Kissing The Enemy (Scandals and Spies Book 1) Read Free Page A

not to argue about it for the moment.
    Mama shooed both girls up the stairs with flaps of her hands. “Get a move on, you two. It will be a long trip tomorrow and you girls need to finish packing before the clock strikes midnight.”
    Charlotte released Freddie’s hand and all but skipped up the stairs. As Freddie followed, tripping over the next stair, an ominous rip of the stitches in her hem raised the hairs on the back of her neck. She pin-wheeled her arms to keep from losing her balance. When she righted herself, she found the butler staring at her. She gave a little flourish of her hand, as if she’d put on a show, but didn’t dare chance a curtsey while on a staircase. If she did, she would end up in a heap at the bottom.
    With a smile, Mama shook her head at the sight. She, like Freddie, was used to Freddie’s abominable clumsiness.
    As Freddie faced forward, she watched one of Charlotte’s long curls swing jauntily with her movements. For once, Freddie wished she could share her sister’s excitement. But instead of the carefree happiness her sister enjoyed, Freddie felt a pressing weight of foreboding.
    The future of her family, and possibly all of Britain, rested in her hands. How far would she have to go to secure it?

Chapter Two
    T ristan Graylocke flattened his palms on the smooth mahogany railing of the second floor balcony overlooking the front hall at Tenwick Abbey.
    A sigh escaped his lips as his eyes grazed over the throng of people in the entryway below him. “I can’t think of a single thing I hate more than these parties.”
    Next to him, his older brother smirked. “Prinny?”
    Tristan grimaced. Heaven help Britain, because the indolent, self-indulgent heir to the throne, and his senile father certainly wouldn’t. It was a wonder the country hadn’t gone up in flames the moment Pitt had died three months ago.
    Tristan ran a hand through the longer forelock of his hair. “Prinny has never tried to marry me off.”
    Morgan’s chiseled face and square jaw, almost an exact replica of Tristan’s, hardened as he watched the crowd. His gray eyes showed no sign of emotion. The only indications of the pressures of being a duke were the slight tic in his cheek and the streak of silver in his hair.
    Tristan shot his older brother a grin. “Luckily, I have you to distract Mother. She’ll likely try to marry you off to any lady healthy enough to produce an heir.” Tristan laughed. “Once again, I’m happy I didn’t inherit.”
    It was Morgan’s turn to sigh. He had been only twenty when their father passed, leaving him with the title and responsibility of a duke. Early on, their mother and grandmother hadn’t pressured him about marrying, but now that he neared thirty years of age, that changed with remarkable quickness.
    The only pressure Tristan received from Mother was to stop his carousing. Impossible. He couldn’t exactly say, I’m a spy, Mama. I get my best information that way. No, in the ton ’s eyes, his gambling and carousing labeled him a degenerate. To the families with the bluest blood—in other words, almost everyone Mother had invited to this charade—it made him unmarriageable. A relief, to be honest. Tristan preferred to spend his money on investments of his choosing, not on feminine fripperies.
    “If I’m lucky, she’ll focus her efforts on Lucy.” Morgan nodded toward the entry where their younger sister, Lucy, stood next to Mother as they greeted the new arrivals. Compared with mother’s steely gray and brown hair, Lucy’s jet black hair—the same color as all the Graylocke siblings—provided a stark contrast. Lucy wore her hair in an elaborate coil around her head, threaded through with creamy pearls that matched her dress. Though he was too far to see from his vantage point, Tristan imagined her dark brown eyes, the exact same color as his, sparkling with delight. This was Lucy’s first Season and she thrived beneath the attention heaped on her.
    “Does she