Page 66 of The Bachelor Spy
But she was also going to keep a very close eye on Miss Helen Gale. For Blake’s sake.
Because she wasn’t sure whether Helen was part of the problem or part of the solution.
And Grace was determined to find out which.
Chapter 10
Blake had been attempting to find another opportunity to speak with Evie alone, but her alias as a housemaid in a very busy home-turned-hospital afforded little chance. At every turn, someone else appeared or Evie found a way to slip away from him.
But he needed answers.
From what she’d said so far, he wagered she knew more about the entire Midnight Angel business than he did, and he needed her intelligence to help catch the traitor.
And make Havensbrooke safe for Grace again.
Or as safe as any place near Grace Percy could be with her proclivity for collecting real-life mysteries and near-death encounters.
And as much as he hoped his instincts led him true, he believed Evie was not working against him so much as for her own purposes—which could ultimately benefit his mission if they could combine forces.
But the question remained: What led her to emerge from her self-imposed exile now? Here?
He’d love to flatter himself and think she came for him, but that made the least sense of all. A fool’s hope. And when it came to her, he felt very much the fool at present.
As far as the mystery-spy business?
Pennington and Smith were both suspect, but Smith certainly seemed more aligned with Blake’s work. And as far as the Crawford connection with Pennington? Blake vaguely recalled his grandfather speaking of some footman who’d gotten away with some costly thievery or some such notion, but he had no memory of anything specific.
But Smith? And Nurse Wilson? Or Rivers?
His jaw tightened. Wilson’s position made a perfect placement for a spy: her access to patients, her control of information flowing in and out of the hospital, her ability to manage which patients went where and who cared for them.
It was an impeccable cover.
And if Wilson or Rivers was paying particular attention to a man clearly living a subterfuge, then Blake needed to investigate him at once.
Or the area in which the man seemed most interested in exploring.
The west wing.
Likely, Wilson had a partner, and Smith was it. So after everyone was thought to be in bed, it was exactly where he went. If he could confront and stop one of the traitors, it would cripple the other.
Perhaps make her desperate enough to show her hand.
He’d barely entered the long gallery on the second floor when the slightest sound of a door opening reached his ears. He knew the rooms well enough to recognize the darkened alcove, so without making a sound, he slid back into the shadows of a large wardrobe and waited.
Evie emerged through the doorway into the long, unused room, her maid’s uniform failing to hide the curves and lines of her silhouette. A lovely portrait, actually. His breath contracted, chest squeezing.
He cared for her.
More than he ought for someone who could very well kill him as much as kiss him. Regrettably, she’d attempted the former much more than the latter.
They’d played the part of lovers before. Several times, in fact. He knew the touch of her body against his, the intoxicating allure of having her arms and perfume surrounding him.
And somewhere between the playacting and banter and long nights completing a mission together, she’d become … more.
Dash it all! He sent another gaze heavenward. It was a curious thing how God took Blake’s plans and reconfigured them into shocking alternatives. Blake’s gaze moved back to Evie. Though she was a shockingly beautiful and clever alternative, he must admit.
Even if lethal.
