She tried to reply, to form coherent words, but the sound came out as a groan, and she clutched him tighter.
The sound of children’s laughter and shouting encroached on the sound of her heart hammering in her ears. The children were playing just a few feet away, on the other side of the oak. She flattened her palms against Alistair’s chest but couldn’t summon the strength of will to actually push him away.
Thankfully he heard the children, too. He dropped his hands to her waist and pulled back a little, though he nuzzled her neck another few precious seconds, his ragged breathing puffing against her ear, sending fresh shivers all the way down to her toes.
He bent down to retrieve his hat, and Charlotte held her hand over her pounding heart. While his head was turned, she fanned her overheated cheeks.
Oh, my.
Alistair’s kiss was even better than she had imagined. Passionate and all-consuming. “I was right,” she said to herself.
He dusted off his hat and set it on his head. “Right about what?”
“About the way you would kiss.”
The left side of his mouth quirked up in a crooked smile. “You’ve thought about kissing me?”
She patted her clothing to make sure everything was in its proper place. “Perhaps a little. In passing.” She glanced around the park, hoping she didn’t look as wanton as she felt. The two children she saw earlier ran past the tree, chasing a ball, laughing and shrieking. Their governess was not far behind.
Once they were out of sight, Alistair gestured for her to step forward, and he reached behind her to brush the leaves and bits of bark from her dress. He barely skimmed her injured left side, but his hand lingered on the right side of her derriere, smoothing down the fabric. She arched an eyebrow at him, but he maintained a look of innocence.
Two more people headed their way on the path, a young woman Charlotte recognized from a few doors down, accompanied by her maid.
By silent agreement, Charlotte took Alistair’s arm and they began walking again.
“You’re not going to succeed in distracting me,” he began when they were out of earshot of anyone else in the park.
“I beg your pardon?” He thought she had been trying to distract him? Her lips still tingled from his tender assault.
“I won’t be swayed from my original intent.”
“Which is?”
“To persuade you to give up this dangerous quest of yours. I thought I could protect you, but I was proven wrong.”
Her spine stiffened. “I have never sought your protection, or anyone else’s. I have been endeavoring to prove, in fact, that I don’t need anyone’s protection. Nor do I want it. I’m perfectly capable—”
“Yes, I know, and I place the blame for that independent streak squarely on Steven’s shoulders. He had no right to subject you to such a dangerous way of life, and you were too young to know any better.” The arm not holding hers gestured wildly as he talked. “Now it’s like opium to you. You crave the excitement, the danger. It’s going to get you killed.”
She dug her nails into her palm. Becoming loud and defensive would only make him think he’d proved his point. “I always choose my course of action very carefully, after gathering information to help me make the best decision. Before last night, I had never injured anything but my dignity. In five years of working in France during the war, I never sustained anything more serious than a bruise or a few scratches. Steven is the one with the scars and quick temper. He’s the one who acts rashly.”
“But you can’t control the rash actions of others with quick tempers. People who have pistols, and are willing to use them.” He halted again, and his somber expression gave her pause. “Someone tried to kill you last night. I couldn’t stop him. The only way I can protect you is to prevent you from being exposed to that kind of danger in the first place.”
Charlotte narrowed her eyes. There was more going on here than just his masculine need to protect the so-called weaker sex. Beating her head against a wall was never productive, and Alistair had certainly put up a wall when it came to this issue.
Time to go around, over, or dig beneath that wall.
“Who did you fail to protect last time?”
He staggered back half a step as though she’d struck him a physical blow. “Wh-What?”
“You’re speaking with the voice of experience. You needed to protect someone, and somehow you failed. I want to know details.”
He widened his stance and raised his chin. “It’s not that simple. And you’re trying to change the subject. We’re discussing how your pursuit of a career as a spy is putting you in danger, and how marrying me will preclude the need for such a career.”
She put her hands on her hips. “No, I think we’re discussing your need to protect people, and I simply happen to be the current target of that need.” Her instincts had always been right—it’s why she’d been so successful, and unscathed. They weren’t letting her down this time, either. “You have no objection to Steven being a spy. During the war, not once did you try to persuade your dear friend Nick that it was too dangerous for him to be a courier for the Home Office and sneak his ship through the blockades, to sail right past the noses of the French navy. It is only with me that you have a problem. Why?”
He wouldn’t meet her gaze for the longest time, but at last he raised his hand to trail his fingers down her cheek in a tender caress.
“Who was she?”
He didn’t answer aloud, but his eyes clouded with sorrow.
Her stomach clenched. She grasped his wrist. “How did she die?”
He paused, his hand still cradling her cheek, her fingers wrapped around his wrist where she felt his pounding pulse. When he at last spoke, she barely heard him over the whisper of wind in the trees.
“The axle broke, and her carriage plunged into a ravine.”
She waited a moment to let the horrific images his words conjured settle. “Were you driving? Or in the carriage?”
“No.”
She lowered his hand so she could hold it between both of hers. “Did you cause the axle to break?”
“Of course not!”
“Then how was it your fault, your failure to protect?”
His fingers tightened around hers. “I saw the crack. I knew the axle was damaged, but I said nothing.”
Her breath caught. She chose her words carefully. “You don’t strike me as someone who would intentionally allow another person to be hurt. You must have had a very good reason for not speaking up.”
He shook his head and stared off into the distance.
“How long ago did this happen?”
He mumbled a reply, his eyes apparently still seeing the accident.
“I couldn’t hear you.” She cupped his strong jaw and turned him back toward her.
“Twenty years ago, this past spring.”
Twenty years? “That would mean that at the time of the accident you were…”
“Five.”
“And you’ve carried the guilt for her accident all this time? But you were just a child!”
“You don’t understand.” His anguished tone tore at her insides.
“Then help me understand.”
He let out a shaky sigh and began walking. She fell into step beside him.
“It was not just my mother who died in the accident. My older brother and two little sisters were also traveling with her that day.”
Charlotte’s heart squeezed, forcing the air out of her lungs. She threaded her fingers through his, locking their hands together.
“They were going into the village, shopping. A trip we’d made hundreds of times. Thousands. But I was being punished for misbehavior the day before, and not allowed to go. I didn’t say anything about the axle looking wrong, because I was again being disobedient in playing in the carriage house in the first place.”
Charlotte struggled to find words that would offer him comfort. What could she say that hadn’t already been said to him, undoubt
edly many times over, during the course of the years? “You’re right. The accident was your fault.”
He jerked to a halt and gaped at her.
“At the country estate of a family as exalted as yours, I would expect that your family employed at least one coachman, if not several coachmen, who were responsible for the care and maintenance of all the vehicles. I presume there were also any number of grooms and undergrooms who were employed to care for the horses, harnesses, and other equipment. With all of those adults, clearly it was up to you, a child of five, to ensure that the coach was safe for travel.”
His jaw closed with a snap. “You make me sound ridiculous.”
“That is not my intention.” She caressed his hand with her thumb, feeling his coiled strength, hoping to impart some of hers. “I understand, at least a little, the horrible tragedy that you’re still trying to come to terms with, to have it make some sense. Don’t you think I wish there had been something I could do when my mother became ill, or my father died? Steven is still trying to prove that he is a better man than his stepfather, but we cannot dwell on the past.”
“We can’t forget the past. It’s what makes us who we are today.”
“True, but being overly protective of me will not bring back your mother or siblings. And you’re right, Steven is to blame for indoctrinating me into the life of a spy, but he trained me well. I have the skills and instincts to be successful at it, and nothing you say or do can change that, no matter how much you might wish it. I’m going to get back the snuffbox. You can’t stop me. But you can help me, if you want.”
The anguish was gone from his eyes, replaced by a grim determination that did nothing for her peace of mind. “You leave me little choice in the matter.”
Before she could respond, she saw Steven’s approach.
“Ah, there you are.” He sauntered up to them, hands clasped behind his back, the image of a gentleman at ease. “Lovely afternoon for a walk, isn’t it?”
The lines of tension on his face proved the image to be false. Her emotions still near the surface from her conversation with Alistair, she tried not to immediately think the worst. “Is anything amiss?”
“Can’t a fellow simply enjoy a little stroll in the afternoon?”
“Any other fellow, perhaps.” She gave him a pointed stare. “You’re not planning to chaperone us, are you?”
“Do you two need a chaperone?”
“Steven,” she ground out.
“Afternoon, Blakeney,” Alistair said, perfectly polite. If his emotions were still too near the surface, he was hiding them well.
Steven acknowledged the greeting with a terse nod. He stopped in front of Charlotte. “When you are free, I’ve received some news that may be of interest to you. I just wanted you to know.” He spun on his heel and headed back down the path, out of the park.
“News concerning his part of the investigation?”
Charlotte nodded. “That would be my guess.”
“Then let’s not keep him waiting.” Alistair began walking, heading back to the house.
Since their hands were still linked and Alistair showed no inclination toward letting go, Charlotte had no choice but to try to keep up.
“Oh, sorry.” He slowed down.
“You should know that I told Steven about my attempt to retrieve the box last night, but I may have left out a few details.”
“Details, such as the fact that you got shot?”
“And I may have omitted the bit about your participation in the night’s events.” She winced, and tried to read his expression.
He gave a small smile. “How did you explain away your limp?”
“Told him it’s a bruise. Does this mean you’re with me rather than against me?”
“I will always be with you, Charlotte.”
Chapter 13
Alistair followed Charlotte into the drawing room, where her brother was in the process of requesting a tea tray. Another man paced before the fireplace, his enormous Roman nose presented in profile. He was dressed in a similar fashion as Blakeney—barely respectable—and had used half a bottle of Macassar oil to hold his overlong, dark hair in place. Upon noticing Alistair, the stranger raised his nose and eyed him with the same disdain one generally reserved for a mosquito.
Alistair felt just as welcome, but had no intention of leaving Charlotte’s side.
Apparently realizing none of the men would sit unless she did so first, she perched on the edge of a straight-back chair, doing her best to hide a grimace of pain. Alistair pulled up a nearby chair.
“What is the news?” She leaned forward.
Steven and the stranger said nothing, pointedly staring at Alistair.
She gave a huff of impatience. “Alistair knows everything,” she announced.
“Everything, ma petite?”
“Yes, Gauthier. Oh, I’m sorry, you two haven’t been properly introduced. He is a friend of Nick’s, so you can speak freely.”
Alistair was slightly affronted that she hadn’t referred to him as her fiancé. Perhaps she still hadn’t accepted their betrothal was real? Clearly he had more work to do.
“News?” she prompted her brother.
Steven scowled at him, then handed Charlotte a piece of paper. “This is a copy of the note that was delivered to Lord Q’s office a few hours ago. They tried to track down the author but could get no further than the street urchin who delivered it. Lad couldn’t be more than nine or ten, and claims he was paid a shilling by a well-dressed toff. No reason to doubt his story.”
She held it to the side so Alistair could read over her shoulder.
A certain letter has fallen into my possession, which I am sure you would prefer to have returned to your own safekeeping. I would be happy to restore this precious document to its rightful owner, and only ask a finder’s fee of twenty thousand pounds in exchange. I’m sure you’ll agree ’tis a trifling sum to pay to avoid the contents being printed in a newspaper.
It went on to describe where and when the money should be delivered, in three days’ time.
Alistair gave a low whistle. “Doesn’t want much, does he?”
“And we all know twenty thousand is just the beginning.” Steven held his finger up for silence when the maid knocked and entered with the tea tray. He gestured for her to bring it to the table in front of him, sparing Charlotte the need to play hostess.
“I don’t understand,” Charlotte said as soon as the maid had curtsied and left again. “Is Lord Q giving you a new assignment before the other is completed?”
Steven shook his head. “Lord Q left out a few details when he gave me the assignment. Apparently this letter was hidden inside the snuffbox.”
She tossed the scrap of parchment onto the table. “Why would the Home Office or the prince care if the contents of this letter became public knowledge? He already lives a life so scandalous, no one should be shocked by anything he’s written, or that was written to him.”
“Ma petite, that was another detail. Your Prinny, he gave the box to someone else. It is not his letter, not his secret that has fallen into the wrong fingers.”
“Hands,” Steven corrected absently.
Charlotte accepted a cup of tea from her brother. “Then whose secret is it? Who was the original recipient of the blackmail note?”
“We haven’t been made privy to that information.” Steven sat down again. “What matters is that we can’t allow the contents of the letter to become public knowledge.”
Charlotte took a sip. “Whoever he is, I wonder if he’s the one who sent those two men to retrieve it? I thought they were from Darconia, but perhaps not.”
Alistair noted that Steven had not offered him a cup of tea. “Dar—What?”
“Darconia,” Charlotte said. “You need a magnifying glass to see their country on a map of the Continent. One of their female dignitaries recently gave the snuffbox to Prinny as a token of her affections, but it turns out the box was part of their equivalent of the
crown jewels. Our plan was to get back the box, make a duplicate of it for Prinny, and return the original to the Darconians. Then everyone would be happy, Prinny and his paramour none the wiser, and an international incident averted.”
Alistair got up and poured his own cup while Charlotte explained. He let her words sink in while he stirred the sugar into his tea. “Except the Darconians are an impatient lot, aren’t they? Or they simply didn’t trust that you would give them back the original.”
She frowned at him. “Why do you say they’re impatient?”
“Who else would have an interest in breaking into Toussaint’s study before we got there last night?”
Gauthier had been lounging by the fire, leaning an elbow against the mantel, but he straightened at this. “You were with ma petite last night?”
Steven pinned Alistair with a glare. “And you couldn’t stop her?”
Alistair rolled his eyes. “Are we talking about the same female who followed you through Paris alleyways in the middle of the night when she was still young enough to have belonged in the schoolroom?”
He waved his hand. “Right. What was I thinking?”
“I’m getting bloody tired of people talking about me as if I’m not in the room.”
Ignoring Charlotte’s indignation, Steven marched over to Alistair’s chair. “Just a moment. You were with her last night?” His tone was deadly soft, deceptively calm. “All night?”
Having his bride forced to the altar by her irate brother was not the best way to begin a marriage. Alistair was going to have her, but he wanted her to come willingly. “We spent the night on Nick’s ship, yes.” He stood up.
Steven did not back away.
They stood nose to nose. “It was late when we left Toussaint’s, and it was safer for her to pass the night on the nearby Wind Dancer than travel through neighborhoods that even during daylight hours are dangerous at best. Nick had her stay in the captain’s cabin. That’s the usual procedure when she’s stayed on board, I believe?”
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