Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,155

here? You could have refused to go to Lord Forle’s. You’re not afraid to defy your mother.”

“No, but it doesn’t do any good.” She walked to the window, parted the curtains, and gazed into the night. At last she turned and said wistfully, “I would have much preferred to stay home for Christmas. Mother didn’t want to be elsewhere either, but she’s so set on marrying me off that she deprived herself of her favorite festivities. We deliver baskets of food to all the tenants, and we have a lovely celebration to which all the village comes, and everyone mingles, rich and poor, high and low. It’s no wonder she’s so angry at me now.” Her lip wobbled. “I wish I could make her happy, but I can’t.”

Reluctantly, he dragged his mind back to the mission at hand. If she was telling the truth—and he wanted to believe her—other possibilities came to mind. Sir Frederick Darsington trusted her with covert work. “Did your father ask you to come here rather than Lord Forle’s?”

She stared. “No! No, why would he? Did my father send you here?” He nodded curtly, and she said, “You should have told me.”

“My mission doesn’t involve you—and I didn’t know whether you knew I work for your father.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’ve been watching me on and off for months.”

“So much for dressing shabbily and staying in the background. I tried my best not to be noticeable.”

Her lips curved slightly. “I tried my best not to notice you.”

He took her hand and led her to the sofa. “Come, sit with me. We really do need to talk.”

Dorothea complied, not because he was one of her father’s minions, but because she wanted to, because she needed to, because she couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said: her intelligence, her concern for others… What an extraordinary compliment. It warmed her entire being.

He released her hand, and she wished he hadn’t. He was truly worth kissing. What a pity he was only pretending to desire her.

Maybe she should try to change that.

Or maybe she should keep to the business at hand.

She tried to gather her thoughts. “At Lord Boltwood’s wedding, just after that smuggler was killed and a traitor unmasked, were you not a riding officer at all?”

“I was, but Lord Boltwood enlisted my aid, and your father chose to keep me on.” He grimaced. “I wasn’t much good as a customs man.”

“Surely that’s not true.” That sounded trite, but she meant it. Or maybe she was trying to butter him up. To ready him for a kiss.

He shook his head. “I’m not ruthless enough. I tried, but I was caught between the smugglers, who had families to feed, and my men, who wanted their prize money. I don’t feel particularly effective as a spy, either. You didn’t have any difficulty realizing who I was.”

“I had seen you with Lord Boltwood, who was working for my father at the time, so it wasn’t hard to guess.” But there was more to it than that. “Also, you didn’t gawp at me. Most men do.”

“That’s why Sir Frederick wanted you to have extra protection, and also so he would be warned if you were exposed to anything too radical.”

Or if I fell in love with the wrong sort of man. Papa wanted her to marry well but was less obvious about it than Mother. “I considered asking for an introduction to you, but that would have meant stepping outside my socially acceptable role. It’s all nonsense, but I would be even less effective at gathering information if I didn’t maintain the distance that is expected of me.” There was more to it, but she wasn’t about to admit to conjuring up fantasies about him. “Very well, I’d best explain myself…”

A delightful notion occurred to her. She shouldn’t…but oh, why not? “At a price.”

“At a price?” He positively glared.

It was her own fault, for indulging in fanciful ideas about love. “Oh, forget it. It was merely a—a notion I had.”

“What price?” He didn’t sound quite so fierce now, but she’d lost her bravado.

“Nothing.” She put her nose in the air. “A fortnight ago, Edgar, my younger brother, lost a valuable medallion while playing cards at a masquerade. My father had let him borrow it, as it completed his costume, but it wasn’t his to use as a stake. It was a precious heirloom from Papa’s mother, who was descended from a cadet branch of the Bourbons.”

“He lost the medallion to Lord Restive,” Cecil