She took a deep, shaky breath and then flung one leg through the window opening.
Robert put a hand on her upper arm and she stopped moving. She gave him a questioning glance.
He leaned over so they were face-to-face, eye-to-eye and then kissed her. Hard.
“Don’t you look down, Antonia Winter,” he said fiercely. “You’ll be fine. I have faith in you. Remember, I’ll be right below you on that rope. If you fall, I’ll catch you.” He grinned. “I won’t have any other choice. Not to put undue pressure on you.”
She felt the blood drain from her face as she imagined her body hurtling toward him and knocking him from the rope. They’d both go tumbling down to the paving stones below. The image was stomach-churning.
And Robert was grinning.
“Gallows humor. Bah,” she said, giving his chest an irritated shove, intending to push him away. But he only swayed ever so slightly. Perhaps if she fell, he really could catch her. He seemed so large and solid that it was hard to imagine that anything she did could impact him.
Until she met his eyes. His teasing grin had disappeared and had been replaced by an expression of unbearable tenderness and vulnerability.
And it was all for her.
Why had he granted her this power over him? She was nothing. Just the disgraced daughter of a squire. Even now, with her inheritance restored once again, it was inconceivable that he’d even consider linking his life to hers. She’d offer a dreadfully disadvantageous match. After all, she’d supported herself as an actress this past year. That alone should be enough to eliminate her from consideration as anything other than an earl’s mistress. It was inconceivable that they could truly be together, not as husband and wife. Yet here she was, conceiving of it. But no. He was out of her reach. Even if the events of the past year hadn’t transpired, the simple daughter of a squire could never dare to dream of marrying an earl.
But he looked at her now with those clear, blue eyes, so vulnerable with worry, so intense, so filled with tenderness, that she found she could barely draw a breath.
He stroked her cheek. “Stop looking so doubtful. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Antonia.” He planted a kiss on the top of her head. “Now go. We don’t have much time.”
Dazed, she turned away and ducked through the window as she took the rope in both hands. She took a deep breath, wrapped her legs around the rope, and began pulling herself up.
It was easier than she’d feared.
When she reached the top, she scrambled to loop her arm over the railing. She managed to grab hold of it and pulled herself over the edge, slamming her elbow hard against the balustrade in the process. Once she was standing on the roof, she realized she’d been so dazed by Robert’s kiss that she’d forgotten to worry about falling.
Robert stood next to her just a moment later. “Well done,” he said, grinning.
He quickly gathered up the rope. They crossed the roof to where he’d stashed the plank and he paused to toss the loosely coiled rope across the gap between the buildings. The toss was slightly short, and the rope landed on top of the ledge. The wind buffeted it, and for a moment Antonia was certain it would fall to the alleyway below, but then a hard gust seemed to work in their favor, and the tottering coils stabilized.
Robert set the plank across the gap. “Do exactly what you did before, and you’ll be fine.”
She darted across the gap and then held the board for Robert. Once they were both on the other roof, he retrieved the board and hurried toward their exit route. Ahead, a small figure broke away from the shadows— the young footman who was assisting them. He gave them a jaunty wave and then immediately began retrieving the rope they’d left dangling down the side of the building.
When Robert reached the decorative railing, he and Turner dropped the two coiled ropes and the board off the side of the building to the alleyway below. The wind gusted so loudly, Antonia barely heard the clatter of the board as it hit.
They entered the dim stairwell from the rooftop door and dashed down to the ground floor, where a butler waited for them. With practiced indifference, he opened the door and let them out, as though helping spies escape from the Russian embassy happened on a daily basis. Antonia had to admire his aplomb.
Just as they stepped out the front door, Robert’s carriage pulled to a stop before them. She spotted the plank they’d tossed off the building already tied to the roof of the carriage.
Frederick pushed open the door from within and beckoned them inside as young Turner untied his horse from the rear of the carriage.
Frederick stared at them both. After a moment of silence, he said, “Well? Do you have it?”
Antonia reached inside her coat and pulled out the wrapped bundle. She handed it to Frederick. “Revnik’s men captured us. If not for Lord Percival, we wouldn’t have escaped. There was a fire and— well—”
“A fire? Again?” Frederick looked stunned. “Was Lord Percival in his cups?”
“It wasn’t that.” Robert said. He briefly explained Lord Percival’s unintentional bit of arson. When he mentioned the book’s flight into the fireplace, Frederick looked aghast.
“The book was damaged,” Antonia said. “I’m not sure how badly. I haven’t had a chance to examine it yet. I grabbed it in the confusion and we escaped while they were trying to put out the fire.”
Frederick stared down at the wool-wrapped bundle in his hands with horror. He quickly tore off the wrapping. The smoky odor was pungent inside the confines of the carriage. Frederick turned the book over in his hands, but the light was too dim to assess the damage.
“Turn up the lamp,” he told Robert, who reached over to adjust the wick on the kerosene lamp mounted next to the carriage door. As the interior brightened, Antonia kept her gaze fixed on the book.
The leather appeared scorched. Frederick opened it carefully, but even so, flakes of blacked paper broke away and drifted to the floor.
Carefully, Frederick turned to the crucial passage in the book. No one breathed as he examined it.
Finally Frederick shook his head. “It’s gone. There’s nothing left to reveal Czar Nicholas’s secret. The book is worthless.” He closed the church register and clutched it in his hands as he dropped his head in defeat.
“That means the Queen won’t be able to use it to force the czar to withdraw his troops,” Antonia whispered.
“That’s right,” Frederick replied softly. “And that means war is inevitable.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
The confession of evil works is the first beginning of good works.
- Saint Augustine
Robert wanted to believe Frederick. He wanted to believe Antonia was safe— but until he examined that book— until he held it in his own hands— he simply couldn’t allow himself to relax.
He removed his thick gloves and extended one hand to his brother, silently requesting the church register.
With a sigh, Frederick passed it to him. The cover felt rough against his skin— grimy with soot and badly scorched. Robert shifted on the carriage seat to hold up to the lamp. The edges of the pages were singed, yes, but the small volume seemed intact.
He let the book fall open, and as always, it turned directly to its most dangerous pages.
Pages which were now entirely black.
Relief crashed through Robert as he stared at the ruined paper. No legible writing remained on the uniformly black surface.
The text must have fallen open in precisely this same manner in the fireplace. Had this been its destiny all along? Had its eagerness to reveal its secrets been its downfall? Robert shook his head at his own flight of fancy. That was absurd, of course. A book had no destiny.
Still, he rather liked the thought. It held a certain symmetry for him. A certain grand design.
He gave his brother a solemn shake of the head as he handed the book back. “The relevant pages were completely destroyed.”
Frederick tossed the book on the seat next to h
im and turned toward the window, staring pensively into the darkness.
Antonia shifted her weight to turn and face Frederick’s profile. “What if—”
He only turned his head partway to glance at her. “If?”
“What I mean to say is, the Russians don’t know the book was destroyed. What if Queen Victoria bluffs?”
“It isn’t as though there’s another alternative.” Frederick’s gaze became unfocused as he considered the idea. “That might actually work,” he murmured, and then turned back to stare into the night.
Robert lowered the lamp’s flame. Antonia’s profile reflected the light, and her pale skin seemed to glow. Her hat was gone, probably lost at some point during the struggle in the embassy. The wig concealing her hair canted to one side, her neat features incongruous with the disorderly mop of hair atop her head. He couldn’t suppress a delighted grin.
She was safe, she was beautiful, and nothing would keep him from her. Not the Queen, not the czar— nothing.
The carriage halted in front of Woolsy House and Frederick fled its confines without another word. Robert followed him out into the gusting wind and turned to assist Antonia. She stumbled, and he caught her about the waist, catching her in midair and depositing her next to him.
“You keep saving me,” she said, and then yawned. She widened her eyes and belatedly covered her mouth.
“Long night,” he said, letting her go, “and you didn’t get much sleep last night.” He grinned when she blushed. He ought to be exhausted as well, but he simply wasn’t. He was energized. He was giddy. He was euphoric. All because of this diminutive woman and the daring theft she’d orchestrated.
His grin grew wider. Life was good. A night like this should be savored and appreciated. The air was crisp and clear, and the stars above were shining only for them. Antonia was by his side, and the church register no longer represented a threat. Everything was wonderful.
She linked her arm through his and turned toward the front door. Her casual touch felt so right. So perfectly ordinary and appropriate. He wanted the pleasure of this sort of careless caress from her forever.
Turner hurried ahead and pushed open the door for them. Robert placed his hand over Antonia’s as he escorted her inside.
“You can retire for the evening, Turner. You’ve earned your bed, and then some,” Robert said.
The footman murmured a thank-you and hurried away.
Frederick made his way up the staircase and then paused, his back stiff. He barely turned as he spoke. “Please excuse me. I need to prepare my report. I’ll deliver it to Queen Victoria first thing in the morning. The loss of the book complicates matters for me.” He glanced at Antonia. “I’ll pass on your suggestion. It’s a good one.” As he turned away from them, he let out a deep sigh and continued trudging up the stairs. Robert’s heart ached for him. Frederick hated to fail.
Antonia paused, staring tiredly at the staircase. Robert could tell she was trying to decide if she should go up as well.
“Join me in the study,” he said, tightening his arm to tuck hers more firmly against his side. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something long past due.”
She hesitated.
“I also want to keep the promise I made to you on the roof of the embassy.”
She stared at him blankly for a moment, and her cheeks turned slightly pink. “I recall some mention of a blanket.”
“Light-brown with flecks of ocher,” he said, his voice rough. He cleared his throat.
“It would be highly improper,” she said, glancing down at her attire, “but after all of the other improper things I’ve done tonight, why stop now?”
He closed the gap between them. She tossed him an impish grin and let him escort her into his study.
Everything was as they’d left it. Well, almost. For some reason, the bust of Apollo was facing the wall. Had one of the servants moved it? He frowned but then turned away, dismissing it as he turned his attention to Antonia.
“I oiled the latch on the door leading to the passageway,” he said.
“Did you now?” She removed her coat and draped it over her arm as she sauntered across the room. It seemed strange to want to stare at someone dressed in trousers, but as long as that person was Antonia, he didn’t care what she wore. In fact, in a perfect world, she’d wear nothing at all.
That thought surprised him. Had it been inspired by the gentle sway of her hips as they moved from side to side in that undeniably feminine way? They certainly provided ample inspiration. Her movements had been moderate and subdued earlier tonight. Hips that swayed like these could never be mistaken for those of a man. Not ever.
He tried to brush aside his memory of her naked body in the lamplight last night, but now that he’d called it forth, the vision firmly planted itself in his mind.
As she turned to face him again, she held up the coat and raised one eyebrow. “Where should I put this?”
“Here will do,” he said, taking the garment from her and draping it on the back of one of the chairs. He shed his coat as well.
He turned back and found her staring down at the church register. She must have picked it up in the carriage. As he stepped closer, he spotted a reddish abrasion along the side of her neck.
“Let me look at you,” he said. He took the church register from her and placed it on his desk. She offered no protest. “Does it hurt?” he asked, tilting her chin up to examine the mark. “Did he injure you anywhere else?” His gaze raked over her.
She touched his hand gently, soothing him. “No, I’m fine,” she said. “I don’t think the guard intended any real harm. At least, not after he realized who I was. It was convenient to have the czar’s protection at that particular moment.”
He dropped his hand to his side as he glanced down at the half-burned register. “And once we hand this over to the Queen, you’ll be safe from everyone else as well.”
He noticed as her muscles tensed. He’d become attuned to her every movement, her every mood.
“How can you be so certain?”
Robert paused. He wanted to give her an honest answer, not simply to placate her. “I suppose there are no guarantees,” he finally said as he reached out and pulled the lopsided wig from her head. “Since the book provided the only evidence of the czar’s adoption, I see no reason why you’d continue to be a target. Without proof you’re his relative, you’re of no tactical value.”
He tossed the wig onto his desk and picked up the church register. “Look.” He let it fall open as it always did. “It’s all gone.”
She plucked hairpins from her tresses as she bent down to examine it, and she set them in a tidy pile on the desk. She swept her hair to one side, leaving the arc of her pale neck exposed. She appeared achingly beautiful in her intensity. She gently touched a blackened page and tried to turn it, but the brittle paper crumbled at the slight pressure. She yanked her hand away and brushed the soot onto her trousers. She grabbed her cascade of hair and held it in her fist to keep it out of her way as she leaned even closer to the book.
As she stared down at the blackened pages, a change swept over her. Her tension vanished as quickly as shadows in a burst of bright light. “I’m safe. I didn’t want to let myself believe it until now— until I had a chance to see it for myself.” She closed the book. “It’s completely destroyed. No one could possibly use this to prove I’m related to Czar Nicholas. I’m simply Antonia Winter once again— daughter of Squire Winter and granddaughter of Vladamir Nevsky.”
The daughter of a squire— Lord Tidmore’s ruling. That seemed like weeks ago, not scant hours. Antonia’s world had shifted on its axis once again and returned to its original trajectory. “Thank god the judge ruled in your favor.”
She glanced toward him as her smile faded. She straightened her spine to meet his gaze as she let her hair fall loosely again. “What about you? What of Queen Victoria? Won’t she be angry with you and your brother?”
“Only if we can’t co
nvince her otherwise.”
Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to touch his lips to hers and feel her smile slide across them again. He wouldn’t stop there. He’d move on to nuzzle the spot just below her ear, then he’d trail his kisses down her neck, pausing to soothe that angry red mark. He could push her collar open, exposing her throat and exploring the intriguing hollow at its base.
He swallowed. Undressing her from her men’s attire would prove to be a fascinating endeavor.
He slid his hand around her nape, cupping it as he gently caressed her cheek with his thumb. “If I could do it all over again, I’d make the same decision. Hopefully, Frederick and I can convince Queen Victoria we were in the right.”
Their eyes locked as he bent his head, and she shifted closer to him. As their lips touched, she closed her eyes. The soft kisses he’d intended to give her weren’t enough. This woman— this amazing, vibrant woman— she did things to his mind and senses that drove him toward a precipice. Once he allowed himself to fall over that brink, he knew he’d sink into her. Into Antonia.
She surrounded him and filled him, becoming everything to him. Every thought, every breath, every taste— touch— heartbeat was only for Antonia. He was imbued with her. Saturated with her essence.
He trailed a line of fiery kisses across her skin, starting at the spot just below her ear and ending at the top of her shirt collar. He tugged at the silk neckcloth, unused to removing the long-familiar garment from this angle, but his fingers were deft and sure. A moment later he tossed the length of fabric to the floor and began trailing kisses down her naked throat. The ivory skin hidden beneath the brilliant white of her dress shirt was perfection. Soft and warm— it beckoned his explorations.
He pulled her with him as he moved back until he came up against his desk. He lowered his weight onto the edge and felt a hard object pressing into his backside. He glanced over his shoulder to push it away and saw the church register.
He froze.
Its precise location reminded him of a smaller, slimmer item that had rested in that spot twelve years ago. This small book and that long-ago letter from his father had much in common. Both contained dangerous secrets and disturbing revelations.
Once Upon a Spy: A Secrets and Seduction Book Page 38