Free In Bed with a Spy by Alyssa Alexander

seat. You will be more comfortable if you are seated.”
    “I prefer to stand, sir.” She did not believe for a second he was worried about her comfort. She sent her gaze to Angelstone’s face. “I mentioned a moment ago that I am not an idiot. You wish to subtly interrogate me about my husband and my marriage in the hopes of discovering whether he was an assassin or whether he was killed by one.”
    The words were out now, those horrible words she could not say before. Perhaps because she was speaking to a man she had not kissed just an hour ago. Had it been only an hour? Her world had shifted on its axis in the space of sixty minutes. Only three thousand, six hundred seconds.
    Sir Charles smiled benignly. The smile did not reach his eyes. “You are correct, Mrs. Fairchild.”
    “I shall tell you what I know then, sir, so there will be no need for subtle interrogation. My husband was a good man. He loved me. He cared for the men that marched under him, seeing to their welfare before his own. He would go without food if one of his men was starving. You cannot reconcile that man—that officer—with an assassin.”
    “Were you with him every moment of every day during your marriage?” Angelstone prowled around the side of the desk toward her, the smile gone from his face.
    She flicked her eyes toward Sir Charles, whose expression was still mildly pleasant. Perhaps just a bit curious. A benevolent uncle asking how she was feeling.
    It was like facing one good spy and one bad spy. And Angelstone was not the good one.
    “No, Angelstone. I was not with him every second. Sometimes we were separated. A few weeks, even a month or two. But I knew him, and I knew what he was capable of.”
    Angelstone stepped closer, his gold eyes deepening. “Everyone is capable of taking a life, Mrs. Fairchild.” His voice was low and knowing. “It is only the motive that changes. I believe
you
, of all people, would understand that.”
    Something dark reared up inside her. Remorse for those lives she had cut short. For the families, the wives. The children they would not have. It often tried to weigh her down. She refused to let it. She’d been wild with grief that day. Seized by uncontrolled madness. Jeremy had fought for his country, for a cause he believed in. That cause had killed him. She’d wanted nothing more than to finish what he started, to avenge him, even if it meant her own death.
    Angelstone was right. Everyone was capable of taking a life. Even her.
    “Perhaps I do understand that darkness in the soul,” she said softly. “But I also understood my husband, and I refuse to believe he was capable of what you accuse him.”
    “Then, if he was not an assassin, he must have been assassinated.” Sir Charles said it so calmly, Lilias’s legs nearly buckled.
    She locked her knees. “Then I suggest you start looking for the man who assassinated him, sir,” she said. “Because I want a few minutes with him.”
    —
    S IR C HARLES PULLED the door, leaving only the slightest crack between Mrs. Fairchild in the study and himself and Angel in the hall. The set of the commander’s mouth was grim.
    “A high-priced Prussian courtesan has been assassinated.” Sir Charles didn’t waste time or mince words. “A few weeks ago.”
    “I’ve heard.” And Angel regretted it. One more death by the Adders he hadn’t been able to stop. “She sold political secrets as well as her body.”
    “You knew her?” Sir Charles’s eyebrows rose.
    “Not in that way, sir,” he qualified. “I met her a few times on assignment.”
    Sir Charles glanced at the study door, then down the hall to where Jones stood patiently in the front entryway. He would be waiting dutifully for his own assignments. “We need to shut them down, Angel. The Adders are spiraling out of control. There have been six deaths in the last six months.”
    He knew every one of their names. The method of death. Even the secrets of their lives. But it was never enough.