Chapter 12 #3
“Mad? Upset me?” His jaw tightened, and he released a slow breath, hating the darkness, hating that he couldn’t see her face to read the truth in her expressions.
“I know I’ve been absent from you for far too long.
I know you’ve shouldered tremendous burdens with the hospital and now …
the baby.” He paused, forcing the words out.
“But surely you can imagine how Blake’s comment may have directed my thoughts into a most unpleasant direction. ”
“Blake’s comment?” Her voice held genuine confusion. “About being mysterious?”
Remember, Frederick. This is Grace. Your wife. She rarely responds the way any other woman in the world might respond to anything.
Directness was his best option, for good or ill.
“I heard Blake mention that you both needed to discuss what happened last night.”
“How can your clairvoyance work in such a short time, even when you can’t see my face?” She shifted, a telltale sign she was nervous. “It doesn’t seem possible or fair.”
Frederick’s chest constricted. Surely not. Surely Grace wouldn’t—Blake wouldn’t—but the words hung there, nearly condemning in their vagueness. And his mind—traitorous, exhausted thing that it was—began constructing scenarios he absolutely did not wish to entertain.
His entire body went rigid. “Grace?“
“I don’t mean to upset you, Frederick.” Her palms came back to his face, warm and gentle.
“Take a deep breath.” She leaned close as if trying to see his eyes through the gauze.
“But it would have been terribly helpful if you’d written to warn me about Blake before he arrived.
Though I suppose putting such things in a letter wouldn’t have been wise, so I understand now why you didn’t.
But I’ve been so worried about what to do, how to manage it all, particularly if the information might send you into some sort of … mental distress.”
Frederick’s mind stuttered, attempting to parse this abrupt turn in the conversation. “Grace—”
“If you’d just trusted me enough with that information, I am certain I could have kept it secret. You know I’m very good with secrets when I put my mind to it and they’re not hurting anyone.”
“Grace.” It came out half laugh, half exasperation.
“But Blake being a spy is an excellent reason to keep things secret, obviously. I only wish you’d told me from the beginning that you knew so I wouldn’t have spent days worrying that he might be a villain—”
“Blake is a spy?” Frederick sat bolt upright, nearly sending Grace tumbling to the floor. Only his reflexes saved her from an ungraceful landing. “My cousin? Stephen Blake?”
Grace went utterly silent.
Frederick could practically feel her blinking at him in that owlish way she had when surprised. “Isn’t that what you’re talking about?” He nearly laughed from sheer gratitude.
“No.” He even heard the bewilderment in his own voice. “I’m talking about some clandestine meeting between you and my cousin. Last night. Which you apparently needed to discuss privately today.”
“Clandestine meeting?” Grace’s pitch rose to near-scandal levels.
“With Blake? No, that wasn’t me. That was our new housemaid, Miss Gale, who isn’t really Miss Gale at all, because she’s a spy too.
Her real name is Evie Montgomery, and she shot Blake once, but not to kill him, and her brother was a traitor—”
“Thank God.”
The genuine shock in her voice—the utter incredulity—dissolved the knot in Frederick’s chest. He didn’t understand half of whatever else she said, but the most important part came clear. He sagged back in the chair, one hand coming up to press against his forehead as a startled laugh escaped him.
And then her words fully registered. “Do you mean to tell me there are two spies—”
“Frederick Percy.” Grace’s voice shook. “Did you actually think that I—that Blake and I—” She pushed against his shoulders as if to leave his lap, but he tightened his hold on her waist, refusing to let her go. “How could you possibly imagine such a thing?”
“In my defense,” he said weakly, “I’ve been breathing poison gas and can’t see your face, and my cousin made a highly suggestive comment about ‘last night’ when I’ve been absent from you for months. My imagination filled in some profoundly regrettable blanks.”
“Regrettable blanks?” Her voice cracked. “I would never … Frederick, you’re my husband.”
The words emerged almost as a cry, and the sound pierced straight through him—relief and shame retwisting a new knot in his chest. But not as tightly as the last one. Praise be!
“I’m sorry, darling. Forgive me.” He tugged her back toward him, pressed his forehead to hers. The simple contact, her presence, steadied something fundamental that had been threatening to shatter. “Of course you wouldn’t. The comment simply … lodged itself most unfortunately in my mind.”
“Well, dislodge it immediately.” But her voice was soft now as her fingers brushed against his cheek. “The only man I want to have clandestine meetings with is you.”
She was so quick to forgive. So ready to lavish love. How could he have temporarily forgotten? Despite everything—the exhaustion, the fear, the uncertainty of his vision—Frederick smiled. “Is that so?”
“Absolutely. I was already plotting several scenarios before you conjured this ridiculous notion about Blake.”
He captured her lips, the taste so much home to him he never wanted to let go again. His palms moved from her cheeks to her hair as his lips attempted to express his gratitude in a lengthy and indulgent way.
She hummed her pleasure, her fingers moving rather skillfully to the buttons of his shirt. But he caught her hands gently, stilling their progress. “Would you please explain to me this nonsense about Blake being a spy? And the presence of another in the house?”
“It’s all rather fascinating.” She sighed, her palm resting flat against his chest. “Are you certain you can handle it? I would never forgive myself if you went mad because of me.”
“If I’ve not gone mad thus far, darling, I feel confident in my ability to maintain my wits.”
He could almost feel her smiling. Not only was she sweet, but also terribly clever.
For good or ill at times, but always with the best intentions.
And he should have remembered that more quickly before jumping to thoroughly unfair conclusions.
Grace’s hand began that smoothing pattern she did when she was close to him but her mind was racing through information. Oh, how he loved her—all her brilliant, chaotic, utterly maddening glory.
“At least if you’re teasing me now, you’ve gotten over your ridiculous notions about me and Blake.” She shuddered. “I still can’t quite believe you thought it at all.”
“That was my only madness of the day,” he murmured against her hair. “Apart from being madly in love with you.”
He felt her breath as she sighed.
“Well, that was a very lovely thing to say.” She kissed him. “But I think to properly explain everything, I should fetch Blake. He needs to clarify some particulars—about the enemy spy in the house—after I locked him and Evie in a closet.”
Frederick sat very still, processing this statement. Enemy spy? Closet?
“You locked my spy cousin in a closet with a woman who once shot him.”
She hesitated. “Yes.”
“And this seemed like a sensible course of action.”
“They needed to talk,” she said simply, as if this explained everything. Which, in Grace’s mind, it probably did.
“Of course.” Frederick’s tone was absolutely desert dry. “How foolish of me not to see the logic immediately.”
Grace pressed a kiss to his jaw. “I’ve missed your sarcasm terribly.”
“And I’ve missed your spectacular ability to transform my orderly life into complete chaos.” He squeezed her gently. “Now go. Fetch the spies. Let’s discover how deep this particular rabbit hole goes.”
“And you’re not angry? Now that you know I haven’t—that Blake and I haven’t—”
“Oh, I’m furious,” Frederick said mildly. “But primarily at Blake for keeping secrets and making wildly inappropriate comments that led me to imagine appalling scenarios. You, my darling, are entirely blameless in this disaster.”
“Except for the closet-locking,” she admitted. “And finding a soldier’s button at the old chapel, which likely indicates we have a thief as well as spies.”
“What on earth—“
But she slipped from his lap, only to pause after taking a few steps. “I’m so glad you’re home, Frederick. I certainly cannot solve mysteries half so well without my sleuthing partner.”
Just before the war, he’d started to embrace that calling, but at the moment he wasn’t certain he was ready for another mystery. His heart was still shaking a little from his fear of her betrayal.
The door clicked shut behind her, and Frederick leaned back in his chair, pressing his fingers against the bandages covering his eyes.
With Blake as a spy …
An enemy agent in Havensbrooke …
His wife locking people in closets …
It was a very good thing he was home.