Page 69 of Irresistible
“I do.”
“I doubt we’ll see each other anyway. I will soon be embarking on my new life, and I’m afraid that will be about as far from the Foreign Office as one can get.” He spoke ironically, but she heard the discontent buried far beneath that. He would act as though this change didn’t bother him.
She began to think that he didn’t know how else to behave. He’d pretended to be someone else for so long and in so many different ways, perhaps he was incapable of being himself, of letting himself…be.
She realized he’d done that a few minutes ago. He would play the part of the gentleman, apologizing for taking advantage of her or some such nonsense instead of acknowledging the fact that he’d wanted her as much as she’d wanted him.
Or perhaps that was just what she’d tell herself to keep the sadness and disappointment at bay.
Whether to support that goal or because she saw no point in pursuing anything with him, she summoned a smile. “Perhaps you’ll enjoy being the viscount. I’m sure it has other allures than espionage.”
This earned her a laugh. “I appreciate your optimism and shall grasp it for myself.”
He steered the gig to a stop in front of the door to the house. A footman immediately came outside and helped Jess down before Dougal could make his way around.
Dougal told the retainer which case to remove from the back. Then Dougal grabbed the food hamper, which Mrs. Farr had filled with more items than they’d been able to eat or drink.
“Keep that,” Lady Pickering called as she strolled toward them from the house. “Are you staying in Winchester tonight or heading back toward London for as long as you have daylight?”
“The latter,” he said, grinning. “You know me well.”
Jess wished he’d stop looking so handsome. At least when she was within visual distance.
“I presume there’s still food in the hamper,” Lady Pickering said, stopping beside Jess. “If so, you’ll want to have it with you for dinner.”
Dougal returned the basket to the gig. “Thank you.” He transferred his gaze to Jess, and she caught a flicker of warmth before a veil seemed to drop. He suddenly looked more like the man she’d become acquainted with last week instead of the one who’d been her faux husband.
“It has been a pleasure working with you, Jessamine.” Dougal took her hand and pressed a light kiss to the back. So light, she could barely feel it through her glove.
And then he released her. She wondered when she would see him again.
“Thank you, Dougal. I’ve learned a great deal.” She could muster only a weak smile as she clasped her hands.
He climbed into the gig, touched his hat, and drove away.
“That seemed stilted,” Lady Pickering said as she pivoted toward the house.
“I’m exhausted. We were up quite late last night.” Jess immediately realized how that sounded and quickly added, “I refused to sleep until I broke the code.”
“Oh, splendid! You found a letter, then?” Lady Pickering preceded her into the house. “Come have some tea with me—just for a bit. I want to hear about the mission.” She instructed the butler to bring a tray to the library.
Though Jess would have preferred to collapse into bed—and to be alone—she followed her into the library where she’d encountered Lady Pickering several days ago. “We actually found several letters.”
Lady Pickering took a chair at a small table and gestured for Jess to take the other one. “Several? That’s odd.”
“We thought so too. The key to break the code was challenging. The Chesmores are lovers of literature and used a favorite poem as the key.”
Lady Pickering stared at her a moment. “I’m surprised this only took you four days. You have proven yourself to be a valuable asset, Jessamine. But what happened? Since Dougal drove you back here, I must presume the Chesmores were not taken into custody?”
“No, Dougal, rather Fallin, determined they aren’t spies.”
“Dougaldetermined that?” Lady Pickering watched her intently. “What was your opinion?”
“We didn’t find any evidence that proved them to be spies. On the contrary, everything that looked suspicious was explained away by their eccentricities. For instance, the coded letters didn’t contain secret information. They were love letters between them. That’s why there were so many.”
“Love letters? I can scarcely credit that. You’re sure?” She waved her hand. “Of course you are. And their other behavior?”
“Mr. Chesmore is merely obsessed with French things. His great-grandmother was French, and for some reason, he likes to embellish, particularly as it pertains to all things French-related.”
