Was that why they had given their allegiance to France? Did they think that the French, who had ousted and executed their nobility, had the right way of it? Lucy didn’t know how many in England shared such an outlook, but she didn’t think it boded well for them if many sympathized. Perhaps that was why Morgan insisted on treating everyone, man and woman, noble and servant, with respect.
She tried again, catching the man’s eyes and saying, “I thought we had a connection.” She sounded like a broken-hearted, weak-willed debutante begging a rake to take her to the altar. But if it saved her life…
Alex cleared his throat. “Don’t taunt the nice man with the gun,” he muttered under his breath.
“I wasn’t taunting him,” she shot back.
He made a noise of disbelief.
“Quiet,” the woman snapped. “Keep walking.”
She, like the man, had a British accent. Were they British, born and bred? Or had they infiltrated this country from France? Lucy didn’t want to contemplate how many of her countrymen had switched their allegiance so easily. Forget that she’d once suspected Alex of having done so—clearly, she’d been wrong about him. Elsewise, he would have been the one with the gun, walking her ahead of him, rather than being in this cock-up with her.
Lucy pressed her lips together as they continued to walk. The blood roared in her ears. Once they reached that shed, would the traitors shoot them and stuff them inside? Or would they continue out into the forest instead? She swallowed heavily, trying to think.
There had to be a way to dissuade them from this course of action. Or, at the very least, to distract them once they reached the shed. If Lucy had been alone, she would have tried to use some distraction and the bulk of the shed to shield her as she ran into the forest. Tenwick Abbey had a large enough forest abutting the property that she’d played in as a child for her to be reasonably confident that she could elude the French spies if she darted into its cover.
But what about Alex? She still didn’t know whether he worked for the Crown, but given this recent turn of events, he certainly didn’t work for the French. She couldn’t just leave him to die. It wouldn’t be right.
What would her heroine do?
Lucy tried to catch Alex’s eye, to communicate with him silently, but he wasn’t looking at her. His posture was rigid, his jaw set. His hand twitched as though he wanted to punch one or both of the spies who had captured them.
This had been so stupid of her. Earlier in the day, she’d stashed the things she’d thought she might need in order to capture Monsieur V, including the ties to hold him. But she hadn’t considered that he would send armed spies in his place. Hadn’t he wanted to speak with her?
Apparently not. Right now, with her head spinning and her breath coming fast, she couldn’t begin to decipher the spymaster’s motives. It felt as though he was toying with her. But if he was, wouldn’t he want her alive? This seemed more like a march to her death.
They reached the shed. The woman shoved her gun into Alex’s back. “Hands in the air!”
Alex’s right hand twitched, then he lanced at Lucy and put his hands up.
The man stepped over and patted him down, producing a gun from his pocket. “Thought you might use this, eh?”
Keeping her gun trained on Alex, the woman stepped to the side and gestured to the shed door. “Open it.”
Alex met her gaze. “She’s innocent in this. She doesn’t know what she’s gotten herself into. Just let her return to the manor and she’ll stop sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.”
Was he talking about Lucy? She bristled. She could speak for herself! And she knew exactly what she’d gotten herself into when she’d taken this assignment upon herself instead of handing it off to her brother like he would have expected her to do. She didn’t need to be coddled or sheltered.
The woman gestured brusquely with the butt of the gun. “Open the door.”
“No. Shoot me here, if you’re going to do it.”
Lucy’s heart jumped into her throat. Was he suicidal? Or perhaps just criminally stupid. He told her not to taunt the spies, and yet that was precisely what he was doing. Perhaps she should leave him to his own devices and run.
The woman’s mouth narrowed into a thin line as she trained the gun on him. She looked like she might do it.
Lucy stumbled forward. “I’ll open the door.” She unlatched it with shaking fingers. When she pulled it wide and released it, the door banged against the wall of the shed. The light of the lantern was impeded by her body, only a halo showing around her shadow as it stretched into the dark interior.
“Get in,” the woman commanded.
Lucy glanced toward the tree line. Should she run instead?
Alex stepped closer to her. His body jostled hers and she stumbled to the side, into the threshold of the shed door. She caught her balance against the door frame.
Thumps and grunts echoes as a scuffle ensued. A shot rang out and for a second, Lucy’s heart stopped beating. But it must have gone wide because it didn’t stop the fight for even an instant. The light guttered as the man dropped the lantern. Lucy blinked against the erratic light. Alex struggled to subdue the woman.
Unfortunately, it was two against one. When the man entered the fray mere seconds later, while Lucy still tried to process the scene, the pair overpowered Alex. They shoved him into the shed. His body impacted Lucy and she stumbled. He caught her, staggering a bit to keep them from landing on the floor of the shed. Her body was pressed intimately against his for a moment before he released her and turned toward the door.
It slammed shut behind him. The darkness weighed on her eyes. A grating sound scraped from the other side of the door. The two spies spoke in rapid French—at least, that was the language Lucy thought they spoke. She’d learned French, but they spoke far too quickly for her to catch more than the scattered word.
When the voices faded, Alex tested the door. The sound of it connecting with the frame, a light thump, sounded overly loud. It didn’t open. He swore under his breath.
They were trapped, but they weren’t dead. They could get out of this…somehow. Lucy nibbled on her lip. The shed was completely dark, but she shut her eyes and tried to recall what gardening tools had been held in here. Anything that might help them to escape. The shed held no light whatsoever, enclosed on four sides without windows.
Alex crossed to her. He nearly bowled her over before he caught her by the upper arms. His palms were warm. He murmured an apology, then turned his back again.
A moment later, an impact thudded. It was followed by a rattle, like that of metal. Alex must have charged the door. Judging by his resultant groan, it hadn’t worked in the least.
“Use your head,” Lucy snapped. She could barely think straight and all his banging wasn’t helping. “Brute force is obviously not going to get us anywhere.” If it had, his efforts would already have worked. “At least we’re alive.”
For a moment, that had been in question. That gunshot…
Her breath caught. “You aren’t injured, are you?”
“No. She fired over my shoulder when I rushed her.” Cloth rustled as he moved. “If we don’t get out of here quickly, those spies will be long gone. And so will Monsieur V.”
“We thought he had left upon departing the inn. It seemed we were wrong.” She stepped closer and gasped as her breasts brushed against his coat. She hadn’t realized that he was standing so close. She took a small step away again, but couldn’t banish the awareness of his body that the encounter provoked.
“So you think. We didn’t see him. Unless that man…”
“No. He wasn’t Monsieur V.” That, she could say with utmost certainty.
Cloth rustled again as he shifted. He swore under his breath. “Then we have to get out of here.”
“I’m aware of that.” It seemed, with the situation they were in, that he’d conveniently forgotten his earlier concern regarding her reputation. She had not. If they remained in
this shed, alone, for someone to find, then they would be forced to marry. Nothing else would appease the gossips, and even that solution was questionable.
However, the notion of her tattered reputation mattered far less than the preservation of England. Why was she even thinking of it?
She shook her head and tried to think of a plan. “The door opened from the outside.”
“Yes. I could bloody well kick it down if the latch didn’t appear to be secured with something. A padlock, perhaps.”
Lucy released a frustrated breath. “If it opens to the outside, that means the hinges are on the outside, away from us.”
Alex paused. After a moment, he ventured, “Yes.”
“Is there enough of a crack between the door and frame for us to use something like a lever to pry it open?”
“I doubt it, but it’s worth a try. Can you find a rake?”
Despite the situation, a wicked thrill overtook her. She stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat of his body once more. “I thought you were one,” she teased.
“I meant a gardening tool.”
His tone was not amused. Apparently, he didn’t think it the proper time for jokes. Maybe it wasn’t, but if she didn’t joke, she feared she might succumb to the urge to enact more research. Lucy might need to write her heroine into a dark corner, unable to see, only able to feel. She’d never kissed a man under such circumstances.
She wanted to kiss Alex again. But that wouldn’t solve their predicament. If anything, it would only make his mood worse. While they kissed, the enemy spies would be getting farther away.
She forced a smile and quipped, “You mean you’ve never charmed the hinges off a door before? I’m disappointed.” Her voice was a bit breathless.
When she started to move past him to search the walls for the rake he requested, her arm brushed against him. He caught her elbow, holding her near him. The air charged with promise as she turned her face toward his. Did he want to kiss her, too?
He slid his hand down her bare arm to her wrist. Shivers coalesced across her skin in the wake of his hot touch. She gasped as she lifted her face, hoping he would lower his head.
The influx of air brought the taste of something…singed. Frowning, she sniffed again. “Is that…smoke?”
Her heart quickened and her throat burned. The enemy had set the shed on fire!
Alex swore under his breath and dropped his hand. “The rake. Now. You check behind you and I’ll search this wall.”
Lucy couldn’t see where he gestured when he gave the command, but she assumed that he meant the wall behind him. She turned, starting to search her end as quickly as possible. More smoke stung her nose. Just a thin amount at first, but it thickened the longer she took. She didn’t see any evidence of flames, but the smoke seemed worse near the back.
“I found one!” She coughed as she pulled the rake down from its nook on the wall.
“Bring it here, quickly.”
She did as he asked. When she approached where she estimated the front door was, she said, “Where are you? I don’t want to hit you by accident.”
The rake in her hand jostled as he groped for it. “I have it. You can let go.”
He did some fiddling. Lucy stepped back. She pulled a handkerchief out of her reticule and held it over her nose and mouth, breathing through the perfumed fabric. She felt useless, standing and doing nothing.
“Can I help?”
“Grab the end and try to use it like a lever.”
When she did as he asked, the pointed tips popped free of the crack where he’d lodged it. The tines scraped across the wood of the door.
Alex swore profusely. “That’s it. We don’t have time. Stand back. I’m going to try to kick it open.” Under his breath, he added, “I hope.”
He kicked at the door and Lucy saw the slat of light grow wider. He was making progress but not fast enough.
“Wait.” Lucy pulled the rake aside and stowed it against the wall. “I found a pick-axe in the back. Maybe we can use that to break the door away from the latch. It’s only attached in that one area, right?”
“It’s worth a try.” His voice was brusque. “Get the pick-axe.”
Lucy started to feel heat as well as the sting of smoke. The shed was definitely on fire. She fumbled to find the tool on the wall. When she pulled it down, she immediately crossed the short few steps to Alex’s side. She groped along his arm until she could hand it to him. “Here.” He was stronger than she was.
“Step back.”
When she complied, he set to work hacking at the door. It took him a couple minutes, but he made progress. The thin line of light seeping from the opening told her that much. She held her breath as more smoke stung her throat. Her eyes watered. She blinked rapidly, not wanting him to think she was crying.
This was almost over. They were almost out…
Alex swore. He stepped back and kicked the door. It flung away from the latch with a snap, swinging on its hinges to slam into the wall. Alex dropped the pick-axe. He took Lucy by the hand and towed her through the opening. Around the still-intact latch was a ragged semi-circle of wood. She avoided the jagged edges. As she staggered into the night air after him, she clutched his hand tighter and gulped in the clean air. She glanced behind her, but the only thing she saw was the faint halo of flame and a thick column of smoke coming from the shed.
They were free, but as predicted, the spies were nowhere in sight.
16
The dampness of the grass and shed had saved them, of that Alex was certain. Although the wood had taken a while longer to light than it might have if dry—and had churned out more smoke than fire in so doing—the fire drew the attention of someone in Lady Leighton’s manor as or before he and Lucy stumbled clear of the edifice. As he gulped for air, his throat and eyes still stinging, servants poured from the manor. They were like ants. One spotted at first, then two or three, then the swarm descended. Shouts rang in his ears as the housekeeper called for water to be pumped from the well and brought around.
With the amassing of the servants, so too was the hostess’s attention caught. And as she spilled into the night air, she brought with her a parade of guests hoping for a bit more titillating excitement for the evening. Alex, blast it all, found himself in the middle of the spectacle with Lucy by his side.
The lanterns of the servants and guests lit the scene as bright as day. Lucy, with her black hair escaping its coif in rebellious wisps, turned her face down and wrapped her arms around herself. She tried to stuff a handkerchief back into her reticule with one hand. This time, Alex didn’t bother asking for her permission. He shucked out of his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders.
She turned her face up to his as he secured the jacket in place. Although her expression was emotionless, composed, there was something in her eyes that begged for his help. If he didn’t think quickly, her reputation would be in tatters. He dropped his hand before he lingered a touch too long to appease the gossips.
Perhaps the tarnish to her reputation was deserved. When he’d touched her, temptation had overwhelmed her. Given a moment longer, he would have pulled her into his arms and kissed her senseless. Never mind the enemy spies who might lead him to Monsieur V—the moment he’d felt the soft skin of her arm beneath his hand, he could think of nothing except tasting her velvet-soft lips again. If she hadn’t noticed the smoke, he might have been blind to the danger.
If he’d kissed her, if they’d been discovered together in the shed, more than her reputation would have been in jeopardy. Her future, perhaps, as well—and his, too. He would have no other recourse but to marry her. That was, if her brothers didn’t kill him before he made it to the altar.
Strangely enough, the idea didn’t repulse him the way it used to—marriage, that was to say, not death-by-angry-Graylocke. The latter he’d still like to avoid. But marriage… a couple years ago the notion had thrilled him not at all. Then again, a couple years ago, the light-skirts with whom h
e had kept company weren’t precisely the sort one started a life with. And he hadn’t been fit to be a husband, either.
The sudden deaths of his father and brother had changed that. In an evening, his role in the world had been flipped on its head. Instead of pleasure-seeking, he waded through a mountain of responsibilities. The biggest responsibilities in the eyes of his staff appeared to be that he find himself a wife and beget an heir. He’d ignored them, finding a new purpose in his life.
A purpose that, even if marriage no longer gave him a shiver of repulsion, he must adhere to first. From the moment he’d signed on with Morgan, that purpose had been to find Monsieur V and ensure that the traitor got what he deserved. And now, thanks to Lucy, he might finally be close to doing that.
If he could concoct a reasonable explanation for being out here with her that would appease the hostess and the other guests. Until he took care of that, he wouldn’t be at liberty to chase after the French spies and follow them to their employer. His heart raced as he scrambled for an explanation as to their behavior that didn’t end in him accompanying Lucy to the altar.
Not, strangely, that he believed a marriage to Lucy would be the same as what he had always imagined. The debutantes of his acquaintance were usually mousy little things who simpered and boasted of their accomplishments and showed off their figures while they danced. That sort of woman bored him within five minutes. But Lucy… He suspected that any marriage to Lucy wouldn’t be the quiet affair demonstrated by his peers. She was far too curious, far too brazen. Lucy Graylocke would keep the man she married on the tips of his toes.
But that man wouldn’t be him. It certainly wouldn’t be today. The only reason he was keeping such a close eye on her was to catch the man who had torn apart his family. No more, no less.
Pursuing The Traitor (Scandals and Spies Book 5) Page 12
