Read Online To Kiss A Spy by Jane Feather - Free Book Online Page B

easily. “She will not refuse, I assure you.”
    Pen nodded, laid the coin on the table, and dropped the circlet into the deep pocket of her cloak. She picked up her ruined gloves and drew them on, wiggling her fingers comically through the torn leather. “These will do me little good.”
    “Wear mine.” He handed her a pair of black gloves. The leather was the softest doeskin. “My hands rarely feel the cold.”
    Pen was not going to argue with this. Her hands and feet chilled far too rapidly for polite remonstrance. His fingers were longer than hers, she noticed absently as she drew on the gloves, longer and very slender; the gloves enclosed her fingers very tightly.
    Cedric waited at the wherry, stamping his feet, blowing on his hands. The boatmen grumbled at their oars as the boat knocked against the water steps. It was too frigid a morning to be sitting still.
    “Where to, m’lord?”
    “Baynard’s Castle.” Owen stepped into the wherry and offered Pen his hand. She jumped lightly in beside him. The sun glittering on the water was almost dazzling and the frosty air hurt when she drew it deep into her lungs.
    She was going to find explaining the events of the night rather difficult, Pen realized as the little boat shot across the river, darting in and out of the traffic. Her reckless decision to plunge off into the night to make her own way home was not going to be popular with her nearest and dearest. And she didn’t know how to explain it. She knew she couldn’t confess to the truth, that the theft of the ledger page from the Bryanston library had driven all thought of danger from her mind.
    And then she would have to explain what had happened during the remainder of the night. The truth was awkward, but a lie was impossible. She had a wound on her neck to make nonsense of any peaceful fabrication. Besides, she was a hopeless liar.
    The wherry turned into the mouth of the Fleet River and drew up at the water steps of the imposing Baynard’s Castle, once a royal palace, now the home of the Earl of Pembroke. Princess Mary, in her childhood, when she was King Henry’s pearl, as he’d liked to call her, when her mother, Catherine of Aragon, was still his beloved wife, had spent many happy times in the palace with her mother. In memory of those times she had asked her half brother King Edward for permission to reside there during her visits to London. The request had been granted, and Pembroke himself turned a diplomatically blind eye to the clandestine Catholic masses said in his royal guest’s private apartments.
    “There’s no need to accompany me any farther, Chevalier,” Pen said, hearing the sudden formality of her tone. “You have been very kind.”
    Owen looked at her in amusement. “Afraid I’m going to be hard to explain, madam?”
    Pen flushed slightly. “As it happens, yes.”
    He laughed and jumped ashore, offering her his hand. “I will not rest easy until I see you safe inside.” Pen Bryanston was to be his password to the tight circle around the princess. It stood to reason the princess would gratefully receive her friend’s rescuer.
    Pen hesitated, unwilling to seem ungracious, and yet certain that she could explain what had happened to her much more easily without his presence. Facts could be simply described when not muddied by emotional confusion.
    “If you’ll return this afternoon, sir, I’d be happy to—”
    “Pen . . . Pen!”
    She broke off at the sound of the high voice. She spun around to look up the redbrick path that led from the water to the gate in the wall around the castle. A young woman, a flash of crimson and emerald, was running down towards them, her bright skirts caught up to free her stride, words tumbling from her mouth.
    “Pen . . . Pen . . . where on earth have you been? We’ve been frantic with worry.”
    Pen sighed. All hope of concealing any part of the truth was gone. Pippa would ferret out every detail. And yet despite this she hurried to meet her