Page 25 of Mistress of Sins

“I need your help, my lord. Doubtless you have survived worse,” she added, grimacing as she tried to pull him into a sitting position. “That scar above your eye attests to your fortitude as well as your foolishness. We will need more of the former if we are to see the dawn.” She was babbling, but considering what she had endured, she was entitled. “Come now. Look at me. Show me you have regained some of your senses.”

“Jenny.” He opened one eye and peered at her. “What the devil?”

“Arthur Pickering has been murdered,” she told him. “I found his body in the study. Someone stabbed him in the back. He was burning something, I think. When I called for the servants to help me, three masked men seized and dragged me here. They spoke French. Did they attack you?”

“Yes, outside.” Greystone turned his head. “Where are we?”

“I believe it is Dredthorne Hall’s much-lauded hidden library.” She nodded toward the door. “We have been locked in.”

“Of course, we have.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “For God’s sake, why did you stay? You should have left with the others.”

“I fell asleep upstairs.” Was he going to blame her for their predicament? “By the time I awoke everyone had gone. Why are you still here?”

Greystone rose with slightly unsteady movements, examining the room around them before he went and listened at the door. He returned to help her up and looked all over her.

“Did they harm you?” When she shook her head, he turned her toward the window and touched her swollen cheek, his fingers gentle. “And this?”

“When they seized me, they did not care for my screaming. It is nothing.” She fought an urge to rub her face against his hand. “Truly, my lord, I am well.”

“I will attend to whoever struck you, I promise,” Greystone said, sounding almost eerily calm as he reached under his shirt and unstrapped something, removing a thin dark case. “What did these men say to you?”

“Nothing at all. One spoke in French to the others, and told them to lock me up. They all seemed genuinely menacing. Do you think they meant to rob Mr. Pickering? Why would they be French?” She watched as he took what appeared to be a long metal instrument from the case. “What is that?”

“A tool.” He walked over to the door, listened again, and then inserted the lock pick into the key hole. “You are quite certain that Arthur was dead?”

“He had a knife in his back, and did not breathe or move. I could not find a pulse on his neck.” Jennet joined him at the door and watched as he carefully turned the pick. “How can you do this?”

“It is part of my work.” He met her gaze. “To serve the crown in my position, such skills are required.”

Jennet frowned. “You are His Majesty’s locksmith?”

“That is one way of putting it.” Greystone turned his attention back to the lock. “How many men did you see in total?”

“Only the three who grabbed me. You are a gentleman, and heir to a great estate, but you have employment? Why would you need to work?” When he didn’t reply she folded her arms. “Did your father gamble away all of his fortune? Or did you? Oh, Liam. Tell me you did not.”

“It was never about money.” He cursed under his breath before he added, “I pose as a French merchant supplying the emperor’s soldiers.”

“You would have to do that…in France.” When he nodded, bile rose in her throat, making it hard to speak. “Exactly which crown do you serve in your capacity, my lord?”

“Ours, my dear. I am their spy.” Something clicked, and he drew the pick out from the lock. He tried the door, frowned and then reinserted the instrument. “The locks in this house are newer than those I have encountered in my travels, and I am not particularly adept at this. It will take some time.”

Nothing he said made any sense to her. “Very good, then while you work you can explain to me how you became a spy.”

“Without His Majesty’s permission, I cannot. The work is very sensitive.” Greystone shifted as the lock made a rusty sound. “There, I almost have it.”

Jennet felt her stomach knot and leaned back against the wall. “This is why you would not marry me? Because you wished to play-act a merchant while you wander about the French countryside spying?”

“More I cannot tell you,” he said, sounding tired now. “Only know that my leaving had nothing to do with you.”

“Oh, of course it didn’t,” she said, making a careless gesture. “We were only to be married, that morning. I cannot imagine why I should be involved in your decision. I was to be your wife. No one of importance at all.”

He sighed. “I meant only that you played no part in the decision.”

Greystone assumed the length of their parting had made her memories of him fade. Even now she could see the twitch of the muscle along his jaw, the tension in his shoulders and the fact that he would not look directly at her.

“Do you think you can lie to me like this and I would not know?” Jennet demanded. “You, a spy. I would sooner believe my mother a witch. Have the decency to admit that you left me in pursuit of your own desires, whatever in God’s name they were. Go on. I will not faint. I did not faint on the day you left, as it happens.”

He eyed her. “What did you do?”