by Shana Galen
“No.” His steady gaze told her he spoke the truth, and if she was not a spy for the Crown, she too would have gone to the local constables. But she needed information.
“I want to see if there are any clues to what he plans next.”
“It won’t matter,” Darlington argued. “He will be sent to gaol.”
She turned over a log with the toe of her boot. The ground beneath it was still fresh, indicating it had been recently moved and situated beside the fire pit. The rain had long since extinguished the fire and cooled the tinder, so she could not ascertain how recently someone had been here. “You have a great deal of faith in the Nottinghamshire patrols. The Bow Street Runners have been searching for Lucifer for months, and he’s eluded even their very best.”
A large swath of canvas had been stretched over a low-hanging branch to form a tent of sorts. A greatcoat and a saddle blanket, most likely from Ravenscroft’s own stable, had been added to supplement the structure. Lily moved the material aside and peered inside. As she waited for her eyes to adjust to the gloom, she felt Darlington move beside her. “That wine is from the kitchens,” he said, gesturing to a jug. He had good eyes. Her own were just now making out the forms and shapes.
“And I am willing to wager that flour sack has foodstuffs inside.” She glanced at Darlington. “This is your thief.”
“Yes, but where is he?”
“If the horse were here, we could assume he was nearby. As it stands, he could be anywhere.”
“I don’t like it. If this man is who you say, he is dangerous. I want you back at the house, where you will be safe.”
She almost laughed. Safe? From whom? From Lucifer? He was probably stalking about the estate now. From Ravenscroft? He’d already threatened to kill her. From Darlington? One of these times he kissed her, she would not have the strength to stop him from doing more. She was as safe in this camp as she would have been anywhere else, which was to say, not safe in the least.
“I do not need a protector,” she told Darlington, moving into the tent. “You brought me here, and now I want to look in this sack. Perhaps it contains more than food.” She lifted the sack and prepared to dump the contents on the ground.
“I didn’t bring you here for this,” Darlington hissed. “If he returns now and we have to leave quickly, he will know we’ve been here.”
He was correct. She was cold and wet and losing focus. She pawed through the pouch, pushing aside a hunk of cheese and a crust of bread, pulling a leather pouch out and opening it. “Why did you bring me here?”
“Because I didn’t think you’d be safe at the estate without me.”
Despite her eagerness to peer at the contents of the pouch, she couldn’t stop from staring at Darlington. “Who would endanger me?”
“Lucifer. My father—”
“Your father?” she said sharply. Perhaps Darlington knew something after all.
“Might we discuss this at a more opportune time?”
“Yes. I’ll be only a moment.” There was something inside this pouch. Something Lucifer wanted to protect from the elements. She would look inside and then she would make Darlington tell her what he knew about his father. She could not allow his statement to pass without explanation. If he knew something that might implicate the duke, she would find it out.
She untied the pouch and lifted the flap. Inside, neatly stacked, was several hundred pounds. She rifled through the money, ignoring it, until she found a letter of transit. No, make that three letters of transit. The name on each document differed. She supposed one of these was his true name, but she did not know which. Finally, she found a crude drawing of what appeared to be Ravenscroft Castle. Lucifer was making a blueprint of the estate. It was unfinished, but a quick perusal told her he had been inside more than she had supposed.
“I hear—”
“It’s a horse,” she said. She’d heard it too. “We had better go now.” She tucked the pouch into her blouse.
“What the devil are you doing?”
“He was foolish enough to leave it here,” she whispered, pushing him out of the lean-to. “I’m not leaving him with money and a means of escape.”
“Are you mad?”
“Possibly. He’s close now. Hurry!” She led him to a thick grouping of trees as the hoofbeats closed in. He was walking the horse, probably leading it by the halter. There were too many low-hanging branches here to allow a man to ride. She pulled Darlington behind one of the thicker tree trunks and ducked into a crouch. Once Lucifer was busy starting the fire or tending the horse, they could sneak away.
She heard leaves moving and the sound of the horse’s breathing. Around them, the rain continued to fall, making a soft and steady whoosh sound as it splashed against the leaves. The wind blew the higher branches and chilled her, and she huddled close to Darlington as she tried to hear where Lucifer might be.
She remembered how she had always wanted to be invisible when she was a child. Her father had once told her his job was to be invisible. She understood what he meant now. He would always be remembered as a hero. He had been one of the men to thwart the attempted invasion of England by La Légion Noire at Carregwastad Head near Fishguard. Cecil Dawson had indeed been a resourceful man and an asset to the Crown. She could only hope not to dishonor his reputation. And right now, her success depended on her invisibility.
But she would not rely on it, and so she withdrew a slim blade from her boot. Darlington gaped at her, but she did not look away. It was better he knew she was serious about her work, better he knew she understood danger and could counter it. Perhaps it would soften the blow when she had his father arrested. To lose two parents in one year would be hard for any man. To lose a father because the man was a traitor to his country would be devastating.
She heard a man swear, and the striking of a rock, and she nodded to Darlington. Thankfully Lucifer’s first task was to start a fire. That was not an easy feat in this sort of weather, and she heard his frustration. When he gave it up, he would return to his tent and find his leather pouch missing. She did not want to be near when that happened. She replaced the dagger, and with Darlington, trekked back the way they had come, through increasingly heavier rain. Lily was soaked to the bone and knew she would be thankful for a warm fire and dry clothes.
They forded the first stream with ease. The water had risen since they’d crossed, but it was a narrow, burbling thing. When they reached the next stream, opposite where the horses were still tethered, she knew immediately they had a problem. She did not care about wading in up to her waist. She was soaked through anyway, and now the rain was pouring down in sheets, but she feared if she did wade in, she would be carried away. The stream’s current was rapid, sweeping branches and large logs and even a small creature, hanging onto a fallen tree limb, downstream.
“We can’t cross here,” Darlington said, raising his voice so it might be heard above the sound of the storm. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Agreed. What should we do?”
“Find shelter.”
“Most of our supplies are with the horses.” She pointed across the impassable water.
“We’ll find something.” He motioned for her to follow him, and she tried, but her skirts were heavy with water and clung to her legs. Finally, Darlington took her arm and all but carried her away from the open space beside the stream. The rain was not as heavy under the canopy of the trees, but she was so wet, it made little difference. She shivered with cold and tried not to think about warm fires and hot tea.
And scones. She would give anything for a scone at the moment. She was famished.
She knew she should be helping Darlington, but she was weary and ready to collapse. He had dragged her into this. Perhaps it was only justice that he should have to find the way out.
“Here!” Darlington yelled, pointing to two large trees that had fallen into each o
ther at some point years before. Their trunks formed an inverted V, which Lily could see would provide some protection from the elements. She would have preferred her bedchamber, a hot brick at her feet, and steaming chocolate in her hands, but she would take this for the present. Besides, agents for the Crown did not whine and complain.
And sometimes she was quite weary of being an agent for the Crown.
She allowed Darlington to drag her under the inadequate shelter, pulled her shawl over her head, and crouched down. She expected him to do the same, but he scurried about, appearing to gather fallen branches and handfuls of leaves. It did not take long for her to ascertain what he was doing. He spread some of the leaves at her feet, making a sort of soft place for her to rest, and arranged the branches over her head to fortify the shelter. Within a quarter of an hour, the structure was really quite tolerable. She made room for him when he finally joined her, and leaned back against one of the tree trunks, closing her eyes.
“You’re shivering, and your lips are blue,” he said.
“I’ve been told I look good in blue.” She would not begin complaining and feeling sorry for herself now. If she started, she would not be able to stop. She was also perilously close to tears, and crying was absolutely out of the question.
“You must be the strongest woman I know,” he said, awe in his voice. She opened her eyes. “You have not uttered one word of complaint or protest.”
“I assure you, I have cursed you and the heavens in my thoughts without ceasing.”
“As well you should. I was wrong to drag you with me.”
She laughed. “You are quick to admit when you are wrong, my lord. I do admire that trait. I only wish you would come to these conclusions before you make the mistakes.” She closed her eyes again and felt them burn with exhaustion.
“As do I. But I wouldn’t have found Lucifer alone.”
She suspected he would have, and probably much more quickly. After what she’d seen, she was reasonably certain the man causing trouble at Ravenscroft Castle was indeed Lucifer. And perhaps she had stalled his escape by taking his papers and his blunt. Perhaps the travel papers would provide the Bow Street Runners with evidence or a clue to assist them in his capture, should he elude the authorities in Nottinghamshire.
“I’ve asked this before, but I hope I have earned your trust since then. What is it Lucifer seeks?”
She opened her eyes. Looking at him, his hair shaggy and disordered from shaking off the excess water and running his hands through it, his eyes as weary as hers, and his skin pale with cold, she knew she could trust him. And she also knew it was time to tell him the truth.
“I am here on behalf of the Crown.”
He nodded. “I had thought as much, but I didn’t realize women worked in that service.”
“That is why we are so effective. There are very few of us, and I was chosen because my father was a spy. I inherited many of his skills.”
Darlington frowned. “So you’re a spy? Like Fitzhugh?”
“I’ve never been abroad, but from time to time the Foreign Office asks me to collect information on a person of interest.”
“That’s rather brilliant of them.” The rain finally slowed to a steady drizzle, and they were able to speak without shouting. “You do meet everyone and go everywhere. No one would suspect you had any motive other than pleasure if you flirt with a foreign ambassador or a French émigré.” That was accurate, but Darlington was skirting her true mission here. “And that is why you have continued to masquerade as an Impure. I wondered why you would keep up the pretense, especially after your friends retired.”
She nodded. “My lord, I wonder—”
“Andrew. With all we have been through, it’s time you called me Andrew. I already call you Lily.”
She had called him Andrew many times in private, silently in her mind, but now she did not know if speaking his name aloud, if agreeing to such familiarity was a good idea. Her emotions for him were already precariously close to the surface. More steps toward intimacy were to be avoided. “You may not want me to be so familiar when you understand my true reason for being here.”
“Go on.” He did not look concerned, but he had not fit all of the pieces together yet.
“I do not always collect information on foreign dignitaries and émigrés. Sometimes one of our own is accused of treason.” She saw the moment he understood her point. She watched the hardness creep about his mouth and the corners of his eyes, almost as though he had gazed at Medusa and was slowly turning to stone.
“You think you have evidence my father has done something treasonous.”
She nodded. “I was sent to collect undeniable proof. In London, and when I first arrived, I found it difficult to believe your father could be guilty, but Lucifer’s presence here has changed my mind. Lucifer would not be here if your father did not have what he wanted.”
“You have said as much before—that my father possessed something Lucifer wants. I imagine there are any number of items a duke possesses that a criminal like Lucifer would covet.”
Of course Darlington—Andrew—would say as much. Would she love him if he was less loyal, less eager to defend his family? “Lucifer believes the items he seeks belong to him. They were stolen and sold. Lucifer killed the thief. He could kill again.”
“What items were stolen?”
“I am here to discern that information. We know names and dossiers on the Diamonds in the Rough were taken, but there must be more.”
“Who are the Diamonds in the Rough?”
“The Diamonds in the Rough were five elite agents for the Crown. They are largely credited with supplying the information that led to Bonaparte’s eventual defeat and exile.”
“And you think my father has information on these men—these spies?”
“All that and more, yes. This information would not have come cheaply.”
The rain had finally stopped, and the skies were slowly clearing, but Darlington’s face held the thunderclouds now. “I understand it would take a man with vast resources to pay the price most likely demanded. But my father is not the only man in the country with a large fortune. You cannot arbitrarily accuse him of this.”
She fought for patience, fought not to feel insulted. “It is not arbitrary. One of the Diamonds caught a man trying to kill him—an assassin. When questioned about his employer, the man said it was a gentleman who promised him three rubies as big as his fist.”
Darlington’s eyes widened, and Lily knew she had the answer she wanted.
***
Andrew knew there had to be some mistake. Those rubies had been in his family for centuries. His father would never part with them, especially not to pay some thug to kill a group of spies who had nothing whatsoever to do with the duke or the family.
“I see you’ve heard of the rubies,” Lily said. He glanced at her and winced. She resembled a drowned mouse. With her hair wet and clinging to her pale face, she looked young and vulnerable. She was shivering, and he moved closer to share body heat. Not that he was much warmer. He would have given her his coat, but it was as damp and cold as the rest of their clothing.
“They are part of the Ravenscroft legacy,” he said. “They are not a secret, but I find it improbable that my father would have promised them to a thug on the street.”
“What else would he have to offer?” Lily asked. “I beg your pardon, but I was obliged to research your family’s finances. There is money held in trust for you and for Lady Emma, but the money that was not protected is gone.”
Andrew felt his indignation rise. How dare she pry into something so personal? And how dare she misrepresent the family’s situation! “You are mistaken. It is true the estate revenues have been down the past few years, but a few good crops and a bit of renovation on some of the cottages will bring in capital and an increase in rents.”
She shook her head. “This loss is far more than one or two good crops can repair.”
“Do you have experience in managing an estate?” he demanded. “You should stick to what you know.”
“Andrew.” She touched his shoulder, and he barely tolerated her hand. “I know you dislike the mention of finances.”
“It is not done.”
“And that is why you do not know the situation. I do not imagine you would ask your father about his management of the estate, but the Crown has documents that prove your father lost enormous sums on war speculation. He bet against his own country, and he lost.”
“That cannot be correct.” But her words triggered something in his mind. He remembered how angry his father had been when Bonaparte had been defeated. At the time Andrew had been preoccupied with his own concerns—mainly winning the lovely Duchess of Dalliance—but now his father’s unpatriotic sentiments stood out.
“Are you certain?” she asked. “I saw copies of the schemes he partook in, and I also paid a call on your father’s banker in London.”
“He wouldn’t have spoken to you.”
She smiled. “I am not charming you now, but I will remind you, I earned my sobriquet.”
Andrew felt violated. He did not know why, as he had done nothing wrong. He had never been what some might call economical, but he generally lived within his means. In any case, he did not gamble away the money he owed for his rents or buy more waistcoats than he could afford simply to look fashionable. He had six thousand a year, and he managed his income well.
But he had been concerned to see Ravenscroft Castle fall into disrepair. He considered it a byproduct of his mother’s death, but the damage was too great to have progressed so quickly. Perhaps the real problem was that his father did not have the funds to make the necessary repairs or hire the requisite number of servants.
He shook his head. No, whatever disdainful qualities his father possessed, he was not a traitor. “My father is a loyal Englishman,” he said. “We fought with Henry V at Agincourt, and in the Wars of the Roses. The duke would not have invested in schemes that would harm England, and he would not finance the murder of English agents.”