Page 30 of Tempting Tessa

Had he been lying all this time?

Feeling his gaze still on her, she raised her own to meet his down the aisle. If he’d lied to her, if he was using her…

She gripped the armrest, realizing the predicament she was now in. Helping a traitor. Hell, he might be pinning the whole thing on her.

As the train began to slow, carrying them to their next destination, her gut cramped.Stupid. She’d been so damn stupid.

And now, she would have to become the ultimate spy so she could turn the tables on him.

Twelve

Tommy gripped the leather strap of his carry-on as he stepped through the Arrivals Gate at Heathrow. He scanned the area, then marched across the pale marble floor crisscrossed with darker veins, searching for Tessa.

The steady hum of announcements filtered through his thoughts, but his attention was honed in on the people milling about. Faces blurred together, none of them familiar. He hated this. Being alone in a crowd was nothing new to him, but the separation from Tessa was like being underwater and needing oxygen.

She’d booked separate flights. He should have expected it, considering she wanted them to travel as strangers, but it had still caught him off guard. At least he’d made it through with no issues, his new passport solid.

Once they’d arrived at Sibiu, she’d refused to explain the details of her mysterious call. Something was up, though, and he was mad as hell at her resolute, unwavering insistence on keeping it a secret. He tried texting her on their burner phones several times. He called her once. She ignored him.

Now, here he was, scanning the inside of the airport like a lost puppy while she was who knew where.

His connecting flight didn’t leave for two hours. Two hours, and he would be on his way back to America. He wondered if she would be there when he arrived. Maybe she’d gotten cold feet after that phone call. For all he knew, she wasn’t even in London.

A man approached, holding a placard with a single name scrawled in neat letters.Mathers. At first, Tommy forgot his alias, but then he realized the guy was beelining for him. He tensed. “You looking for me?”

“Yes, sir,” the man said. His crisp accent was smooth, polished British, and it reminded Tommy of his days at The Farm, where his training had taught him how to pick apart authenticity. This guy was the real deal. “The Architect sent me.”

Tessa. Relief relaxed his shoulders. Maybe they would finally meet up again. After following the man through the crowded airport, he stepped outside into a foggy, rainy mist. He climbed into the sleek, black car waiting at the curb, the leather interior smelling faintly of bergamot.

They drove out of the city and onto winding country roads. Tommy pulled out his phone to text Tessa, feeling uneasy about it, but found she had already messaged him.I’m waiting.

A castle appeared on the horizon, modest by royal standards but still carrying the kind of old money charm that screamed exclusivity. Looming in muted gray stone, with ivy creeping up its sides and luxuriant gardens, it seemed to belong more to the landscape than the people who lived there.

Whodidlive there?

Tommy whistled under his breath. “What is this place? “

The man seemed confused by the question. “The Grand Fox. It belongs to Ms. Vulpe.”

Tessa, always surprising him. She’d claimed her mother had given up her rights to her family’s royal holdings, but this? This was out of a storybook, and if it belonged to Tessa, it meant there was more to that story.

Or that she’d lied.

He shook his head, hoping it wasn’t the latter.

The drive was a substantial U-shaped stone path, a three-tiered fountain in its center. The butler opened the double entry doors who seemed straight out of central casting, his black tails immaculate, and his hair slicked back without a single strand out of place. “Mr. Mathers, welcome,” he said, motioning for Tommy to enter. “I’m Clarence.”

The interior was…a lot. Thick Persian rugs blanketed the floors, muffling his footsteps as he followed the butler down the hall. Chandeliers hung from overhead, casting light that glinted off polished wood and the gilded picture frames lining the walls. Those frames held portraits of severe men and women who stared down at him, their eyes dripping judgment. Even the air smelled expensive—like old books and lemon furniture polish.

Tommy couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh at the pretension or run.

On one hand, he didn’t blame Tessa’s mother for giving this up. On the other, he had to question her sanity.

“Ms. Vulpe is expecting you,” Clarence said, stopping at a set of tall, double doors.

When they opened, a maid was there who led him deeper into the mansion and into a room that felt stuffier than the rest of the house, which was saying something. It was all dark paneling, heavy drapes, and velvet furniture. A Victorian drama theater stage that had been left to collect dust.

But there she was.

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