by Liana Lefey
But her face remained tense. “And what of my friend, the Archangel? Do you not think they will ask about him?” She looked down to where her fingers twisted the coverlet. “You should know I’ve destroyed anything tangible that might have led them to him.”
“They won’t ask.”
“How can you be certain?”
Reason warred with his conscience, but it was a short battle. “Because I’ll tell them there is no connection, and they’ll believe me. Between Horton and me, they’ll have all the testimony they need to pronounce you blameless. If they insist on digging any deeper, I’ll direct them to your friends, Lord and Lady Montgomery. I’m sure they’d happily give witness as to this establishment’s legitimacy.”
“They would. But I hope it does not come to that. It’s bad enough you are willing to lie on our behalf.” Anger sparked in her eyes. “It’s unfair that we should have to resort to deception when our purpose is so benign. But we have no other choice. It’s the only way to ensure their safety.”
“It’s for the greater good,” he agreed, rubbing out the last speck of guilt. “But if we are to protect the Archangel, your friends must be in accord.”
“You’ve nothing to fear. All of us have agreed never to reveal his identity.”
“That’s all well and good—as long as everyone’s stories match up. One slip from just one person and it will all come apart.” He hesitated to say it, but he had to. “The children would be considered easy targets for questioning.”
The look she gave him was one of disdain. “You are not the first to make uncomfortable inquiries concerning the students’ origins. Twice, the crown has sent a man to inspect the premises, once just after the school was built and again about a year ago. The last time, he questioned several students. One was only five years old. She revealed nothing beyond a dislike of the man’s breath. Everyone here knows the importance of secrecy.”
Though her words eased his mind a little, it wasn’t enough to relax him entirely. So much was at stake. The gentle press of soft lips against his shoulder brought him out of his reverie.
“Think not of such things now,” she murmured. “We have but a short time before we must part, lest we cause a scandal.”
He couldn’t help smiling. “You worry about such a thing when someone is threatening your life?”
“I worry about what the girls will think,” she retorted, though the sting was lessened by her rueful smile. “I lecture them on the value of chastity, and yet here am I…”
“Do you regret having given in to our desires?”
Her cheeks flushed, and she buried her face against him. “No. I don’t. And despite the fact that you arrived here under the false impression that an appalling wrong was being committed, I’m glad you came.”
So am I. A surge of renewed desire again stirred him to hardness as she stretched up to press her still-swollen lips against his. The invitation in her eyes was a welcome surprise. With another kiss, he accepted.
The lamps had burned low by the time they were sated, and dawn was only a few hours away. Though he hated to leave, Will knew he couldn’t stay. Her eyes followed him as he rose and quietly dressed.
Nothing was said. No good-byes, no promises. None were needed. They were bound by an unbreakable tether.
He waited until he heard the snick of the lock behind him before padding away and down the stairs, shoes in hand. With luck, he’d make it to his room without encountering anyone or waking Mr. Bartleby.
Given the regularity of the resonant snores issuing from the fellow, however, Will felt it safe to assume he was a heavy sleeper. Timing his footsteps to the explosions, he tiptoed across the foyer and let himself into his makeshift room without incident. With a rueful smile at having to sneak around as if Mrs. Sloane was his mother, he lowered himself into bed and pulled the blankets up to ward off the chill.
The sound of people stirring outside his door brought Will back to the waking world a few hours later, but he felt no grudge. Indeed, his face could do naught but smile. He felt like a new man. Already, his mind was moving in new directions. After all this was over, he’d speak with Sir Gonson about opening a small branch office for the Boys here in Piccadilly. There’d already been talks about spreading their new, specialized method of law enforcement to other parts of London while keeping a centralized command. He’d volunteer to lead the charge here and, once settled in where he could work quietly without drawing attention to himself, begin courting Jacqueline properly, openly.
No one will question it as long as we wait until she’s proven innocent. No one will wonder about her past. No one need ever know. He told himself it was for her sake, not his. But the truth was it would make things so much easier for them both if there was nothing to spur people’s curiosity.
It was a good plan. But first, he must find the one who stalked her and see an end to the threat.
Chapter Seventeen
When Jacqueline opened her eyes, it wasn’t to stare at a dark ceiling while trying to slow a racing heart or banish a nightmare. Though the fire had burned to naught but embers and all but one of the lamps had run out of fuel, there was plenty of light in the room. It streamed in through her window, bright and steady.
Her gaze sought out the clock on the mantel. It was a quarter past seven. Blankets and sheets flew up as she bolted from the bed and began rushing about, searching for clothes.
Henriette—where is Henriette? How could she have let me sleep so late? Looking down at her naked self, Jacqueline decided she was happy her maid hadn’t awakened her. Spying her wrapper on the floor beside the bed, she picked it up and threw it on before pulling the cord that ran between her room and Henriette’s.
By the time she came, Jacqueline had already washed her face and was combing the last of the tangles out of her hair. The bed was in an awful state of disarray. She blushed to look at it, but couldn’t keep from smiling.
In spite of everything, he wanted her. He’d asked her to marry him. She’d never bear him children, but she’d be a wife in every other sense of the word. Mrs. Danbury. She grinned in spite of herself. “That will do,” she said when Henriette had finished arranging her hair. If she hurried, she could still grab a quick breakfast.
A glance at the mirror gave her pause as she reached for her shawl. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes alight and sparkling. The last time she’d looked this happy was before Papa had died. She forced her features into a sober expression. It wouldn’t do to go about looking like a calf-eyed fool.
She kept her head bowed until she reached the staff table. Of course, the first face she saw when she looked up was Will’s. His blue gaze held her for a few heartbeats before he bid her good morning and returned his attention to his plate.
Sitting down, she accepted the tea and the bowl of porridge placed before her with a nod of thanks to Agnes.
Agnes! Reaching out, she laid a hand on the woman’s forearm, stopping her before she could make for the kitchen. “I need to speak with you privately this morning,” she murmured. “Meet me in Mrs. Sloane’s suite as soon as the first class begins.”
A look of worry crossed Agnes’s face. “Have I done wrong?”
“No, no. I just need to speak with you concerning a…personal matter.”
The cook’s gaze at once flicked to where Will sat.
Jacqueline felt her cheeks grow hot, but quelled the urge to refute the woman’s unspoken assumption. It occurred to her then that it might not be a bad idea to announce their intent to marry. In the wake of such news, the locksmith’s arrival would surely go unnoticed. She’d suggest it to Will before they met with the others. Dismissing Agnes, she focused on trying to eat.
When the bell signaled the end of the repast, she followed the others out. Her skin tingled as Will hung back and waited until she drew up beside him.
“I’ve already taken the liberty of speaking with Mrs. Sloane,” he whispered. “She’s agreed to allow us the use of her sitting room. Also, the message has bee
n sent with Mr. Bartleby. All that remains is to await a reply or, more likely, his arrival.”
As soon as the last student was out of earshot, she quickly relayed her thoughts. “What think you?”
Her heart sank at his look of consternation. “I intended to wait until after this case was solved before entering into formal courtship or making any sort of announcement. As far as my superiors know, you’re still a suspect. By waiting until after your innocence is proven and things quiet down, we lessen the chances of anyone poking into your past.”
Despite her expertise when it came to concealing pain, it was only with great effort that Jacqueline maintained a neutral expression. He is ashamed and fearful of what people will think of me, and rightly so. Now that his mind wasn’t clouded by lust, good sense had asserted itself. Better to know while I still have some dignity left than find out later. Squaring her shoulders, she strove for a brisk tone. “If you wish to retract your offer of marriage, I perfectly underst—”
“What? No!” he cut in, flushing. “That’s not what I meant at all. I just think it would be easier if we waited until things were more settled before becoming officially engaged. No one will question a romantic association later, but if we were to announce it now, amid all this turmoil…”
She nodded, swallowing to clear her throat of the uncomfortable lump that had taken up residence in it. “I agree. Waiting is the sensible course.”
“Sensible, but not preferable,” he breathed, leaning closer. “Believe me when I say I’m impatient to leave bachelorhood behind, but we cannot afford to take foolish risks.” Glancing about first, to be sure they were alone, he then bent and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.
Need reawakened as if she’d not thoroughly sated herself last night, and it took all her strength not to fling her arms around his neck. Unable to speak after he broke the delicious contact, she nodded agreement.
The door was open and Agnes had already arrived by the time they reached Mrs. Sloane’s quarters. Jacqueline could hear the women whispering as they rounded the corner and entered the sitting room. Silence fell the moment they were noticed.
“I’m sure you must be wondering why I asked to meet with you privately this morning,” she began. “I need to inform you of some impending changes relating to the school’s security.” She told them about the locksmith.
Both women looked stunned, but it was Mrs. Sloane who spoke first, her tone laden with reproach. “None but we in this room have keys to the outer doors. Do you not trust us to safeguard them?”
“It’s not you we distrust,” interrupted Will before she could speak. He shot her a meaningful glance, and then to her surprise told them about Sally. “It was pure chance that Mr. Bartleby noticed the flashes from her window last night,” he lied. “She was communicating with someone.”
Two gasps followed. Agnes’s face reddened. “I’ll see the wench turned out the very instant—”
“You cannot,” cut in Will. “We must perpetuate the belief that her duplicity has gone undetected.”
After he explained why, Agnes looked to Mrs. Sloane, who nodded agreement. She sighed. “I like it not, but I’ll do it.”
Jacqueline breathed a sigh of relief. “Our most immediate need is to make certain she comes nowhere near either of the two entrances where the locksmith is to work.”
Agnes’s chin lifted. “No fear of that, ma’am. I’ll see she’s kept busy. I’ve bushels of potatoes that need peeling and vegetables to be chopped. Once that’s done, I’ll set her to scrubbing out the cellar. After that, she can tend the pots until the supper is ready. She’ll earn her keep honestly this day, and no mistake!”
Sally would likely drop from exhaustion tonight.
After dismissing everyone to their respective duties, Jacqueline went to her office to write some letters and try to calm her frayed nerves. To her immense relief, Will’s locksmith finally arrived just after the afternoon rest period. Agnes was true to her word and kept Sally in the kitchen the entire day.
Jacqueline was preparing to leave when Mrs. Sloane poked her head around the doorframe.
“Our gentleman visitor would like to see you,” she whispered, showing in a wizened, gray-haired man with sharp green eyes. “I’ll stand watch and make certain you’re not disturbed.”
The locksmith grunted a perfunctory greeting and immediately reached into his satchel, withdrawing a large padlock, which he set down atop her desk with a heavy thunk. “Mah latest—an’ if ye dinnae mind mah seeyin’ so—mah finest work yet,” he said, his northern burr even thicker than MacCallum’s. “Iron clad wi’ brass. See here?” He pointed a grubby fingertip at it. “The keyhole is hooded an’ fitted wi’ a cover tae keep out the wet, so it willnae rust. An’ ’tis completely thief-proof—three wards, five tumblers, an’ a lever that naught but this key can move.” He grinned. “If I cannae pick it, no one can.”
Next he drew out three jingling sets of keys. The majority of the noise was created not by the keys, but by tiny bells attached to each iron ring. “Just like the ones at the Tower,” he said, shaking one to set the bells atinkle. “Keeps sly fingers awee, an’ the rings hae been weelded so the keys cannae be removed.”
If anyone wanted a key, they’d have to take the whole noisy lot. A simple but effective way to thwart a thief.
Taking up one of the rings, he held up the largest key. “This one fits the padlock. Tha’ back gate is a weak point, but wi’ this, ye should be secure. Tha’ Sloane woman has the new chain I brought to go wi’ it—’tis a guid bit thicker than one ye hae now.” He took the smaller key between a blackened thumb and forefinger. “These fit both outside doors. As per instruction, only the innards hae been replaced. The old face plates remain. I stand by mah workmanship, but I highly advise ye tae keep those doors barred when no’ in use.”
He handed her all three sets of keys.
“Thank you, monsieur. Your skill is most appreciated, as is your haste in answering our need.”
Color stole into the man’s rough, unshaven cheeks. “’Tis mah job tae see tae the security of those as pay me, ma’am.”
A broad hint, if ever she’d heard one. “How much?”
But he shook his head. “Mah fee is already paid.”
“By whom?” she demanded, frowning.
“The constable.”
She knew he meant Will, but Mrs. Sloane, who was doubtless listening to every word, would think he meant Deering. “I see. Nevertheless…” Opening her desk drawer, she withdrew two guineas and extended them toward him. “For your swift response and a job well done.”
His cheeks pinked further as he reached out to take them with a brusque nod of thanks. “I’ll remember it, ma’am. If ever ye hae need, ye hae but tae send, an’ I’ll coom.”
“Again, you have my deepest gratitude.” She called out softly for Mrs. Sloane. “Here,” she said, handing her a set of keys. “Take him out through the kitchen to the back,” she instructed, picking up the padlock. “While there, replace the old lock with this. The new chain can join it later tonight.”
“But S—” Mrs. Sloane stopped and glanced nervously at the locksmith. “She’ll see and know something is afoot.”
“Indeed. My hope is that she will concentrate on the gate’s fortification and not notice the other locks have been altered.”
Sloane nodded and set off with the locksmith in tow.
Jacqueline took a new set of keys and slipped it into her pocket, using the ribbon sewn into its lining to secure it with the others. The other set went into her strongbox. Agnes had agreed to keep wearing her old keys to help maintain the ruse. Once all was resolved, she’d receive the new set. Until then, Mrs. Sloane would be the one to lock and unlock the back gate.
…
All remained quiet and the watcher was not seen again for the next fortnight. Though tempted, Jacqueline knew better than to relax her vigilance. Just because no one saw the watcher didn’t mean they weren’t being watched. Sally had doubtless told he
r accomplice they were aware of the eyes upon them.
The enticement to believe the danger ended wasn’t the only temptation. Every day spent in Will’s company was a trial of restraint. It was imperative that she set a flawless example of modesty and virtue for her girls. Thus, they’d agreed there were to be no more clandestine kisses in the hall, and no midnight trysts.
It was torture of the most acute kind.
When Jacqueline rose on Thursday morning after another restless night, she dressed with grim resignation. I can do this. I can wait. I will wait. Never let it be said that I’m without self-discipline.
Knowing Will suffered the same torment didn’t help much. His eyes silently voiced his desire, and every touch, no matter how innocent, sent a thrill of want through her. At night, her dreams were now plagued by remembrances not of past evils, but of their passion. Never had time’s progress seemed slower.
And so Jacqueline trudged downstairs, looking forward to another day of having to exert iron self-control, of having to ignore the constant pull of attraction between them. She spied Mrs. Sloane bustling down the hall and called out a greeting.
“I was hoping you’d be down soon,” said her friend. Reaching into her apron pocket, Mrs. Sloane withdrew a letter. “A lad delivered this for you not five minutes ago. I tried to ask who sent it, but he bolted.”
Turning it over, Jacqueline frowned. There was neither name nor address to identify the sender. She broke the unadorned wax seal, and as she unfolded the parchment something fell out. Bending, she retrieved from the floor a long, thin braid tied with a red ribbon. Mystified, she turned it over. Multiple shades of blonde, brown, black, and copper told her this wasn’t the hair of one individual, but many.
“How odd,” mumbled Mrs. Sloane, peering at it with puzzlement. “What does the letter say?”
Jacqueline handed her the braid and turned her attention to the correspondence.
My Dearest Raquel,
Cold sweat broke out all over Jacqueline’s flesh, and her heart began to pound as though trying to escape its cage. The paper in her hand trembled violently.