Page 87 of His Wife, the Spy
“Thank you.” She stood for a moment. “Goodbye.”
Those words, in her flat voice, sent a chill through Jasper. Ignoring his wet bandages, he kept his eyes on her blank face. “I will see you when you come home, Annabel.”
He blinked and she was gone.
“Shall we play chess or poker?” Kit asked. “I can finally make the ante—”
“Get Travis.” The room began to tilt. “Now.”
He left without question and without a backward glance. Everyone in Jasper’s life seemed to do that. He pressed his hand to his side and gritted his teeth.
Don’t pity yourself. Only your wife ran away from you.
Quick, light steps in the hallway curved his lips into a smile. Annabel was worried about him after all.
“Jasper! Wait until you—” Claudette stuttered to a stop, her eyes widening, when she saw the state of him. “I don’t understand. Your wife said you were expecting me.”
Jasper’s disappointment doubled. Not only had Annabel misinterpreted his humor and ignored his attempts to explain, but she’d also fallen back totongossip over his connection to Claudette. Because a man would be expected to meet his mistress in his dressing gown.
“I am very happy to see you.” Jasper made himself smile, though sweat trickled down his spine. “But I’m sure you’re exhausted. Your room is across the hall.”
Travis hurried into the room with Kit on his heels.
“Leave us please, Claudette.” Jasper struggled to his feet. “We’ll visit—” His knees buckled without warning. “Damn.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Peter Drew hasoffered for me,” Rachel wailed as she opened the door.
Alarmed by the reaction, Annabel pushed her sister into the hall before sweeping her into a tight embrace. With no hands to spare, and no servants in sight, Annabel kicked the door closed as Rachel dissolved into sobs.
“Dearest, I don’t understand. Aren’t you fond of Peter?” The last time she’d visited, just the thought of dancing with Mr. Drew had sent her sister into wild blushes and giggles.
Rachel nodded, smearing tears across Annabel’s neck.
“And do you want to marry him?”
Another watery nod.
Then this was some overdone happy reaction, and Annabel was in no mood for histrionics—happy or otherwise. She lifted Rachel’s head and stepped away, prepared to lecture her on how a future countess should behave, but the grief on her sister’s face stopped her words.
Father said no?Annabel didn’t dare ask the words for fear of sending Rachel into a swoon. She didn’t need an answer anyway. “Where is he?”
“In the library,” Rebecca said as she joined them. Her red-rimmed eyes blazed with a familiar fire, but she cradled Rachel with a gentleness that put Annabel to shame. “I have her. Go.”
Annabel removed her hat to give her a full view of the room, but didn’t bother with her cloak. She wasn’t staying long,and she needed all the protection she could get—even if it was nothing more substantial than velvet.
She entered the room without knocking and found her father bent over a book, a glass of whiskey in his free hand. “How dare you.”
He didn’t even look up. “You have no right to lecture me on the choices I make for my marriageable daughter, not when you’ve left me no option.”
No option?“Your debts are paid. You have a roof over your head and food in the larder. Rachel and Rebecca are having a Season at no cost to you. How is that not an option?”
“Your husband has pots of money, but he’d rather look down his nose at me than offer a few quid to family for the chance to make a fortune.” He glared at her. “If you were a better wife, he’d look more favorably on me.”
“What gives you the impression I’m a bad wife?” Never mind that she’d spent weeks thinking the same thing.
His eyes narrowed as realization dawned. “You told him not to help me.”
