To Kiss A Spy by Jane Feather Page A

laugh. “My mother-in-law was all too happy with the outcome. Miles is now the earl and under her thumb. She could not control Philip and she detests me.”
    “An unpleasant picture.” A moment’s silence followed the arid comment, then Owen extended a hand to the paper in Pen’s lap. “May I look at that?”
    She handed it to him in surprise. It almost seemed as if he believed her. The novel thought nonplussed her and she watched in startled silence as his eyes ran down the list.
    “Are any of these names familiar to you?” he asked.
    “One or two of the men. Tradesmen who supplied the household. But I don’t recognize any of the women’s names. And the women who attended me at the birth were all strangers . . . with the exception of Lady Bryanston, of course. My mother was to have been with me at the birth but I went into labor before she and my stepfather could arrive.”
    “I see,” he said again. He glanced down the list once more. “There are three women mentioned here. It would be interesting to see if their names appeared on any other date in the ledger. If they were often employed by Lady Bryanston in some household capacity, one would expect to see regular payments made to them.”
    He didn’t disbelieve her!
Astonishment, excitement, gratitude tumbled in her head. She understood that not disbelieving didn’t mean that he actually believed her, but it was going a great deal further than anyone else had done.
    “Perhaps I can get back into the library and take another look,” she said, her eyes glowing in her pale face. “There must be some way.”
    “Alternatively, one could go to High Wycombe and find these women,” he mused. “They would presumably be local. In my experience, village gossip can be most enlightening.”
    “What kind of experience?” Pen sat up very straight on her stool, fixing him with an intense gaze.
    “Oh, the Welsh can never keep secrets,” he responded with a smile. “The village where I spent summers in my childhood was a hotbed of gossip and scandal. Reputations were ruined as easily and as frequently as a batch of scones.”
    “I know what you mean,” Pen agreed slowly. “But I don’t see how I could go to High Wycombe without the Bryanstons’ discovering it. And they’d know immediately if I started asking questions.” Fatigue suddenly swamped her. Her shoulders drooped and she rubbed her eyes with the tips of her fingers.
    Owen rose and went to the window. “It wants but an hour until dawn. Why don’t you rest on the bed until daylight?”
    Pen glanced at the deep feather bed with its tapestry curtains and tester. It looked very inviting. She hesitated, glancing back at him.
    “Go on,” he said. “I assure you I’ll not disturb you.”
    “But I’ll be taking your bed. What will
you
do?”
    “Sit by the fire and drink,” he returned, folding the paper. He handed it back to her and with his head he gestured to the bed. “Go on,” he repeated. “I have little need of sleep. If I do, Mistress Rider will find me a cot. It’s been a rough night for you and you’re dead on your feet.”
    Still she hesitated, then she asked, “You don’t think I’ve made up some mad tale, do you?”
    He shook his head. “Why would you do that?”
    “Grief, they tell me.”
    “I think you’re too strong, too levelheaded, Pen Bryanston, to lose your wits in an orgy of grief,” he replied. “I also think you have enough common sense to take the bed that’s offered you without worrying that you’ll be raped or murdered in your sleep.” He smiled and lightly touched her cheek. “Believe me, I like my partners to be both willing and awake.”
    To her annoyance, Pen felt her cheeks warm at this. “I was not worried about that at all,” she denied.
    “Good. Then go to it.” He turned and threw more logs on the fire.
    Pen sat on the bed and surveyed her sandaled feet. They seemed to be a long way away from her, all the way down on the floor. Just the