“Fine, I’ll get half before your return in two weeks. Let’s just hope no one finds the results of your last decision.”
“The body will never be found without me, which I have no reason to disclose. At present.”
Even through the door, Annabel could discern the threat. She kept a wary eye out for household staff as she all but pressed her ear to the door.
“Focus, Collins,” Spencer snapped. “No more of your own decisions. I have told you what I expect. Veer from that again, and my action will be swift.”
“As will mine, Sir Reginald.”
The floorboards creaked as someone stood. A cane thumped heavily against the thin carpet.
Annabel returned to the drawing room on quick, quiet feet and eased the door closed without even a click. The hall grew noisy with activity as she dithered between sitting and standing. Standing would be best. She would not be subservient to Spencer, and it would be easier to run if the murderer followed him through the door.
Sir Reginald entered the room alone through the most direct route. “Lady Ramsbury. This is a pleasant surprise.”
He clearly found it no more pleasant that she did. Annabel squared her shoulders. Her announcement was never going to be received well, but his last conversation had ensured it. “Our business is at an end, Mr. Spencer. The Marquess of Ramsbury is not a traitor, and no amount of skulking about will prove otherwise.”
“I see.” Spencer stepped toward her, his eyes narrow. “This is what I get for sending a woman to do a man’s job. Even one I considered bright enough to see through flash and charm.”
“I promised you the truth.” She would not plead for reason, and she would not run like a frightened deer. One was out of the question, and the other would make her prey. “You have it.”
“And your father? Have you guaranteed his security?”
Annabel’s gut twisted. She hated the heat that rose to her cheeks at the insinuation that she had bargained her body in exchange for her father’s vowels. “My father has the ability to rescue himself, should he choose to do so. I will not tell a lie to save him.”
“But to save yourself? If Ramsbury were to learn of your purpose in his house, his…generosity would end.”
Annabel ignored the skip in her heart and tore a page from Mr. Collins’s book. “If you expose me, you expose yourself. You will not take that risk.”
Mrs. Riordan finally arrived with a tray, providing an avenue for escape. Annabel took it, sweeping past Spencer and into the hall, toward the door. Henderson already held it open.
Annabel was to the end of the block before she slowed her pace. The sunshine warmed her hair through her hat, and, though the air carried the acrid scents of town, it helped clear the dread and fear from her lungs. Though her skin still crawled as though someone was watching her.
She suspected this discovery somehow tied to her original, horrible assignment, and her first impulse was to tell Jasper everything. However, the risk was not just to her. She would be placing him in the path of a murderer. She needed to learn more before she confessed.
“Lady Ramsbury!”
She quickened her pace, not looking to see who was behind her.
“Lady Ramsbury! Annabel!”
Fiona Allen. Annabel shaped her mouth into a smile and forced her feet to stay in one place. Turning to wait for Fiona to join her, she had a chance to scan the crowd. Though she had no idea what Collins looked like, she paid close attention to any man walking alone with a cane.
“It is a pleasure to see you out this morning,” Fiona said. “What is your next destination?”
“Home.” Annabel slowed her pace to match Fiona’s, who kept a watchful eye on Mrs. Linden’s position in the crowd. “I’ve had quite enough of town this morning.”
“Nonsense.” Fiona looped her arm through Annabel’s and opened her parasol. “Let’s take a turn in the park and enjoy the flowers. I have so many questions about what I’m missing in ballrooms this Season, and Jasper will tell me nothing. It’s up to you, I’m afraid.”
Despite herself, Annabel grinned. Fiona’s good humor and spring flowers might be the best cure for the drama from the morning. She was also fairly certain Mrs. Linden could fend off a murderer with her glare alone. She turned with Fiona toward the park. “Very well, and then I insist you both come for tea.”
“Please, no tea. There’s only so much one lady can drink when it’s her only social outlet,” Fiona said. “Let’s stop at Gunter’s for ices instead.”
Chapter Sixteen
“I found the tigers fascinating, didn’t you?”
Not nearly as fascinating as her new hairstyle.
“A nine-foot-long, thirty-five-stone cat who loves water. What’s not to love?” Jasper teased. “The illustrations of its habitat were intriguing as well.”
“Hacking through a thick forest full of snakes and spiders and having my blood sucked by insects I can’t see?” Annabel asked. “I can’t wait to go.”
She’d hung on every word of the lecture, judging by the way she’d squeezed his hand throughout. He couldn’t blame her. Five minutes after the speaker had begun, Jasper had forgotten to glare at the stodgy attendees who were staring at his wife either in outrage or with frank interest.
Not that he could blame the latter ones. Two weeks of waking with Annabel in his arms had done nothing but make him hungrier for her. Even now, on the road toward Ramsbury, every rock and sway made him think about sex in a carriage.
He swung across to sit beside her and smiled when she made room for him, but just enough that their bodies touched. He draped his arm around her shoulders, and her head fell to his shoulder.
“Have you been?” she asked.
“To India? No.” He’d never been farther than Paris, because heirs were packed with feathers and straw. “Kit is better traveled than me.” Stapleton and Travis were better traveled than he was. “One meager benefit of serving queen and country.”
“Memories of the jungle are poor substitutions for the losses they risk.”
“I agree.” Jasper pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “The country should treat them better.”
