Free A Necessary Deception by Laurie Alice Eakes

Lang is from the Home Office.”
    “Don’t play the innocent with me, monsieur.” Her dark eyes flashed, and a white line formed around her mouth. “I am as well aware as you that our government doesn’t need to meet ladies in dark gardens to force them—”
    Christien grasped her wrist. “What dark garden?”
    “As if you don’t know.” She wrinkled her nose as though smelling something revolting. “Now let us be gone before we make more of a spectacle of ourselves than we already have.”
    Carriages flowed past them, and many persons stared. They needed to move on, stop drawing so much attention, but Christien’s innards told him something was terribly wrong, and he wasn’t about to move until he got the truth from Lydia.
    “Tell me what garden . . . s’il vous plait ,” he persisted.
    “The one in Portsmouth, six days after you escaped from England against the terms of your parole.” She spoke behind a stiff smile and clenched teeth. “You know that quite well.”
    “No, Madame Gale, I do not. Monsieur Lang was with me that night.”

6
    What ever had possessed her to purchase a red riding habit?
    Lydia stared down at the deep wine-red jacket and skirt, then up at her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t look like a widow. With the red bringing out the roses in her cheeks and somehow making her hair glow with blue highlights, she looked like a lady in search of a husband, and with two men vying for her attention, that was the last impression she wished to give.
    Not that they wanted her attention for any honorable reason. Barnaby and de Meuse needed her for her connections in Society. Seen with her, a widow above reproach whose ancestor had signed the Magna Carta, whose husband had died in the service of his country, the men would find themselves welcomed anywhere she requested they be welcomed.
    Except perhaps Almack’s. No one told the patronesses whom to invite to those hallowed and—if Lydia remembered correctly—dull halls. But Lady Jersey had an eye for attractive men, and Christien de Meuse was certainly that—attractive, charming, treacherous.
    If she could expose him first . . .
    Yes, he should be the easiest man to be rid of, being French. Though émigrés dotted Great Britain—from kitchens as chefs, to dressing rooms as ladies’ maids, to drawing rooms as honored guests—the men and women who were or had served the aristocracy of France were not entirely liked or trusted.
    With good reason. No one should trust Christien de Meuse. A mere month ago, he had been in Dartmoor, taken when the ship on which his regiment had been sailing was captured by the English Navy. She was supposed to believe he was a double agent, with England the country in which he placed his primary loyalty. That’s what he’d told her as they resumed their leisurely drive along Rotten Row and back. Mr. Lang was supposed to meet her in Plymouth and ask her to help. But a Mr. Lang had met her in Portsmouth and compelled her to help. No doubt, if asked, Mr. Barnaby and Mr. Frobisher would declare they were the loyal subjects of King George of Hanover and Christien de Meuse was the traitor, or the Frenchman in their midst would declare them traitors—Englishmen working for Napoleon.
    “How to know the truth?” Lydia picked up her hat and perched it on her head at first one angle, then another.
    Hodge leaped from the floor to a stool to the dressing table, then launched himself at the perky feather curling over the hat’s narrow brim.
    “Beast.” Lydia jumped back in time to protect her hat and coiffure. “It’s not attached to a bird, I promise. Not that you’ve ever caught anything that flies.” Mice, on the other hand . . . Hodge earned his keep at the cottage. “Be a good kitty and I’ll take you for a walk in the mews later. Maybe even the park.” The idea sounded lovely even as she spoke it.
    For now, she wasn’t riding out with de Meuse alone. She doubted she should be alone with any of