Blinking hard, she gave a sharp nod and looked away.
“Our plan is to wait here until they decide to contact us. Then we’ll follow their instructions and deliver the diary. She’ll be waiting at Idlewild for you when you return. They won’t harm her.”
But his assurances didn’t put her at ease. Her baby had been kidnapped and was being held God only knew where, most likely terrified and alone, crying out inconsolably for her… A shudder of anguish raced through her, and she forced down the pain and fresh tears by sheer force of will.
“Why would they keep their word?” She wanted to rip them apart with her bare hands! “They’re kidnappers, for God’s sake! They have no decency.”
“Because they know who I am.”
She choked back a strangled laugh. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”
“I am.” He smiled tightly, but she caught a glimpse of something darker inside him, something dreadful, and she shivered. “But I’m even more certain that they realize the repercussions of double-crossing me.”
Before she could question him further, he led her across the hard-packed dirt street and between passing wagons loaded with crates and barrels. They were only a hundred yards from the docks. The scent of saltwater teased at her nose, and between the warehouses and shipping offices lining the waterfront, she caught glimpses of boats of all sizes docked at the wharves and sitting anchored farther out in the bay.
“If the French don’t keep their word, no one connected to Whitehall will ever trust their agents again.” His voice developed a hard edge. “They’ll never be able to negotiate for information or favors after that.”
“Honor among thieves?”
“Dishonor among spies,” he corrected. “But it works the same way in the end. You can’t trust the information you’ve been given if you can’t trust the person who gives it, and they have no reason to destroy all the trust they’ve garnered with the English by double-crossing us. The court of King Louis won’t allow it.” His mouth tightened. “In short, they won’t harm Meri because their own government will kill them if they do.”
She wished she could believe that.
“Here’s our hotel.” He opened the front door and escorted her inside. “Welcome to the Mermaid.”
With fears and worries surrounding Meri engulfing her, she barely noticed the hotel around her or the crowd of guests filling the lobby. She glanced blankly into the adjacent dining room as they passed, where people gathered around small tables and several more waited for a place to sit. The hotel was full to overflowing, and half a dozen more people were lined up at the counter in the lobby, where the hotel manager patiently shook his head at every request and referred them down the street to the coaching inn to find a room.
Christopher guided her up the stairs to a room on the second floor, took out a key from his breast pocket, and unlocked the door. Then he lit a candle on the hallway sconce and led her inside.
She took a deep breath to force down her rising anxiousness and attempted to focus on the room, lit softly by the glow of the candle. A dresser, a washbasin with a pitcher, towels, and soap, and very little else in the room—except for the bed. A perfectly good bed by all standards, clean and comfortable, with a lace canopy stretching over its four posters and lots of thick, down bedding for cool nights by the seaside. Yet her pulse spiked at the sight of it.
Christopher closed the door behind them and set her bag onto a wooden chair in the corner. He noticed her hesitancy as he lit a small lamp on the beside table, then shook out the candle stub to extinguish it. “Is something wrong with the room?”
“There’s only one bed.”
“There is.”
“And no trundle.”
“There is not.”
She slid him a sideways glance. “And no rug on the floor for you to sleep on while I’m tucked into bed.”
He flashed her a rakish grin and drawled, “There certainly is not.”
She scowled at him, irritated. How could he still be attempting to distract her? Hadn’t he realized yet that she was too upset, that all she could think about was Meri and whether she was all right? And to distract her like this, of all ways… “Christopher Carlisle, if you think for one moment that you will—”
“That I will take one of the extra blankets from the bed and sleep on the floor in front of the fireplace?” he interrupted. “Yes, that is exactly what I think.” He paused with an exaggerated expression of shock. “Unless you were thinking something entirely different, that you and I would— For shame, Miss Morgan!” The devil had the gall to look affronted by the suggestion. “What kind of creature do you take me to be?”
Not falling for that for one second, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Certainly not a vicar.”
He laughed and placed a chaste kiss to her forehead before stepping away.
“I am sorry about the sleeping arrangements—and so is my back,” he muttered. “Or it will be after a night on that floor. But this was the last private room left in the village.” He moved around the space, checking to make certain that it was ready for her, including inspecting the pitcher on the washbasin for water. “Tomorrow is the village’s festival of St Brendan, the patron saint of sailors and seamen, and apparently, everyone in southeast England comes to Bradwell to celebrate. Everyone.” He frowned into the box by the fireplace to check if there was enough fuel there to keep them warm through the night. “Which is probably why the French picked this place. With all the people coming into town for the festivities, no one will notice us or them among the crowds, and they can sail away on one of the boats in the harbor as soon as the exchange is over. Which reminds me.” He reached beneath his jacket, withdrew the diary, and extended it out toward her. “You have to carry this from now on.”
With a firm shake of her head, she pushed it away. “You keep it.”
“The French won’t take it from you by force. We don’t know when they’ll ask for it, or how, just that you have to be the one to hand it over. And when they do, you have to give it to them without struggle, understand?”
She eyed it warily. “But to just hand it over like that, without seeing Meri to know if she’s all right—if we give it to them, we’ll lose our only bit of leverage.”
“That’s how it has to be. Right now, they hold all the power, and they know it. We have to do as they say and trust that they’ll keep their word.”
Not having any other choice, she accepted the diary. She stared at it in her hands, as if it were a snake ready to strike.
“It won’t work,” she softly voiced her fear.
“It will. You need to trust in that.”
She gave a sharp nod that wasn’t at all convincing.
Before he could see more doubt darken her face, she crossed to the window. She peered out across the bay with all its boats silhouetted against the black sea in the rising moonlight and the festival tents and booths erected just to the side of the wharves, all lit by lanterns and torches. So many people… She wrung her hands. How would they ever find the French to give over the diary in this crush?
“Relax, Diana,” he said quietly as he approached her from behind and took her shoulders in his hands. “She’ll be fine, and so will you.”
He released her and stepped back. Immediately, she missed his closeness and the comfort he brought.
“In a few days, you’ll have everything you want. You’ll be back home with Meri, going on with your lives as if none of this ever happened.”
Including without him. Because he would have no reason to continue to see her once Meri was safe, once her brother’s guilt was disproved, as she knew it would be. Already she felt the loss of him as palpably as the loss of his hands on her arms.
She turned to face him, tilting her head as she stared at him. Now that she knew the truth, she was learning to see through the mask he wore, to read him to the point that she could almost see the thoughts spinning through his head.
Almost. Because he still kept part o
f himself from her.
“And you, Christopher?” she pressed gently. “What do you want?”
His heart skipped. She didn’t mean that as an offer of intimacy, not when she was so distressed about her child that she shook with it, even now. Yet his gut reflexively tightened at the temptation she posed, at the answer a dark part of his heart wanted to give. Because he wanted so very much, more than he deserved—justice, a future…Diana.
Now, he could never have it.
“I know you want to arrest Garrett,” she said quietly, misunderstanding his hesitation.
“That’s where you’re wrong. I don’t want to arrest him. I wish to God that I didn’t have to, that he hasn’t done the things he has.” How much he wished that! She had no idea.
“Then save yourself the trouble and don’t arrest him.”
He curled his lips into a patient smile. “I can’t do that.” Not even for you.
She stepped closer, making the suddenly small room as tiny as a doll’s house. “Because you’re dedicated to England.”
“Yes.” And to Fitch. At the cost of all else. Including his life.
She lifted her chin in faint challenge. “Will you accept it when Garrett’s proven innocent?”
“Will you accept it when he’s proven guilty?”
“No, because he won’t be.”
He bit back a frustrated laugh. “You’re awfully certain of your brother’s innocence.”
“I’m certain of the character of all the men I care about.”
A hollow pang corkscrewed itself deep into his gut, because he knew she didn’t include him in that group. But God help him, he wanted her to.
When she moved to step away, he stopped her with a gentle touch to her elbow.
“Now that we’re here in Bradwell,” he warned, “you’ll have to do exactly as I say at every step. Understand?”
The little minx had the audacity to appear offended. “When have I ever not?”
Knowing better than to answer truthfully, he said instead, “You can trust me with your life.” He prayed to God that she did. Now that he’d come to the end of the fight, what Diana thought of him mattered. A great deal. He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, to place a kiss to her palm. “Forget everything you’ve heard about me. Trust only what you’ve seen with your own eyes and know with your heart to be true.”
She nodded. Only a small, jerking movement. But relief rumbled through him. Unable to resist bringing them both a moment’s solace, he leaned down to kiss her.
“So not a vicar, then?”
He stopped, his mouth only a hairsbreadth from hers. “Alas, no.”
“Pity. I should have enjoyed listening to you deliver a sermon on the merits of chastity.” Despite the grim worry that exuded from her, a lightness teased in her voice. She was desperately trying for normalcy when her world had been tilted on its axis, and his heart ached for her. “It would have been greatly amusing.”
“And short.”
When a faint smile pulled at her lips through her worry, he knew then that everything would be all right. That she possessed the strength and determination needed to rescue her daughter and thrive, long after he was gone.
She stood so close now that he could feel the heat of her along his front, could smell the lavender scent that surrounded her like a cloud. “No one truly believes that you want to become a vicar, you know. So why do you tell everyone you do?”
“To irritate my brother.” Sweet Lucifer. He called on all his restraint not to sweep her up in his arms and carry her to the bed, to make love to her the way he’d wanted to do since that night at the tavern. And to ease her pain, if only for a few hours.
“Is it working?”
“Beautifully, in fact.” His smile faded, and he let his gaze linger on her, far more longingly than he should have. “Beautiful.”
She caught her breath, the soft sound pulsing into him.
He’d wanted to distract her. Well, that had certainly done the trick. For both of them.
He cleared his throat, then took a long step away from her. There was safety in distance, no matter how frustrating. And other ways to distract her. Ways that were far more proper, if far less pleasurable.
“You’ve been cramped up in coaches for the past two days,” he told her, grasping onto any excuse to leave the room. And to get far away from that bed. “Why don’t you take a few minutes to finish settling in and then meet me downstairs? We’ll explore the village and festival, and you can stretch your legs and take in some fresh air.”
“And after?”
She was asking about the French, but he didn’t want to steer the conversation back there any sooner than he had to. So he dodged. “After, we’ll come back here, where I’ll pay an exorbitant amount of money to have a dinner tray and hot bath brought up for you, and then we’ll get a good night’s sleep.” He grimaced. “With me on the floor. All right?”
She shook her head. “I just want to stay here, in the room, until I have to deliver the diary.” She wrung her hands in front of her and began to pace the small room. “I couldn’t—not while Meri’s being held. I can’t think about anything else except how frightened she must be, if she’s being cared for, or—”
Her voice choked off, unable to bring herself to say it. After all, speak of the devil…
“I understand.” Truly, he did. But then, hadn’t he spent a decade depending upon such coping mechanisms himself? After all, that was how he’d gotten through the world. One lie at a time. Until he was forced together with Diana. Now he wanted nothing more than for all the lies to stop. “Which is exactly why we have to go out. We have to make ourselves visible to the French, to let them know it’s safe to approach us. The sooner they find us, the sooner you can return to Meri.”
And perhaps give her an hour of thinking about anything else but her child. If he could. He’d certainly do his damnedest in trying. Because she would be no good to Meri or anyone if she went into the exchange as nothing more than a ball of churning emotions.
He reached for her arm, to stop her pacing. “Understand?”
“Yes.” But the nervous word was barely louder than a breath.
“I’ll be right by your side the entire time.” He tenderly tucked a curl behind her ear. “And most likely, the French won’t make contact until tomorrow morning.”
She gave a jerking nod.
His chest tightened with her pain. Despite a voice inside his head screaming that he was a damned fool, he pulled her into his arms and held her against him. He wanted only to protect her, to soothe her fears and bring her comfort, however small.
When she slipped her arms around his waist to snuggle herself deeper into his arms and find comfort there, a warmth swelled inside him unlike any he’d ever known. Any lingering doubts he had about doing this for her vanished like morning fog.
He lowered his mouth to her ear and, as if sharing a secret, murmured, “You are one of the most capable women I have ever met, Diana. You’re strong and beautiful…so very resilient. You will survive this, and you will come out even stronger for it.”
Reluctantly, he released her from his arms and stepped away. Then he turned to leave the room, to find enough distance from her to clear his head and keep his focus on what was coming for them.
“You never answered my question,” she called after him. “About what you want for yourself?”
He paused in the doorway. What she was asking for—the impossible. She wanted him to consider a different future for himself than the one he knew was coming, because he had no future. Once he handed over the diary to save Meri, Whitehall would end him.
“I know,” he answered quietly. Then he stepped into the hall and closed the door.
Chapter 16
“Look there!” Christopher pointed across the aisle at one of the fair booths. “I was hoping someone would be selling those.”
Amid the crowded festival, Diana turned to watch as Christopher tossed a coin to a woman beside a gr
iddle that lay across the coals of an open fire at the edge of the fairgrounds. She scooped up a large spoonful of whatever it was that she was frying and deposited it into a paper cone, then handed it to him.
Beside him, Diana rose up onto her tiptoes to see what he’d bought. He was trying very hard to distract her tonight by taking her to the festival, and she was trying very hard to play along. The attempt was endearing, and drat the rascal for making her feel even more special when she was with him. But worried thoughts of Meri still hovered at the forefront of her mind.
Yet curiosity got the better of her, and she couldn’t keep herself from peering into the cone. Tiny fried bits about the size of small grapes with a briny, fishy scent… “Cod pieces?”
As he led her away from the fire and back toward the heart of the night-time fair, he popped one into his mouth. “Periwinkles.”
Around them, the festival of St Brendan was in full swing, and the little village had come alive with everyone enjoying themselves in preparation for tomorrow’s more solemn holy day when they celebrated the saint’s feast. That afternoon, a parade of fishermen, sailors, wives, and children had marched from the parish church through the town and down to the water, where the local priest performed the annual blessing of the boats and unofficially began the more raucous celebrations of drinking, eating, gaming, and dancing that would go long into the night.
Rows of vendor stalls and tents crossed the sloping field just above the wharves, and a crush of people filled the space between as they bought food, shopped for trinkets, and drank far more than they should have out of their rented tankards and mugs. Bonfires and torches lit the night. Music drifted from bands scattered across the fairgrounds, punctuated by shouts from the musicians as they encouraged people to dance. Cheers went up around various games from the winners, followed by jeers from the losers. People wearing costumes and masks dotted the crowd, with many dressed up like pirates and mermaids. All of them were having a rollicking good time.
After the Spy Seduces Page 16
