Secrets to Reveal

by Tilly Wallace

  “I’m sure Sir John works you too hard.” His hand itched to tuck the stray curl back in place. Instead, he rested a hip on the side of her desk and crossed his arms before he reached out and stroked the side of her face. The lass was working on some sort of word puzzle. The entire desk was strewn with papers made into neat little grids. Words were written horizontally and vertically, but many letters were missing. Intersecting letters had neat little red squares drawn around them.

  Did she labour on cyphers like Sir John? He wanted to scoff—a woman couldn’t be a cryptographer—and yet a sharp mind ticked constantly behind those tinted lenses. Instead of pondering spies and subterfuge, all he could think of was the colour of her eyes. Brown or blue? She had said blue, but he could not believe her without confirmation.

  “Not at all. I enjoy being busy.” She shuffled her papers; one that had been on top ended up at the bottom of the pile, obscured from his view. It was not the first time she had hidden a sheet from him. Then she rose and crossed to the next set of doors.

  “Captain Logan, Sir John,” she announced him, and then stepped to one side.

  He passed close enough to her to inhale an earthy lavender scent that warmed his gut and made him conjure images of home and hearth. The wolf inside him drew a deeper breath, letting the scent wash over its tongue so it tasted her.

  He closed the doors and took the chair next to Sir John’s desk. The issue gnawed at him and wouldn’t be ignored, especially when coupled with the information he’d learned the previous day in London. “Why is there a woman in your office?”

  Sir John laid down his pencil. He wore a bland expression on his face. “Miss Simmons is highly capable. She was a better candidate for the position than any of the men who applied.”

  Hamish curled his fist. The man was being deliberately obtuse. He glanced at the closed door and then back again. “You know what I mean. It is unusual to find a woman in such a position. Makes one wonder how she came to be there, or if she were placed by another hand. Especially when you seem to have gone to some lengths to conceal her gender.”

  The older man smiled. “You are chasing the wrong fox, Hamish.”

  “You understand the source of my concern, though.” He leaned forward, arms on his knees. He needed Sir John to fully explain, but at the same time he needed to keep his voice low so the lass in the next room did not hear every word. Words had power, and the right words in the wrong ears could bring down nations.

  The other man’s smile dropped away. “Of course. These are dangerous times. Napoleon is amassing his forces and Prussia has declared against him.”

  Just so. Prussia showed herself as England’s ally, and soon they would corner Napoleon. Yet rumours persisted that the Corsican had a secret plan that would see England exposed and alone. A plan that hinged on a list of names, and some unknown action they would work together to enact. “Do you have the list?”

  He tapped his fingers on the desk pad. “Our resident War Mage has finally broken the enchantment and passed me a list. Whether or not it is the list of significance is yet to be verified.”

  Hamish shook his head. “A man doesn’t bother to encrypt the names of his mistresses.”

  “He might; rather depends on his wife.” Sir John’s eyes crinkled in laughter. “Meanwhile, what do you think of the new buttons?”

  9

  Aster

  * * *

  Late the next afternoon, Aster tied her bonnet under her chin and stepped outside. The evening was warm and it would be a pleasant walk home. Dougal barked and shot across the compacted dirt yard. Hamish waited outside the building, standing by a petite curricle drawn by a single bay horse. The terrier made a beeline to his side and sat before him, his tail making slow wags back and forth.

  Hamish’s hands played with his top hat as she approached. “Let me take you out for dinner.”

  She frowned. Why would he want to do that? And how long had he sat waiting for her to emerge from the building? “That is not necessary, Captain.”

  “Necessary? No. But it is something I wish to do.” In the gathering dusk, the last rays of sun lit the auburn in his hair and ringed him with fire.

  A devil sent to tempt her, or an angel to save her? She couldn’t decide which, nor why she was even having such fanciful thoughts. Perhaps she had spent too much time reading romance novels, where noble heroes swept unremarkable women off their feet. That was something that only seemed to happen in books. Yet he’d bought her a parasol. Never before had she owned such a delicate and beautiful accessory. She would treasure it long after he had left her world and returned to his own. How she ached to believe his interest was genuine, but her conscience was troubled. She caught the sidelong glances he cast at her work, and his attention seemed too… coincidental.

  “There is a respectable tavern between here and your home where couples dine and the men are not too rowdy. The lads tell me the meals are quite satisfactory, and I’m sure no one would notice Dougal if he stayed quiet and hid under the table.” He placed the hat back on his head with an expectant look in his eyes.

  She knew the establishment, and some of her fellow lodgers had spoken of eating there with beaus. The delicious smells that wafted out the open door often tormented her and Dougal on their way home. Her stomach grumbled and reminded her that luncheon was some time ago. The terrier stared at her with large brown eyes, and his tongue hung from his open jaws. He looked like the embodiment of her empty stomach.

  “One meal, Miss Simmons, and I would greatly appreciate your company and wit.” He held an open expression on his face as he waited for her response.

  Did he really desire her company? Could the answer be a simple yes? She sighed, and in that exhaled breath swirled so many dreams she never dared imagine. The idea that he truly paid her suit raced through her veins, as intoxicating as alcohol. The tavern was not so smart that she would feel inferior and out of place, nor so tawdry that she would feel in danger. It was an entirely acceptable place to share a meal with the captain, with Dougal in his role of chaperone. The tiny burgeoning part of her wanted the thrill of dining with a man. For one night, she could dream and imagine herself in a romance novel, being courted by the dashing hero.

  One night, Aster. A few hours to taste of forbidden fruit. “Very well.”

  He grinned and held out a hand to help her into the smart little carriage. Then he picked up Dougal and sat him on the seat between them, like the completely ineffective chaperone he was. The curricle lurched as Hamish climbed in and took up the reins. Aster was grateful for the dog next to her, who became a furry buffer, preventing her from bumping against the captain. Her bravery didn’t quite extend to pressing her body against his—not yet. Just the thought of their first meeting made her skin flush warmly.

  They set off down the road at a trot, and before long they reached the tavern. Light spilled from inside, and the aroma that so often teased Aster’s senses reached her nose. Hamish hitched the horse and then helped Aster down. His hand lingered on hers until she had to pull it back.

  She held up a finger to her dog. “Now hush, Dougal. Captain Logan says they will not notice you if you are very quiet.”

  The canine cocked his head and raised his ears. She could only hope his brain received the message; otherwise he would have to keep the horse company.

  “Shall we?” The captain held out his arm to her and she slipped a hand through. Dougal kept close, his body brushing against her skirts as they entered the tavern. It was like a small adventure. She had never been inside before, and here she was, on the arm of a cavalry officer. She peered round, hoping one or two of the girls from the boarding house might be inside and would see her. She stood a little taller as they walked across the floor.

  They took a table off to one side, away from the nosier patrons. Dougal slipped underneath and sat at Aster’s feet, while the captain ordered a substantial meal. She’d never realised how much men ate—unless he was also planning to stuff Dougal to capaci
ty under the table.

  She played with the linen napkin while her mind raced. Why would the captain want to dine with her? Ignoring her flights of fancy, there was only one reason—purely practical—that would motivate his dinner invitation. “I assume this is to be another interrogation about my origins?”

  His mouth opened and shut while a scowl fleetingly brushed over his face. Disappointment sank in her chest and crushed her fledgling dream. He did not seek her company; he sought answers to his questions. She should be annoyed over his motivation, but she was so starved of attention she would take the crumbs he offered, just as keenly as Dougal would under the table.

  “Perhaps I could offer a trade?” she said.

  He raised one eyebrow and leaned back in his chair. He tried to look serious, but laughter lurked in the depths of his eyes. “Proceed. I may be interested in such an offering.”

  “One question each.” He was not the only one with questions; she harboured her own curiosity about the captain and the Highland Wolves.

  “Very well.” He glanced over his shoulder and then leaned forward on the table. “If you will allow me the impertinence of going first, since this is my interrogation and we are here by dint of my cunning actions.”

  It was fortunate she was sitting. His gentle tease weakened her knees and warmth spread through her torso. “Ask your question, Captain.” Her breath came a little shorter as she met his intense gaze. What would he ask? What small part of herself would she surrender to him?

  Everything, her mind sighed. If he held her close and whispered against her skin, she would surrender everything.

  “What happened to your parents?”

  She dropped her gaze and stared at her hands. Her flush diminished as though a cool breeze had blown over her. How to phrase her answer without sounding terribly tragic? Her romance novel had just turned into a Gothic tragedy. “My father died before I was born. He never knew of me, and I never knew him. My mother raised me on her own, but died when I was fifteen. She loved him until her last breath.” Growing up, she never understood why her mother didn’t marry another and give them both some semblance of a home. She would smile and say no one could replace him in her heart. With her last breath, she whispered his name. Aster could only imagine such a love, a love which endured for an entire lifetime.

  “I’m sorry. How did you cope on your own, without any other family?” A frown dropped over his brows and he reached across the table, but then called his hand back.

  She managed a brief smile. “That would be a second question, Captain, and beyond the scope of our arrangement.”

  He huffed a quiet laugh. “Then I shall have to wait for you again, tomorrow night. You rouse my curiosity, but give it nothing to dine on. Perhaps I will have to ask a question a day until I know everything about you.”

  The idea of him waiting for her every night stole her breath. To imagine weeks stretching into months as he sat across the table from her, and to be the sole focus of his hazel gaze. That was more than the plot of a romance novel—it ascended into the realm of fairy-tale. She needed to deflect such an idea before it took root.

  “I don’t think the reality of my life could live up to your fanciful imaginings. Shall I tell you a story of running away to join a band of pirates and raiding foreign shores? How I swung from the rigging with a sword in my hand, but grew tired of such a life and returned to England to live in obscurity?” She made light of her past, but the reality was grim. Nights spent sheltering under a hedge when she had no roof to protect her. How she hoarded what few coins she earned, never knowing where her next meal might come from. Her gratitude when a dropped parcel led to work that paid in bed and board and engaged her mind, not her body. “I assure you the true tale is not worth the telling.”

  The waitress carried over their meal, and the process of laying out the plates gave Aster much-needed time to rally her mental defences. Her life really was boring, and she didn’t want to lay it all out for a noble to cast judgment on the choices her mother had made.

  “You can take off those infernal glasses now. We are inside by candlelight.” He reached across the table, but she shooed his hand away.

  “There are a great number of candles and lanterns around us, and a bright flame still burns my eyes.” The truth was the coloured glass dulled her vision, but she had her reasons for keeping them on. They offered a small barrier against him. If she removed them, she would have nowhere left to hide. No way to resist him.

  Hamish made a noise in his throat, somewhat like a growl, which made Dougal respond. Now she had two males to hush before they attracted attention.

  Instead, Hamish poured two glasses of light ale and passed one to Aster. “You can ask your question now.”

  She stared at the man across from her. What did she most want to know about him? What one question would reveal the most about the sort of man he was? Should she ask why he tried to read the papers she hid? Would he give a true answer to such a question? No, there was more than one way to tackle a puzzle. “Tell me about your brother.”

  He frowned, and his hand closed around his glass. “You want to know about Rab? Why?”

  “I thought you might want to talk about him. You mentioned the other day that he died not so long ago, but I hope not so recently that the wound is still raw. Talking about a lost family member is a way of remembering them and honouring their memory.”

  His hand relaxed, and for a long moment he simply stared at her. “You are a rare woman, Aster.”

  She should chastise him for his use of her Christian name, but she couldn’t. The breach of etiquette made warmth flare through her limbs every time her name slipped past his lips. Each time he said it, he breathed life to the fiction she built in her mind. He said those two syllables as though he saw the star and not the ordinary flower.

  He took a drink from his glass, and then he began a tale of two boys, only a year apart in age. One was destined to be the heir and was confined to a classroom to learn letters and numbers. The younger boy was boisterous and happiest outside, riding his pony and waving a wooden sword at his best friend and cousin, Alick. There was much mischief in his story, and he often landed his older brother in trouble. Through the stories she glimpsed the bond the two men had forged, even as they were destined for different paths.

  The meal passed easily. Hamish spoke with his hands, drawing images from the air and passing scraps to the hidden Dougal. The dog feasted until he could eat no more and he slumped to his side, then rolled over with his feet in the air. Aster found the captain good company. They covered a range of topics but, much to her relief, never once mentioned needlework or so-called women’s occupations.

  “I must see you safely home. It will be full dark outside and who knows what Unnaturals will lurk in the night,” Hamish said, rising from his chair.

  Aster glanced downward at her canine companion, with his rotund stomach. “We may need to carry Dougal out. I think he has eaten too much for his legs to work.”

  “We could roll him out, but people might mistake him for a keg,” Hamish suggested.

  Aster laughed. “Oh, that is cruel. It’s not his fault he has a weakness for sausage.”

  The dog glared at the comparison to both keg and sausage and levered himself up with a huff. Outside, full dark had settled over the town, and Aster took a risk; she removed the tinted glasses and tucked them into her pocket. Hamish said nothing as he handed her up and placed Dougal on the seat.

  The ride back to the boarding house was uneventful. Aster counted three wights at various points, drifting across fields and roads. She noted the time and spot in a notebook she pulled from her reticule.

  “What are you writing in the dark?” Hamish asked.

  “Sir John and I are collating information about Unnaturals. I am detailing what wights we see and where. They do tend to circle the Arsenal, as though they were planets in orbit.” She tucked the book away; she would add the data to her sheets when she was at her desk tomorrow.


  “Are you not frightened of them?” A yellow light flared in his hazel eyes, and then it was gone.

  “No. Unnatural or man, I think we should judge on actions, not appearance. Some wights are harmless and others mischievous, but they are no more scary than any people I have met.” Aster thought wights sad. Shadows of their previous selves, they were tied to this earth for some reason and too few people gave any thought to helping them to find peace.

  “If the House of Lords think the same way, the Unnatural Act will pass into legislation.” He murmured to the horse as one wight passed too close and the horse startled.

  Aster watched the shade drift back to the longer grass of the field, its form not recognisably male or female. “Good. Everyone in England should be subject to British law whether they walk the earth or float above it.”

  Hamish laughed and soon they arrived at the boarding house, where Hamish placed the terrier on the ground first. Even after Aster’s feet were firmly on the earth, he kept hold of her hand.

  “Thank you for the pleasure of your company, Aster.” His hazel gaze held hers captive, and then he bent his head and kissed the back of her hand.

  She swallowed, since she couldn’t muster any words in reply. Then she remembered her manners. “Thank you, Captain, for a most delightful evening.”

  The next morning, Aster followed her usual routine. She checked and sorted the mail, arranged the tea tray and delivered it to Sir John’s office. Then she paced. A most uncommon thing for her to do, but the situation seemed to warrant pacing. She walked back and forth in front of Sir John’s desk like a small wind-up toy set on a path.

  Eventually he could take the constant motion no longer—she was probably pulling the floor rug out of alignment. “Whatever is bothering you, Aster?”

  She had no one else to confide in. Well, apart from Dougal, and he just cocked his head and wagged his tail. There were things about the world in general, and men in particular, that she needed to know. Issues that a mother would normally guide her daughter through, but in the absence of a maternal figure, she would make do with a benevolent employer.