Free While You Were Spying (Regency Spies Book 0) by Shana Galen Page B

walls was rich and sumptuous. A luxurious room, and an inviting web designed by a spider who knew how to lure fat, juicy flies.
    The spider arranged her skirts again on the dark green settle and raised both eyebrows expectantly at the fly in question.
    Lord Winterbourne narrowed his eyes. “Madam, I thank you for—”
    “ Signore, per favore .” Francesca flinched as her mother cut Winterbourne off again. Even worse, Lady Brigham shook a finger at him before spreading her arms and smiling graciously. “ Avanti! Prego, si accomodi . Please sit down.” She rang the bell on the small table next to the longue, alerting the footman to bring the tea tray.
    “ Signora .” Winterbourne all but growled the Italian word. “If you would have your man show me to the library, I’ll wait for the viscount there.”
    “My, but you are certainly anxious!” She gave him a conspiratorial wink before waving his request away. Francesca groaned. She had the sinking feeling that before the day was done, she’d be thoroughly humiliated.
    “ Mio marito will be home very shortly now, my lord. Paolo, our majordomo”—her mother gestured to Norton, who, to Francesca’s annoyance, she insisted on addressing by the Italian version of his Christian name—“will inform his lordship you are waiting. Ah! The tea is here. Do sit down , Lord Winterbourne.”
    The footman stood behind Winterbourne, tea tray in hand but unable to enter whilst the marquess blocked the door. Snagged by her mother in front and penned in by her staff in back, Winterbourne had no choice but to step into her mother’s crafty web. From the way his shoulders tensed, she saw he knew it, but he took a seat on the green-and-gold silk armchair next to Francesca with surprising good grace.
    She was tempted to feel sorry for him but reminded herself it was his own fault he was here. That realization must have crossed his mind as well because the look he gave her was full of camaraderie. The kind of look she, Lucia, and their brother John often shared.
    He wasn’t a nice man, she reminded herself, and she wouldn’t feel sorry for him, even if he gave her that look again.
    Especially if he gave her that look again. The unexpected warmth in his gold-flecked eyes heated her through, from heart to belly. She took a steadying breath and told herself it was probably a ploy to convince her to help him. As though she could.
    Peter, the red-haired footman, served the tea and set the tray, burdened with small sandwiches and Francesca’s favorite chocolate tarts, on the rosewood side table just within her reach. She glanced up at him, and Peter gave her a conspiratorial wink. She smiled at the footman as her empty stomach grumbled. Lord, she loved those tarts.
    “Tea, Signore ?” her mother offered.
    “No.” His tone was steely. He shifted, and Francesca noticed the chair seemed much too small for his muscular frame.
    “Oh, but you must try a sandwich. I am certain you are famished.” She pushed a plate burdened with half a dozen tiny sandwiches toward him.
    Winterbourne must have felt the web tightening around him, but if he was smart he wouldn’t struggle. He’d be on his way to Grayson Park much more quickly that way. And there was always the remote possibility that her father’s arrival would save him.
    “I must give you my sincerest thanks once again, Signore .” Her mother handed Francesca a cup of tea without the sugar or milk she preferred.
    “It’s not necessary, Signora .” His impatient gaze darted to the door.
    “Oh but it is necessary, my lord. The safety of my daughters is my only concern in life.”
    And their marriage to a wealthy lord, Francesca thought wryly.
    Francesca added two lumps of sugar to her tea and reached for the third. Her mother glared at her, and Francesca dropped the tongs. Her stomach growled.
    Her gaze roved and settled on the plate of chocolate tarts beside her. She could almost taste them—sweet and rich on her tongue. Francesca