Helen shook her head slowly, a lump forming in her throat. “Oh, Mama, I miss him so much. How can he leave me here after what we’d been through?”
Her mother pulled Helen into her arms, shushing her. “Because he probably loves you in return, and he probably did leave you with some indication, but given that he is a man of honor, whose honor is now in question because of the failure to protect you, he had no choice but to finish his task, and then ride off to right the wrongs.”
That was impossible, Jeremy would never feel that way. And he hadn’t done anything to make Helen feel even remotely hopeful.
Except for that warming brick.
And the blanket.
And that look in his eye.
And the kick to the shins.
Another rough exhale escaped Helen and her hand moved to her brow. “He loves me?” she asked, her voice breaking.
Her mother laughed and cupped her daughter’s face. “I don’t know, love. I don’t even know who he is. But I think there is a definite reason to hope.”
“Hope is all I’ve got,” Helen told her. “And I don’t even know that I really have that.”
“Oh, Helen,” her mother said with a much softer laugh. “Love is all about hope, especially when you don’t know. Now,” she paused as she straightened up almost stiffly, “what’s this about you being foolish? I did not raise foolish children, aside from Elise, and we’re working on that.”
Helen coughed a surprised laugh and grabbed her mother’s wrists. “Mama, you know I’m being foolish. It’s obvious, isn’t it?”
Her mother smiled and curved her fingers around Helen’s hands. “No, darling, you are in love. But you are turning this all upside down and yourself inside out. That is only going to make you doubt everything and take all the fun out of it. This Jeremy fellow will come around, if he’s the sort of man I think he is, and when he does, you will have to decide if you love him enough to believe his sincerity.”
“I did believe him,” Helen said softly.
“Did?” her mother repeated firmly. “Or do?”
Helen opened her mouth to reply, and yet there were no words to reply with.
Did she believe Jeremy? Did she believe that the man she had met in the coach, the one who was so much more than the man she had left London for, could possibly love her in return? Did she believe what he had said?
Everything I ever said to you or about you was the sincerest I’ve ever been in my life.
Her breath caught at the memory of his words. The look in his eye, the feel of his hand, the taste of his lips…
It had all been real.
She believed him.
And she believed in him, which seemed a rather more significant part.
Her mother saw the realization dawn on her, and Helen stared at her in wonder as she nodded. “What?” Helen asked.
Her mother shrugged with a knowing smile. “It seems you’ve reached a decision.”
Helen grinned back at her. “I have.”
“And?”
“I’m giving Jeremy two weeks,” Helen told her as her mind whirled, and she felt life and energy seep back into her. “Just two weeks more, and if he isn’t here in front of me, or hasn’t sent some sort of word, I’ll be in a coach back to London and taking him for myself.”
Her mother laughed once and clapped her hands. “And if the gentleman doth protest?”
Helen grinned deviously, thinking of the Jeremy who’d whacked her across the shins in retaliation. “I’d like to see him try.”
Chapter Thirteen
"Do you know, I think Rook might be ill.”
“Do you really? I didn’t know he was susceptible to such mortal afflictions.”
“How else can we account for his solemnity and rather peaky expression?”
“He always looks like that.”
“True, but he smiles more.”
Jeremy looked up from his desk at Gent and Rogue, who leaned in the doorway to the office like bizarre mirror images of each other.
“With the pair of you standing there, I have nothing to smile about.”
“Hmm,” Gent hummed, tilting his head. “That was a bit weak.”
Rogue shook his head in disgust. “Far, far below his usual caliber. I’m quite disappointed.”
“That’s because your life is disappointing,” Jeremy muttered, lowering his eyes back to the paper before him, a very boring, tepid report from the Parkerton solicitor, which neither of these colleagues should know he was investigating.
Rogue, for one, might kill him for interfering.
Which was understandable, as he was not even mentioned in his cousin’s will.
Pity, that.
He’d been back in London for a week now, but he’d made a point of avoiding the League offices. With all of the information on Trace he had collected, some of which had been downright shocking, he’d had no choice but to present himself to Weaver. He’d been working with him and Tailor directly as they sifted through the information. Anything that the League could take on, they still would, he had been reassured, but until the whole of the new evidence was properly analyzed and compared with what they already had, nothing could be assigned to anyone.
Jeremy rather thought that meant he was no longer going to be getting confidential information about his fallen comrade, which was a bit of a relief. Keeping secrets from spies was always harder than from everyone else, particularly when it was something they had taken so personally.
So, he was making use of himself in whatever way he could, namely with the more superficial details. Why had the next in line for the title of Lord Parkerton not been contacted to come take up the lands? Why the secrecy around Trace’s death, or did the Shopkeepers know more than they were letting on?
Could they possibly have proof that Trace was alive?
If that were the case, why were they not mounting an expedition to retrieve him? They’d been on such missions dozens of times, and Jeremy had been involved in three or four himself when he’d worked for the Foreign Office. Rescue missions tended to be his favorite sort, as they were universally more dangerous, but twice as rewarding. And for an operative like Trace, they would have the absolute best at their disposal, should such an operation be mounted.
Trick and Thistle and a handful of other deep-seated operatives, who never took part in large operations, might have even been eager to take it on.
But no, they all sat in their usual positions, thinking the worst along with everyone else.
And only Jeremy was clued in on the fact that there might be another alternative.
Damned Shopkeepers and their damned secrets.
Spies really were the worst.
“He’s not really reading whatever that is.”
“He’s absolutely daydreaming.”
“But what about, I wonder?”
Jeremy looked up at them in derision, sliding his document under a pile of others, then folded his hands neatly on his desk. “It is impossible to read anything of importance with you nannies hovering, so by all means, come in and sit down, interrogate me to your heart’s content, and then maybe I will accomplish something today.”
Gent grinned at Rogue, who only shrugged, and then did as they had been invited, making a show of settling in.
Jeremy waited ever so patiently, tapping his thumbs against the worn wood of his desk. “There, gentlemen,” he drawled, once they were settled, “now that you are quite comfortable, what may I assist you with?”
“He’s so polite,” Gent praised, sliding his glance to Rogue.
“It’s annoying.”
“So are you, but we keep quiet about it,” Jeremy told him.
Rogue smirked. “You’re too quiet, Rook, and it’s suspicious.”
“Am I?” Jeremy asked mildly. “And here I thought you wished for me to be more reserved in nature.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t enjoying it,” Rogue shot back. “Only that it was suspicious.”
“It is,
rather,” Gent allowed, sounding apologetic. “You’ve been back from York for some time now, if your manservant is to be believed, and yet…”
“I don’t want to talk about York,” Jeremy interrupted roughly, sitting back and folding his arms.
Gent sat back. “If reports are to be believed, you and Mullins held off an attack of several men, captured one, and interrogated him, and then sent him down here with contacts where he has been singing like a bird for anyone who asks him. Quite a feat, all told. And yet you don’t want to talk about it?”
Jeremy met his eyes calmly. “No.”
Gent’s brow furrowed at that. “I read the report, and Helen wrote Margaret that it was handled remarkably well. I am very grateful.”
“I don’t want your bloody gratitude, Gent,” Jeremy snapped.
Rogue leaned back a little, eyeing Jeremy carefully. “Rook, I’m not interested in whatever seems to be going on in your personal life to make you do a weak imitation of myself, but if there is something Gent or I can do to knock some sense into you, we are available.”
Jeremy looked at Rogue with some alarm. “You’re offering to help me?”
“Technically, I offered to beat you,” Rogue clarified, “which should help you.”
“That’s what I expected,” he grumbled. “I feel so much better now.”
Gent crossed his ankle over his knee. “Come on, Rook. Out with it.”
Jeremy looked at him for a long moment, then sighed heavily. “I dropped my guard. On the trip to York, I forgot myself and my purpose. I should have been alert and actively watching for dangers. I knew the risks of that road; I had been fully briefed on it before I left. And still, we were attacked.”
“You can’t prevent highwaymen,” Rogue pointed out. “You just have to deal with them.”
“I know that,” he replied bitterly. “But these men had no idea who Helen was. They weren’t after Helen at all. They wanted me.”
The others stilled as the admission settled on them, and Jeremy felt it weighing on him even more heavily. The pressure on his chest that never dissipated. The terror that woke him every night.
The guilt that would never leave.
“Helen was put into danger because of me,” Jeremy told them, shaking his head. “Yes, I took care of it, and yes, she is safe and without injury, but…”
“But it could have been so much worse,” Gent murmured, his eyes unfocused and staring at nothing.
Jeremy watched him for a long moment, wondering if the comment were supposed to be accusatory of Jeremy or a reminder of Gent’s own demons.
He’d nearly lost Margaret once, and that event had somehow gotten lost amongst Jeremy’s own memories.
Gent might be able to relate.
“I don’t know how to rid myself of this guilt,” Jeremy murmured before he could stop himself. “I know that, logically, I did everything I could. But every time I think back on it, I am convinced there was more I could have done, or should have done, and then she would never have been in any danger at all.” He ran a hand over his face and exhaled. “I put her in danger. I did.”
“No, I did.”
Jeremy looked up at Gent in surprised, finding his colleague’s expression hard on him. “How?”
“How?” Gent repeated with a snort. “Rook, I asked you to take her. I was so concerned about her being targeted because of her connection to me that it never occurred to me that you might be targeted instead. I put you both in danger.”
Jeremy was shaking his head before Gent finished. “No, no, that’s not…”
“It’s really my fault,” Rogue broke in, sounding almost raw in his admission. “I’m the one who got compromised, which leaked the rest of you, so if we’re pointing fingers, just point them all at me.”
“Stop!” Jeremy ordered them both, looking between them. “Just stop. Neither of you are to blame for Helen being attacked.”
“Helen wasn’t attacked,” Gent pointed out. “You were. And you took care of it. Helen suffered a cold, and that is all.” He smiled a little, shaking his head. “Believe me, she’s seen much worse.”
Jeremy glared at him, his throat burning. “Seen worse than masked men shooting at her? And then me climbing out of the coach and scrambling up the side to shoot as many of them as I could and then beating one off of his horse so I could chase another, stab that one with a bayonet, and then tackle him off of his horse to the ground, where I stabbed him again and punched him repeatedly? Really? Worse than that?”
Gent’s eyes were wide, but he smiled still. “Well, when you put it like that…”
“I can’t believe I missed that,” Rogue grumbled, rubbing at his curls. “It sounds brilliant.”
Jeremy snorted softly and leaned his head back against the chair. “I couldn’t bear to look at her after that. I felt… ashamed. Mortified, really. But beyond that…”
“Bloody terrified,” Rogue finished, his mouth curving a little.
Jeremy nodded, his head scraping the chair a little. He looked at the pair of them without reservation. “How do you live with the fear? Knowing you could lose everything important to you at any time?”
Gent shook his head, exhaling, but he kept Jeremy’s gaze. “You do everything in your power to prevent it and make every moment last. You find a singular woman who can bear the danger and the unknown, and you cling to her with all your might. You fight harder so you can return to them, you take on more danger to protect them, and each victory is infinitely sweeter.”
Rogue cleared his throat and sat forward. “You can’t protect them from everything, but your life is more worth living because of them. I’m actually a far better operative now, because there is more at stake now.”
“How’s that?” Jeremy asked dubiously.
“Everything is done with precision,” Rogue explained. “Less risks are taken, even if the danger is the same. I take everything more seriously. I’m less reckless, less headstrong, less…”
“Roguish?” Gent suggested with a grin.
Jeremy chuckled as Rogue scowled. “You’re a better operative because you’re afraid?”
“In a word,” Rogue replied, “yes.”
“Absolutely,” Gent added, no longer teasing.
Neither of them was making any sense. How could anything be better with such vulnerability? With so much to lose, how could anyone go headlong into danger?
And yet, hearing them say those things struck a chord within him. Gent and Rogue could not have been more different as men, and as operatives, but on this they were in perfect harmony. They had both found love and happiness and hadn’t lost a single stride in their work as spies because of it.
As it happened, they were better.
He’d seen it.
But did he believe it?
“I’d imagine it makes things more complicated,” Jeremy said slowly, feeling the tension in his chest begin to unravel.
“Oh, it’s utter chaos,” Gent scoffed, waving a hand.
“I really don’t know how sane I am anymore,” Rogue added with a wince.
Jeremy rolled his eyes. “You’re making it sound rather perfect, both of you.”
Gent’s suddenly knowing look stopped Jeremy’s cynicism where it lay. “You’re in love with Helen, aren’t you?”
Rogue coughed in surprise. “Damn, Gent, I told you to ease into that.”
Jeremy gaped at them, blinking suddenly feeling rather difficult. “You… How could you…?”
“Oh, please,” Gent said dryly, a twinkle in his eyes. “You think I didn’t know? Or see?”
“It was painful to watch,” Rogue broke in.
Now Jeremy knew they were baiting him, lying to get a reaction. There was no possible way they could have known that…
“Did you really think I didn’t know anyone else who could have escorted Helen to York?” Gent asked him, now grinning outright.
Jeremy’s heart stopped in his chest. Gent knew? All the time? But Helen was his relation, and he ou
ght to have come after Jeremy with a weapon of his choice for daring to have feelings for her, and yet he’d put them together on purpose?
“Why?” Jeremy finally asked in return. “Why would you do that?”
“Because Helen was miserable,” Gent admitted without shame. “Margaret told me that you were the reason she was going to York in the first place. Well, Mr. Pratt was, anyway.”
That made Jeremy wince and look away. “I didn’t mean…”
“And you were getting annoying with your airs in public and irritability in private,” Gent went on, running right over Jeremy’s guilt. “So, putting the pair of you together seemed the perfect way to push you both into some sort of recovery, regardless of the direction.”
Jeremy frowned at his colleague, then lifted just one brow. “You didn’t have a preference as to which?”
Gent laughed once. “I’d prefer for Helen to be happy, but I would have settled for less downtrodden and determined to get over you.”
“You think she’d be happy with me?”
Jeremy’s low question smoothed Gent’s brow and curved his mouth. “You don’t?”
His breath caught and he felt as though he could fall sideways.
Could Helen be happy with him? He’d be happy with her, blissfully so, and he thought he could treat her well, make her smile, or even laugh, but would that be enough? If he loved her every day with the fierceness he currently felt, gave up fighting against it, let himself be entirely himself with her… would it be enough to make her happy?
It seemed unfathomable, but… he thought it just might.
It honestly might.
“I love her, Gent,” Jeremy admitted with more sincerity, and sheer honesty, than he’d ever admitted anything in his entire life. “And if I can manage it, I want to marry her.”
Gent chuckled to himself. “I should hope so. And I doubt you’ll have anything to say on the subject, if Helen has anything to do with it.”
Jeremy managed a weak smile. “But it was such a whirlwind trip, Gent. Such a short time that we were actually together without any of the pretenses of Society, and I just don’t know that… What if it’s not enough time to know for certain?”
By Hook or By Rook (London League, Book 4) Page 16
