Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,170

was coming to speak with you.”

“My errand is the same,” Dorothea said, “but your room is safer, I think.”

With difficulty, Cecil resisted the temptation to interfere with Dorothea’s eavesdropping. She was doing a fine job of aiding him, and he was available to protect her if something went wrong. He slid into her bedchamber and watched from there.

Wellough left the Contessa’s room, and almost immediately, Dorothea went in. He almost leapt forward to prevent her, but that would give him away to Wellough—too soon, for he didn’t know what Dorothea had overhead.

Damnation. He had confidence in Dorothea—she wouldn’t risk her life if she knew the Corsican lady to be a spy—but suppressing his protective instinct was agony.

The old man passed, muttering under his breath. “No damned choice. But it won’t be all bad. She’s a tasty dish, by Gad.” He opened Lady Darsington’s door and went in.

Caught between two eavesdropping options, Cecil put his trust in Dorothea’s commonsense. He whipped out the folding ear trumpet and listened hard. It didn’t take long. He pocketed the trumpet and proceeded with a plan of his own.

Chapter Twelve

“What did you want to speak to me about?” Dorothea asked, belatedly realizing she would have to admit to eavesdropping. With what excuse?

“To tell you that your mother and that old man have conspired to compromise you so that you will have to marry him,” the Contessa said.

Dorothea nodded. “Thank you. I thought she was planning something horrid.”

“If you wish to sleep here with me, you are welcome.”

“That’s most kind, but won’t Lord Restive come to you again?” Heavens, she was becoming almost as frank as the Contessa. “I should hate to get in the way of, er, illicit love.”

The Contessa shrugged. “Your safety is more important than a night’s lust.”

“Actually,” Dorothea said diffidently—perhaps complete frankness was still a little awkward—“I believe I shall take refuge with Mr. Hale.”

The Contessa laughed out loud. “That will be far more amusing. But if you did not come to stay with me, what did you wish to speak to me about?”

Dorothea decided on partial truth. “To tell you that Lord Wellough has no influence with my father—in fact, my father dislikes him—and that if he accuses you, I shall tell him it’s not true, and make sure my father knows he is a traitor.” She grimaced. “It’s a frightfully awkward situation, for it will harm innocent family members such as Lady Alice and Lord Restive, but one cannot allow a traitor to go free.”

After a silence, the Contessa said, “It was you who opened my door a little.”

Warning bells clanged in Dorothea’s mind. She’d been a fool to assume the Contessa hadn’t noticed the door was ajar, in which case she also couldn’t be sure the Contessa had told Wellough the truth. What if she were a spy after all?

“I do apologize,” Dorothea said hastily, “but I wanted to know what my mother and Lord Wellough were planning. They had their heads together earlier, and Mother looked at me with the expression that says she intends to do something drastic, and then she didn’t come to scold me. She always scolds!” Was she babbling? Probably. “I couldn’t sleep for fretting. Then I heard his footsteps—thank heavens he’s so noisy—but instead of coming to my room, he passed it and came here! What if he had tried to force you to go to bed with him? I had to be sure you were safe.” She blundered on. “It’s rude to eavesdrop, but I felt it was my duty.”

“Your father is a master of spies, so you understand duty very well.” The Contessa’s voice was cool. “He would be proud of so intrepid a daughter.”

Unnerved but determined not to show it, Dorothea shook her head. “No, he would be furious at me for taking a risk.”

“He would be correct,” the Contessa said. “It is fortunate for you that I am not a spy. But I think I must leave England all the same. In the north of Italy, I possess a villa on a lake. I shall go there and live retired. Perhaps I shall have a lusty gardener to tend to my needs.”

Apparently, the dangerous moment—if that’s what it was—had now passed.

“When this foolish war is over, you and your Mr. Hale shall come to visit me.”

“We should love to,” Dorothea said. “I’d best go now. I wonder if Cecil is upstairs yet. Perhaps I can wait in his room.”

“What a lovely surprise for him. I shall accompany you. You