Free The Spy's Reward by Nita Abrams

Abigail did not have a talent for babbling; her efforts had likely only rubbed salt in Roth’s wounds.
    Abigail took off her bonnet and put it down next to Diana’s. Part of her knew that ten hours of rough roads, combined with her irritation at Meyer, might make this a poor moment to speak calmly and firmly to her daughter about her rude behavior. But she felt obliged to make the attempt.
    â€œDiana, if today was a sample of how you mean to treat Mr. Roth I warn you right now that I will not tolerate it,” she said. “How could you be so uncivil?”
    At Abigail’s indignant question, Diana lifted her chin. “I did not wish to encourage his attentions.”
    â€œYou cannot tell me that you do not know how to discourage a young man’s attentions in a less brutal manner. I have been watching you encourage and discourage would-be gallants all over France for many weeks now.”
    â€œDo you think me a flirt, Mama?” She lifted one eyebrow in a manner calculated to remind her mother of just how flirtatious she could be.
    They had had this conversation before, including the eyebrow. With an effort, Abigail repressed an impulse to stalk across the room and shake her daughter until her teeth rattled. For someone who had seen her mother only twice a year from the age of eight to the age of seventeen, Diana had an uncanny instinct for the precise phrase and gesture that would irritate Abigail the most.
    â€œWe are not discussing flirtation. We are discussing common courtesy.”
    Diana raised both eyebrows this time. “Oh? It seemed to me that you were not very courteous to Mr. Meyer earlier today.”
    Abigail thought of several responses: “Two wrongs do not make a right.” Or, more to the point, “Mr. Meyer is the most provoking man I have ever met.” Instead, she took a deep breath and said quietly, “I did not behave well, I admit it. But I was hoping that you would make up for my lapse. Instead you outdid me.”
    That spiked Diana’s guns; she had expected Abigail to defend herself. She looked down, uncertain how to respond, then capitulated—not without a small grimace of distaste. “I will try to be more polite, Mama, but he is very tedious.”
    Everything was tedious today, according to Diana. The carriage, the weather, the meager luncheon at the mountain tavern, the book Abigail had offered to lend her.
    â€œI found him a very pleasant and well-informed young man.”
    â€œThat is not what I meant, Mama. It is his manner. You know what I am talking about: the way he turns red when I look at him, and stumbles when he helps me out of the carriage, and stares at me when I pretend to be asleep so as to escape his attention.”
    Abigail did indeed know what Diana was talking about. Roth was clearly smitten, and he was not the type to interest Diana. He was short, with a pale complexion and fair hair. He had nice eyes—at least Abigail thought them attractive—but they were blue. And at the moment, he could barely walk properly; evidently he had ridden hard the day before and was still recovering. Diana preferred tall, dark, athletic men. Like Nathan Meyer.
    On cue, her daughter strolled over to the window and said pensively, “Mr. Roth does not look much like his uncle, does he?” A pause. “By the way, will Mr. Meyer be joining us for supper?”
    â€œWe will be eating in our room.”
    â€œWhat?” Diana spun around.
    Abigail held up the note the inn’s servant had brought up with their bags. “Mr. Meyer sends his compliments, but there are no private parlors available. He will arrange for a meal to be brought up to the room, since we are fatigued and will wish to retire early.” She did not bother to conceal the irritation in her voice.
    â€œWell!”
    And before Abigail could stop her, Diana had marched to the door and was headed downstairs, with Abigail hurrying after her. She