Page 67 of The Bachelor Spy
He released a soundless sigh. How ironic. He’d spent days attempting to get her alone, and she’d come to him.
His lips curved. Another providential turn?
She took stealthy steps across the carpeted floor, moonlight streaming through tall windows illuminating and then shadowing her as she crossed the space.
Why was she here? Tonight?
Had she heard about Smith too? Spied him with Grace in the garden, perhaps?
Or—his face went cold—was she here to meet Smith?
No, no, no! Please, Lord, don’t let her be a traitor too.
He surveyed the long gallery again, noting a closet at each end, several ancient pieces of furniture, two massive dormant fireplaces, and a rug stretching from one end to the other, the entire space framed by some of Blake’s more dour-faced ancestors.
And of course an impressive set of wood doors that led to the exit.
The room gave no further hint of anyone else thus far.
Just her.
A clock chimed in the distance. The bracket clock in the green sitting room, if he remembered correctly. Thus far, Evie gave no signal that she suspected his presence, her attention far too focused on the set of double doors.
Intentionally, he allowed his hand to brush the nearest curtain as he stepped forward, the sound a whisper of cloth against carpet in the stillness.
Evie stopped, the glint of a knife appearing at her side. And for some reason, his grin spread wider. He truly hoped she wasn’t a traitor, because he really did like her.
Rather more than was sensible.
“I know you’re there,” she said, slowly turning around. “Your tradecraft is slipping, Blake.”
“My tradecraft is perfectly adequate.” Blake stepped into the open room, the distance between them and the night shadows obscuring her expression. “I didn’t want to surprise you too much. It usually doesn’t end well, if I recall.”
She moved forward in front of one of the windows, the moonlight half illuminating her face enough for him to notice the curve of her lips. “Are you still nursing a grudge about that little scar on your arm? I did apologize.”
“True. And it always made me think of you when we were apart.” He took a step nearer, his attention alert to any other movement in the room. Any other sound. “Curved like a smile and a little rough around the edges.”
Her grin wavered, her stance relaxing a fraction. “It’s a wonder I haven’t succumbed to your wooing before now with such arresting compliments.”
“It’s a pity I’ve had to waste my powers of seduction on much less exalted quarry.” He took another step. “But since we’ve always been on the same side …”
“Disappointing, really. Should have liked to see how well I fared beneath such adoration.” She closed the distance between them, watching him with the same alertness he showed her. “And … are we still on the same side?”
“That depends.” His next step brought him within ten feet of her. “Why are you here?”
“I’m here on assignment.”
“Really?” Blake’s hand moved casually toward his own concealed weapon. “And what assignment would that be? Last I checked, and Ididcheck thoroughly, you’ve gone rogue. Simply … vanished.”
Something flickered across her face—pain perhaps, or anger—before the mask slipped back into place. “I had my reasons.”
“I’m sure you did.” Blake’s voice dropped lower. “The question is whether those reasons involve betraying your country.”
Her eyes flashed. “Iam not the traitor.”
“Your actions would suggest otherwise.” He moved forward.
“If I were your traitor, you would be dead by now.” She raised an arrogant little brow that nearly inspired his grin again.
