Page 84 of His Wife, the Spy
He’s going to be fine.
The tears she’d been keeping at bay all evening now flooded down her cheeks.
“Come here.”
Rather than obeying him, she stood and pulled her handkerchief from her pocket. If she crawled onto the bed, shemight tear his stitches herself. And if she was in his arms, she would never tell him the truth.
She walked to the fireplace and let the warmth give her courage. “This was my fault.”
“Annabel—”
“Let me finish.” She made herself face him. He deserved to see her as she confessed. “Reginald Spencer hired me to prove you were a spy.”
His lazy grin was not what she’d expected. Perhaps he wasn’t fully himself.
“I know,” he whispered.
What?“How?”
“No one climbs a ladder to read ledgers, darling. No matter how boring a party might be.” He pushed himself straighter and grimaced with the effort. “And there was no other reason for you to be in my room.”
Annabel was glued to the floor. He’d known, and he’d married her anyway. “I don’t understand.”
“I don’t either, not really.” Jasper sagged against the pillows and, despite his earlier complaint, stared at the ceiling. “I didn’t intend things to go this way, but I saw you in tears and knew it was my doing. And the way you saidI don’t want to marry you… It was clear someone else wanted you to, someone you couldn’t ignore—and you’d already proven you could disobey your father’s wishes.” His dry laugh ended in a cough. “I thought that, if Spencer was pushing you, then maybe I could learn what he wanted.”
Annabel’s pulse echoed in her hollow chest.Keep your friends close. “Keep your enemies closer,” she whispered. Her fingers found the twists in the belt of her hastily tied dressing gown.
“You aren’t my enemy.” Jasper raised his head. His blue eyes were bright and clear. “And I’m not yours.”
There is more to Lord Ramsbury than meets the eye.“What are you, then?”
He shrugged, but his stare remained level. “A spy, but not how you think.”
“How, then?” she whispered. Questions begat more questions. Right now it was best to focus on the ones that wouldn’t break her heart.
“The queen has asked Kit and me to uncover an embezzler, but we think the money is part of a larger scheme.”
“I see.” She didn’t. All she could see was that Kit wasn’t here, and Jasper was wounded. “Spencer is involved.”
It wasn’t a question. She was certain of it, though she didn’t yet know how a chaplain in the royal household could breach the treasury or why he would do it.
Jasper’s nod wobbled as he covered a yawn. “You told him you’d find the truth.That’sthe truth.”
She’d told Spencer that the night Jasper first kissed her. When he’d confessed to things much more trivial than a mission for the queen, and she had let him closer than anyone had ever been yet told him nothing.
The night she’d unlocked her door.
“What happens now?” she asked.
There wasn’t an answer. Jasper was asleep, his broad chest rising and falling in a reassuring rhythm. The bandages peeked out above the blankets with every inhale.
Annabel made sure he wasn’t bleeding and tucked the blankets tighter to keep him warm, then returned to the torturous chair to keep watch. It would be just like him to open his wounds in a fit of stubborn independence and bleed to death while she slept in the other room.
The fire popped and sizzled, and the candles sputtered. Darkness danced along the walls in random patterns that grewmore menacing the longer she stared. It was easy to see their ending. Arguments. Isolation. Loneliness.
Annabel drew a deep breath. If she didn’t rein herself in, she’d be mad by morning.
She knew the shadows. She’d lived in them before. The light was more difficult to see. She’d had glimpses of it, so brief it was difficult to believe it was permanent. Anything could happen.
