To Kiss A Spy Read Free Page B

as such.
    Pen’s eyes swept the chamber. How much time did she have left? Where else could she look? She went to the cabinet where she knew the estate papers were kept. How often she had watched Philip working on them. The key was in the lock. She opened the cabinet and began sorting through the ledgers.
    The door opened behind her. The door she had forgotten, in her eager haste, to lock.
    Her heart raced, her scalp contracted. Slowly she turned. At best it would be Robin, at worst her mother-in-law.
    But it was neither. For a moment speechless, she stared at the stranger, her first thought that he was a servant. But it was a fleeting thought instantly dismissed. No servant was ever this elegant, or ever bore himself with such cool arrogance. Was he an intimate of the Bryanston family? If so, not one she knew.
    Black eyes beneath a broad brow and prominent but shapely eyebrows assessed her in the pregnant silence, and Pen returned the scrutiny with a slight lift of her chin. He had a long straight nose, a pointed chin, and a calm mouth. He held himself very still and yet she could feel a surge of energy around him. She couldn’t guess at his age. He was certainly older than Robin.
    She found her voice at last. “The revels are in the great hall, sir. You seem to have lost your way.”
    He bowed. “Owen d’Arcy at your service, madam.” His voice was musical, rich and soft, and Pen puzzled over the curious lilt. It wasn’t quite a foreign accent and yet like his dark complexion it was not purely English either.
    “I have no need of any service, sir,” Pen observed tartly. She felt on her mettle, somehow. A prickle of irritation mingled with something else as he continued to regard her with a glimmer of amused speculation. It was as if he knew something that she did not.
    Everything about the man unsettled Pen. His clothes were curiously exotic, like his voice and his complexion. He wore doublet and hose of black satin worked with threads of Venetian gold, his shirt was of black silk, the collar fastened with black enameled clasps. A short cloak of black velvet lined with crimson silk hung from his slender shoulders. He carried a rapier and a dagger in black velvet sheaths at his waist. It was immediately obvious that he knew how to use such weapons. Pen had the absolute conviction that he was dangerous.
    “You seemed to be looking for something,” he said pleasantly, as if she had not spoken. “Perhaps I can help.”
    “I cannot imagine why you should think so.” Reluctantly Pen closed the cabinet and turned the key. She could not continue her search in his company, or indeed any company, and she was filled with resentment at the stranger’s intrusion. There was no knowing when she would have such an opportunity again.
    “Are you closely connected to the Bryanston family, sir? Familiar with their affairs, perhaps?” She swung back to him, her expression as challenging as her tone.
    There was more to her than met the eye, Owen thought. At first sight she was as Noailles had said, fairly nondescript with her brown hair, regular features, and undistinguished figure. But her eyes. Now they were something else altogether. Very large, very clear, and a wonderful mixture of green and brown shot through with gold. They reminded him of sunlight on a forest pool. Noailles had been wrong about the temperament too, he decided. There was a distinct flash of spirit there. For the first time, Owen felt a stirring of interest in this task.
    “I must confess total ignorance of all things Bryanston,” he said with a smile. “But I find myself very interested in you, madam. I couldn’t help but follow you when you left the hall.” He bowed and gave her his most winning, inviting smile.
    Pen looked at him incredulously, her annoyance vanquished by this absurdity. “Are you attempting to flirt with me, sir?” She gave a peal of laughter. “You have the wrong sister, I’m afraid. My sister Pippa is an incorrigible flirt and