Page 61 of The Bachelor Spy
Could this situation at Havensbrooke become any more exciting?
“Tunnels?” Her eyes widened. Oh, how delightful! The last tunnels she’d been in—the ones in Venice—had given all sorts of adventure … including a treasure. “Oh Blake, you know Frederick mentioned there are tunnels beneath the chapel. Once dug to help rescue Mary, Queen of Scots, from her confinement at a nearby manor house during Elizabeth’s reign.” She paused their walk entirely and turned back to him. “You don’t think Pennington means to find Queen Mary’s jewels, do you?”
He raised a brow and stared down at her, his expression turning mischievous. “I doubt Private Pennington would have much information about a treasure as grand as that, though it does make for a good novel, should you wish to turn from avid reader to authoress.”
She sent him a powerless glare and resumed their walk. Though the idea did hold merit. What an excellent adventure it could be! “Even so, it makes me wish to look over Private Pennington’s uniforms in search of a missing button.”
“And I believe you’d find it.”
It was only a little disappointing that Pennington was their man. A much too easy end to a mystery than what she’d become accustomed to. No chases in the dark. No near-death escapades. She hadn’t even needed to use a rope.
“Do you feel up to the task of visiting Lady Moriah to ask about any former servant by the name of Crawford who left under … less than ideal circumstances?” Blake asked. “I know her dower house is in town, and I don’t believe I’m at liberty to leave the grounds of Havensbrooke in my current state.”
She wasn’t certain what her face showed at Blake’s reference to his fake wound, but it was enough to sharpen the man’s gaze upon her.
Or, perhaps, any mention of Grace’s mother-in-law changed the tone of any conversation. Lady Moriah wasn’t the most likeable of people.
She looked away.
“I could go tomorrow morning, if you think it will help.”
“Indeed.” Blake’s response came slowly. “If Pennington is in search of some treasure of his grandfather’s and his grandfather was a former employee of Havensbrooke, particularly during my uncle’s time, then it may give more understanding of whatever treasure Pennington may be seeking.”
Her smile tipped the slightest bit. At least there was something else she could do in this mystery besides wait around for Blake to tell her the truth about himself and Miss Gale. “Very well, I’ll see what I can uncover.”
“Excellent.” He guided her to a bench at the far end of the garden, where she sat and he lowered beside her. “Now, Lady Astley, I have been quite patient and forthcoming.”
She raised a brow at him, which he appeared to ignore.
Sneaky man.
“What news have you for me?”
Since he’d even given her a bit of an assignment, she divulged the full account without further hesitation—Jane’s confession and Brandon’s observation of Smith.
The former brought no response.
But at the latter, Blake’s gaze sharpened. Ah, so whatever Smith was up to somehow connected to Blake’s own secrets, perhaps?
“Brandon is remarkably perceptive,” Blake murmured. “And not prone to exaggeration. What else has Brandon noticed about Smith?”
“That he seems particularly interested in the west wing. And that he moves with a kind of … military efficiency, Brandon said. As if he’s had training.”
“Military efficiency.” Blake repeated the words thoughtfully. “And Nurse Wilson is his primary caregiver?”
“She and Nurse Rivers, from what I understand. They are his exclusive carers. Won’t let anyone else near him.” Grace tilted her head. “Why? Do you think they’re connected somehow outside of the hospital?”
“I’m not certain, but it is a curious thing.”
“Exactly.” Grace nodded, studying Blake’s face. “And it’s also very curious”—she fidgeted with her sleeve, forcing the statement from her lungs—”that we’ve had rather a lot of suspicious behavior at Havensbrooke lately, you know. People pretending to be things they’re not. People moving about where they shouldn’t with secrets they won’t share.”
She let that hang in the air between them.
Blake’s attention pulled back to her. “Yes, very curious.”
“Isn’t it?” She looked out over the garden, attempting to be nonchalant, before returning her attention to him. “What would possibly cause a man topretendto be injured when he’s not?” Her throat tightened, but she pressed on. “I mean, it seems a rather elaborate deception, doesn’t it? To fake an injury so convincingly that so many believe it’s real?”
Blake’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes.
