Free The Husband Trap by Tracy Anne Warren Page A

if her tardy arrival was of no concern.
    Jeannette was rarely on time.
    A prompt appearance—particularly this morning—would have been tantamount to admitting she was impersonating her sister.
    Adrian waited in the hall, ready to depart. It was nearly nine o’clock.
    She caught the briefest hint of a frown on his face just before he saw her.
    The look cleared and he smiled, coming forward to take her hand. “Good morning, my dear.” He dropped a kiss on the inside of her wrist in the spot he favored. “I trust you slept well?”
    The usual tingle raced over her skin at his touch, heightened as her body recalled all of the other places he had kissed and caressed last night. It took every ounce of her determination to stem the blush that threatened to spread like a rash over her cheeks.
    “Yes, quite well,” she replied. “And you?”
    “Quite well.”
    Their eyes met in a long speaking glance, each of them remembering the way it had felt to lie in the other’s arms through the quiet hours of the night. Soon, Adrian dropped her hand, crossed to a small table and picked up a pair of tan leather gloves.
    Dressed for riding, he was a picture of casual masculine elegance. Snowy white shirt, buff breeches, black-and-white striped waistcoat, his Hessian boots polished to a gleam. His snug, dun-colored coat showed off every inch of his sturdy, broad shoulders.
    “I take it you mean to ride out?” she said, stating the obvious.
    “You don’t mind, do you?”
    “Not at all,” she denied.
    With no book to read and no company, the hours ahead were bound to be long and boring. She wouldn’t even be able to enjoy the passing scenery. Not without her spectacles. But perhaps traveling solo would be for the best. Alone, she wouldn’t be forced to constantly keep up the pretense.
    Adrian drew on his gloves. “Ready?”
    She lifted her chin in a gesture she knew Jeannette would have used. “Quite ready.”
     
    Morning crept into afternoon as their party made its way toward Dorset and England’s southern coast. Guilt crept upon Adrian for taking the coward’s way out, riding instead of passing the time with his new wife inside the coach. But after last night he felt in need of some solitude. Perhaps she did as well.
    How could he have been so completely mistaken in his judgment of her? He had been convinced he knew the truth. Gleaned in large measure from the confidences related to him by his friend Theodore “Toddy” Markham, a man who had a unique ability to learn things about people they might prefer others didn’t know.
    Most considered Toddy a harmless fop who spent far too much money on his clothing and horses and far too little time on other more sensible pursuits. Little did they realize he had served as one of Britain’s top spies during the war, gathering information on the home front and abroad and passing it along to the highest levels inside the British War Office. Adrian had been one of the select few chosen to serve as a contact to receive that vital information.
    After suffering a nearly fatal wound at the first Siege of Badajoz in 1811, Adrian had been forced to resign his commission and take a less obvious role in the war effort. He’d traded the heat and gore of the battlefield for the cool anonymity of clandestine alleyways and dark smoky pubs. In such places he made contact with a variety of informants, some of an admittedly unsavory character, who were willing to trade information in exchange for money or favor or, upon occasion, for nothing more than the glory of pure patriotism. Toddy was one of the noble few, content merely to be of service to his nation.
    Over the years, he and Toddy had developed a deep respect and affection for each other. Which is why Adrian had believed him when his friend reluctantly confided reports of some unsettling rumors he had heard about Adrian’s intended bride. Although Toddy’s warnings had come a bit too late, Adrian assured him he could handle the