily forgotten? Despite everything—the exhaustion, the fear, the uncertainty of his vision—Frederick smiled. “Is that so?”
“Absolutely. I was already plotting several scenarios before you conjured this ridiculous notion about Blake.”
He captured her lips, the taste so much home to him he never wanted to let go again. His palms moved from her cheeks to her hair as his lips attempted to express his gratitude in a lengthy and indulgent way.
She hummed her pleasure, her fingers moving rather skillfully to the buttons of his shirt. But he caught her hands gently, stilling their progress. “Would you please explain to me this nonsense about Blake being a spy? And the presence of another in the house?”
“It’s all rather fascinating.” She sighed, her palm resting flat against his chest. “Are you certain you can handle it? I would never forgive myself if you went mad because of me.”
“If I’ve not gone mad thus far, darling, I feel confident in my ability to maintain my wits.”
He could almost feel her smiling. Not only was she sweet, but also terribly clever.
For good or ill at times, but always with the best intentions.
