The Husband Mission (The Spy Matchmaker #1)(10)

Of all he had learned, however, the most important piece of information was the name of the sprite at the door. Whattling had confirmed that Miss Katherine Collins was indeed the older stepsister of the lovely Miss Templeman. Her widowed mother had married the former Lord Templeman, himself a widow with child, nearly eight years ago. Miss Collins supposedly had a younger brother, but Alex had been unable to determine his age. It was possible he had been the lad following him, but Alex found it difficult to believe the stepson of a lord would be allowed to wander the city in costume.

So, for all the information he had gained on the Collins' household, he still wasn't certain why any of them would be interested in following him. The only way to learn more was to play out the charade and visit.

This time a butler met his knock. The fellow was dressed in a black coat and breeches. His balding head, ringed by a close-cropped fringe of silver-grey hair, was nearly as polished as his brass buttons. His narrow face was stern, reminding Alex of a master at Eton. All in all, he was as impressive a fellow as one could have wished. While Alex hadn't been expecting depravity, he found himself disappointed that the fellow didn't at least have sneaky eyes or a knowing smile.

As Alex followed him upstairs to the withdrawing room, he thought perhaps he might spot something odd about the interior of the house. Unfortunately, everywhere he looked things appeared distressingly normal. The oak banister gleamed; the walls were a cheery yellow devoid of cobwebs. Portraits of smiling ladies in jewel-toned gowns from ages past brightened the space. The corridor smelled of lemon and beeswax, testimony that a diligent housekeeper had been busy there as well.

The withdrawing room itself took up the entire back half of the upstairs, with three windows overlooking the little garden. The room was tastefully furnished with a settee and a matching quartet of armchairs upholstered in soft blue velvet with gilt spindles and arms. A small fire burned in the shiny brass grate. Pastoral watercolors glowed on the green-blue walls. It was a cozy, friendly scene with which he could find no fault.

Neither could he find a single fault in Miss Templeman. She perched on the settee, hands folded in the lap of her fashionable silk gown. A prettier shade of purple he had never seen. As he stepped forward to take her hand in greeting, the scent of violets wafted over him, as soft as the welcoming light in her lovely blue eyes. He was instantly reminded of his childhood and the homey smell of violets and soap that had emanated from his Nana. He caught himself smiling at no one in particular and had to recall himself to the present.



       
         
       
        

The lady before him was no aged nurse. Golden curls framed an angelic face with upturned nose and rosebud lips. The lavender gown swelled with womanly curves. Her smile was innocent, her demeanor sweet. In fact, he was hard-pressed to think of a more perfect specimen of womanhood currently on the marriage mart. The mystery of her single state deepened.

The bigger surprise was that he found he far preferred his greeting with Miss Collins. No overwhelming sweetness there. Her impish grin was conspiratorial. Had their sexes been reversed, he thought he probably would have blushed at the gleam of appreciation in her warm grey eyes. He bowed to her, then took his seat across from her in one of the armchairs, smoothing down the front of his navy coat.

A frown creased her brow. Before he could wonder at it, her gaze darted to the empty space beside her stepsister as if in a message. She would prefer that he sit next to Miss Templeman? What manner of woman encouraged a man to show his interests elsewhere? He perversely leaned back in the chair and crossed his booted legs.

"My uncle is unexpectedly unavailable," Miss Collins told him, but somehow she did not sound the least regretful. "Of course, you remember my stepsister Constance Templeman."

"Of course, Miss Collins," Alex replied. "Miss Templeman, your servant."

He was rewarded to see her start. She apparently hadn't thought he could learn her name. He wasn't sure why her surprise pleased him. Her grin quickly returned, as if she were delighted to discover that he was clever. He ought to be insulted, but instead he grinned back.

"How nice to see you again, Lord Borin," Miss Templeman said, her voice soft and melodious, as perfect as the rest of her. "You will remember that we met at Lady Monk's musicale last Season."

In truth, he had forgotten. Now that she mentioned it, however, he remembered seeing her there. She had been in the company of a large ponderous fellow. He somehow didn't think it was Sir Richard. It must have been the new Lord Templeman. Alex nodded politely. "Yes, I remember. Do you enjoy music, Miss Templeman?"