Ever since leaving Marsley House, Suzanne felt as if she were living a different life. She wasn’t the Duchess of Marsley at the moment, but someone else. Perhaps she was just Suzanne Hackney, the girl she’d wondered about a few days earlier.
No noise penetrated the heavy door to the corridor. She couldn’t hear anyone else in the house. It was as if the world faded away.
Adam didn’t answer her, but strode through the sitting room, leaving her to follow.
The room she entered was flooded by light from the six windows facing a garden. She watched as Adam opened two of the windows on either side of a door. The day was chilly, but the air was fresh, laden with the scent of flowers.
A rectangular table was against the far wall with a stool beneath it. A large metal-rimmed bowl for washing up was stacked next to a few dishes and cups. The opposite wall held a fireplace with a curious stove in the middle of it, something that looked as if it could be used not only to heat the room but also to cook.
The closest she could come to labeling this space was to think of it as half kitchen, half conservatory. Granted, the plants were on the outside, but it would be difficult to ignore the blowsy beauty of the late-blooming flowers. The yellow wallpaper, in a geometric pattern, brightened the space even more.
“These are your lodgings?” she asked as he went to the round table in the middle of the room and pulled out a chair for her.
“They are.”
“Yet you live at Marsley House.”
“Only recently,” he said.
“But you felt it necessary to keep lodgings elsewhere?”
“There’s something I have to tell you, Your Grace.”
He called her that—Your Grace—when he wanted to distance himself from her. She got the hint, but it annoyed her nonetheless.
“What is it, Adam?”
Her use of his first name was deliberate. He might want to distance himself from her, but she had kissed him. More than once. Their kisses had been wondrous, something she’d never before experienced.
She’d confided in him. He had confided in her. Did he think their conversations were everyday occurrences? She’d never shared her pain with anyone else and now he was calling her Your Grace?
She sat, placing her hands atop the table. She hadn’t worn her hat or her gloves. Or brought her reticule. No wonder Mrs. Ross had looked at her oddly. What kind of woman went somewhere without being properly dressed?
Someone flooded with curiosity. Someone fascinated and interested and too emotional right at the moment.
He sat opposite her, and stretched out his hands. For a moment she didn’t understand, but then he grabbed her hands and held them beneath his. She wanted to pull free, but she didn’t. She wanted the ache in her chest to disappear, but that didn’t happen, either.
“Why do you live here, Adam, when you should be living at Marsley House?” She wished her voice didn’t sound so plaintive. She cleared her throat. “I think I deserve an explanation, don’t you?”
He nodded, but didn’t speak for a moment.
“Would you like some tea?” he asked.
“No.”
One of his eyebrows arched. “Brandy?”
“No.”
“Is there anything you’d like?”
“An explanation. Why did you tell Mrs. Ross I was your cousin?”
“I couldn’t very well come out and tell her that I’d spirited the Duchess of Marsley to my rooms.”
She moved her gaze from their hands to his face. His cheeks were bronzed.
“I saw your father this morning,” he said.
She hadn’t expected that.
“Did you?”
He nodded. “At the War Office.”
She frowned at him. “That isn’t unusual. He has several political protégés who work in the government.”
“Does he? Do you know their names?” he asked.
She knew them very well since she’d attended every event to introduce the three men to potential campaign donors. “Harry Taylor, Roger Mount, and James Parker. Those are the ones he’s working with this year.”
“Roger Mount?”
She nodded. “What were you doing at the War Office, Adam?”
“Meeting with the man who sent me to Marsley House.”
She held herself very still. For some reason it was important for her to remain calm and composed.
“I don’t understand,” she said. There, her voice didn’t sound plaintive at all.
“I’m not a majordomo, Suzanne.”
“Then why are you working at Marsley House?”
“Being at Marsley House is one of my assignments,” he said.
“One of your assignments.” She pulled her hands free.
How odd that she’d become a magpie in the past few minutes. She could only repeat what he was saying, which didn’t aid in curing her confusion.
“Yes.”
“You’re not a majordomo. But you took the position.”
“For another reason,” he said.
“Another reason? Are you telling me that you are spying for my father?”
“No.”
“Is your name really Adam Drummond?”
“Yes.”
“And Rebecca? Was she real?”
“I wouldn’t lie about her.”
“Were you really in the army?”
“Yes.”
“What other reason, Adam?”
He didn’t say anything, only stood and walked to the door leading to the garden. For a moment he remained there, staring out at the plants and flowers, his back to her.
“Would you be content to know that it was important?” he finally asked.
“No.”
He turned and came back to the table, taking a seat opposite her. This time he didn’t grab her hands. She had the feeling he was not only physically distancing himself from her but emotionally as well.
“I was spying, but not for your father. I’m a member of a group of men who work for the government,” he said. “We find and keep secrets. We protect and guard.”
“That sounds very patriotic,” she said. “And as clear as London fog.”
His smile was rueful; his glance quick and shuttered.
“The Duke of Marsley was a traitor,” he said. “My mission was to find evidence to prove it.”
She stared at him, shocked. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’ve never had a mission that was more serious, Suzanne.”
She shook her head. “My husband was a great many things, Adam—a libertine, grossly unfaithful—but no one could fault his loyalty to the army or the Crown.”
“I have it on good authority that he wasn’t all that loyal.”
“Then whoever your authority was, he’s lying to you.”
“And my own experiences, Suzanne? Are they false, too?”
She felt cold in a way that had nothing to do with the weather. “What do you mean?”
“There were rumors at Manipora that someone betrayed us. One of the reasons the rebels didn’t overpower us at first is that we commanded cannon to the east side of our barricade. They also thought we had trenches filled with explosives surrounding the entrenchment. Someone let the rebel leader know that it had been a carefully planted lie. Someone gave him the plans of the entrenchment. Someone intimately familiar with Manipora.”
“He was no traitor, Adam. George always said that his time in the army, in India, was among his favorite memories. Men who used to serve under him would visit Marsley House every month. They seemed to love him.”
“Or they were looking for financial help,” Adam said, his tone dry.
“What kind of evidence were you searching for?”
“A journal,” he said. “Specifically from his time in India.”
She stared at him, suddenly understanding. “That’s why you’re always in the library,” she said.
Her voice had taken on a sharp tone, the same one she’d used with Ella. She didn’t try to soften it or ease her words in any way. He’d betrayed her and yet he would probably never understand why.
She hadn’t opened her heart since Georgie. She hadn’t stretched out a hand to another person. Even her faint attempts with Mrs. Armbruster were just that, attempts. With Adam—Drummond—she’d revealed herself completely. She’d hidden nothing from him, and all this time he’d been as transparent as a piece of slate.
He’d lied to her.
It wasn’t disappointment she felt. No, it was more than that. Something crucial and necessary had broken inside her.