Free Too Wicked to Marry by Susan Sizemore Page B

her face. And she was wearing a red dress. Abigail never wore red. Her wardrobe was full of brown and black and gray dresses, clothing fit and proper for a governess. A wardrobe she'd abandoned as though it didn't even belong to her.
    An identity she'd abandoned?
    "Why? I don't understand."
    The woman who claimed not to be his Abigail sneered. "You're not supposed to know. Of course you don't understand."
    She was mocking him, deliberately trying to make him angry. Why was she still trying to drive him away? Perhaps he had been overzealous in hunting for her, but he wouldn't have persisted if he hadn't been certain, soul-deep certain, that beneath her protests Abigail cared as much for him as he cared for her. If she was Abigail…
    What nonsense. He laughed at himself for half-believing her ridiculous assertion for even half a moment. The sound echoed around the circle of broken walls while Abigail stood with her back to the ruined tower and glared. Her cheeks were pink with emotion and the fresh wind off the sea. Her indignation at his daring to laugh at her gothic tale was plain on her face.
    "You are not a spy," he told her, as if saying it would make it so. Why was she so adamantly presenting this rubbish to him?
    "I am," she insisted. "Ask my father. Ask the foreign office. No, don't ask them, they'd deny my existence. Father would likely deny it as well."
    "Women are not spies. It is not done. You are a nice woman."
    "I'm not. And women make very good spies. No one suspects us."
    "Besides, why would you spy on me?"
    Harriet could see how hard he was fighting not to believe her. A part of her took perverse pleasure in his faith in her, though her pleasure was overridden by the knowledge that faith would soon turn to contempt. And how could she blame him?
    "I was not spying on you," she told him. "I was making sure no one spied on you. I also used you as a cover for other covert activities."
    Her words wiped the smug assurance off his face. He was beginning to get angry, beginning to unwillingly believe. He took a step toward her, large and menacing, though she doubted he was aware how dangerous he appeared. "What covert activities, pray tell, Miss Perry?"
    "MacLeod."
    "I don't care what your name is. Tell me what you were doing in my household."
    "Serving queen and country."
    "You are not a soldier or a diplomat. It is not a woman's place to serve the queen."
    She was not used to his assuming she was less capable than he was simply because she wore skirts, and his arrogant superiority lashed her already raw spirit and made her react tartly. "Yet I do serve, and quite competently. Besides, the queen's a woman. If a woman can reign, other women can help her rule."
    "Bah." He made a sharp, impatient gesture. "I refuse to believe you led some secret life under my nose."
    "Of course you do—because believing it would make you feel like a fool. You will not forgive me for that."
    "I will not believe what is patently impossible." He laughed, mockingly. "What did you do, tuck Patricia in bed, then sneak off to shoot anarchists?"
    How did he know about that? No, it was only a wild guess. "I am not at liberty to discuss my assignments."
    "You're joking." He laughed again, though not very convincingly, while his eyes showed stormy anger. "You are making up this nonsense, aren't you?"
    Harriet shook her head. There were several things she would like to tell him about her true activities, but despite the fact that these things involved his life, for the sake of national security Martin Kestrel did not have the privilege of knowing the details. Besides, knowing the facts would only add to his pain, and she would not do that.
    She did tell him, "I was inserted into your household staff by Her Majesty's government for the sole purpose of protecting the interests of the British Empire. My undercover work was sanctioned by the minister of a department within the foreign office, and I have successfully carried out missions for that