by Diana Quincy
“Well?” she asked, impatient to be on her way. “Did you find passage to England for us?”
“Yes and no.” His mouth was set in grim lines. “I think it best for us to take the first vessel to leave the port. The longer we stay on French soil, the more the danger grows. We depart within the hour.”
“Where are we going?”
“Jersey.”
Her stomach dropped. Jersey Island was only twenty miles off the French coast, far from the English mainland…and Susanna. “But that is too close. What is to keep Duret’s men from following us there?”
“At the very least we shall be on English soil, and the island is well fortified against any possible French attack. We can find a boat to Devon or Dorset from there.”
They made their way out of the tavern toward the water and the waiting boat. “Wait,” Elle said. “Where is the Arabian?”
“With its new owner.”
“You sold her?”
“The blunt will help ease the way for our passage home.”
The vessel that took them across was no more than a rowboat manned by a single fisherman. The water was relatively calm for the four-hour journey and Jersey quickly came into view. A commanding hilltop castle fortification, with numerous stone towers and turrets and a curtain wall that seemed to run forever, dominated the view. As they drew closer, she saw that there were several lone towers—round, almost squat, stone structures—dotting the island landscape.
Will followed her gaze. “The castle has been here forever, but the towers are new. Built to protect against French invasion.” If he meant to reassure her that the island was well fortified against interlopers, it did not have the desired effect because the worry gnawing in the deep recesses of her belly flared. They were still too far from Susanna—too close to Duret—for her comfort.
The sea around them, blue as a robin’s egg, shimmered toward the island, vivid against its grassy green backdrop and rocky granite cliffs. Perhaps if she had come to this place at another time in her life, she might have admired its rugged natural splendor. As it was, she couldn’t wait to be gone.
When they disembarked, she didn’t feel much better. Jersey might belong to England, but French chatter was everywhere as they walked through the small enclave.
“Come.” Grabbing their belongings in one hand and cupping her elbow, Will directed her away from the port.
“Where are we going? Shouldn’t we find a boat to take us home?”
“I have, but it doesn’t leave until tomorrow.”
Her heart dropped. Another night away from England. “Where will we stay?” She realized he walked with purpose, as though he knew exactly where he was going. “Do you know this island well?”
“A bit.” He directed her through a square where it was market day, and women had set out colorful arrays of fruits and vegetables, green and dark figs, melons and pears. Children roamed past the stalls selling colorful bunches of pink geraniums. They went by an open bulk where a cobbler and herb-woman kept a shop and came to a neat lodging house. Will directed her inside and they made straight for the stairs, without seeing or speaking to anyone.
“A friend of mine has rooms here.”
“A friend?” she asked as she followed him up the narrow stairs, wondering what role Le Rasoir might play in any of this.
“Yes, these are his lodgings. He is not at home at the moment, and I’m certain he wouldn’t mind our making use of them.” He reached the landing and started down the darkened corridor. “This will be safer and a bit more discreet than seeking out an inn.”
She followed. “Where is he? This friend of yours.”
“I am not exactly certain.” He stopped before a door at the end of the corridor and withdrew something from his pocket―a ring containing a series of metal shafts in varying sizes that resembled small, misshapen hairpins. He selected two of them and bent toward the lock, pushing both pieces of metal inside, manipulating them using both hands.
“A friend?” she said tartly. “Are you in the habit of breaking into your friends’ abodes?”
“When necessary.” The lock clicked. Will straightened, slipping the shafts into his pocket as he pushed the door open and pulled her inside with him.
“I hope you have plenty of blunt left over from the sale of the Arabian,” she said as he shut the door behind them. “You’ll need it to bribe the gaoler after we are arrested for burglary.”
“It won’t come to that.” He removed his hat and placed it on a rough-hewn table bracketed by two ladder-back chairs. “We aren’t going to steal anything.”
“I’m certain the magistrate will be relieved to hear it.” She untied her bonnet and strung it over the back of one of the chairs. “Where did you learn to pick a lock like that?”
He went to the lone window in the chamber and appeared to check the lock. “Here and there.”
“It’s not exactly a skill one learns during the normal course of things.”
“I’ve learned a great deal on my travels,” he said obliquely.
She let the issue drop―since it was clear he would not elaborate further―and surveyed the chamber. It was spacious and comfortable, with a small sitting area that led to the bedchamber. She turned to Will. “When will your friend return?”
Worry lines fanned out from his eyes. “I wish I knew. His name is Hamilton Sparrow. He vanished several weeks ago without word to anyone.”
“Hamilton Sparrow? You mentioned him before, did you not?”
“I did.” His gaze was watchful. “I had hoped you would tell me that you were acquainted with him.”
“I am sorry to say I am not. As you know, I am only recently returned to society.”
He nodded and turned away, but not before she glimpsed the clear disappointment in his grim expression. She felt as though she’d failed some critical test, but she had no idea why. He could hardly hold her culpable for having never met his friend.
He pushed the window open and the briny scent of the sea drifted into the chamber. He stood there for a time, looking out onto the street with his back to her, not speaking, thinking thoughts she wasn’t privy to. After a while, he turned and said, “I’ll go and get us some food. It’s safest for us to keep out of sight until our departure tomorrow.”
After he’d gone, she wandered about the chamber, taking in Hamilton Sparrow’s simple, comfortable accommodations. There weren’t many personal effects in evidence. This seemed a place where Mr. Sparrow stayed, rather than resided in. It did not have the feel of someone’s home. She ran her hand over a wooden dresser in the bedchamber and pulled open a drawer. There were writing implements and a few other odds and ends. Her gaze caught on a calling card. So like one she thought she recognized. She pulled it out of the drawer and examined it more closely, her heart going cold as she realized to whom the card belonged.
The door clicked open behind her, and Will entered carrying their supper. “I’ve brought us something to eat.” He placed the food on a table. “Chats fried in butter, moules, and lobster. Figs and Chaumontel pears. The island is known for them.” He halted when he turned around to face her and caught sight of her expression. “What is it?”
She licked her dry lips. “Sparrow. Your…friend.” She held out the calling card in a limp hand. “Is this his?”
He came over to examine it. “Yes, that’s Ham’s.” He looked up, watching her carefully. “What is it? What has upset you?”
“It can’t be.” Her knees went weak as the horror of it sank in. He caught her in strong solid arms before she could fall and helped her to a seat before the hearth.
“Tell me why you are distressed.” He knelt before her, keeping a comforting hand over hers, which were clutched together in her lap.
“He is missing.” She fought the tears that burned her eyes. “You fear for his safety.”
“Yes, before he vanished, he sent a message indicating he’d made an important discovery.”
“You think Duret killed him bef
ore he could reveal this discovery.” She whispered the words because to say them aloud made it all the more terrible to contemplate.
“I could be wrong. I’ve found no connection between Gerard Duret and Hamilton Sparrow.”
“Yes, you have.” She swallowed hard around the lump in her throat. “Me.”
He pushed to his feet in a slow deliberate motion, the withdrawal of his warmth leaving her hands cold and desolate. “You said you didn’t know Ham.”
“I do not know him by that name, but I am acquainted with him.”
“How do you know him?” He stared down at her with his fists set against his hips. “Through Duret?”
She blinked up at him, confused. “No, through my husband. They were great friends. But I know him only as Moineau.”
“Moineau.” Comprehension washed over his face. “Like the songbird in French.”
“Translated into English, it means ‘sparrow.’ ”
They said that last word together. “Sparrow. I should have made the connection sooner.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “So you do know Ham Sparrow.”
She nodded. “He found me after my release. He was the one to inform me that Susanna was alive.”
Pale faced, he sank into the seat opposite her. “What else did he say?”
“That Susanna had been taken at birth by someone at the highest levels of government. Duret later told me that he was the one who had taken her.” She held his gaze. “Moineau promised to find my child.”
He exhaled. “You fear the possibility that Duret learned of this and…ah…eliminated Sparrow.”
“I could not bear it.” Her voice shook. “If he died trying to help me—”
He was out of his chair and kneeling before her before she realized he’d moved. “No.” The words were firm. “You are not at fault.”
“How can you say that?” Panic rose in her voice. “He agreed to help me and now he is missing.”
“I can say that with all certainty because I know Ham is in a dangerous line of work. If he were to meet an unfortunate end, it is a risk he took that has nothing to do with you.”
“What line of work?”
“He was…is…an intelligence operative.”
“How can you possibly know that?” But even as she asked, she already knew the answer.
“I am in a position to know because Hamilton Sparrow, the man you know as Moineau, undertook clandestine assignments for the Crown and reported to me.”
Chapter 12
She stared at him. “Moineau works for the Crown and reports to you.”
He dipped his chin. “Yes.”
“But he’s French.”
“His grandmother was, but otherwise he is as English as you or I.”
“What are you saying? That he’s only pretending to be working for the French?”
“Yes, and he’s most effective. Ham has managed to infiltrate the upper reaches of the police ministry.”
Her smoky gray eyes darkened. “So you are highly placed in the Home Office.” It wasn’t a question. “How long have you been engaged in…this kind of enterprise?”
“For many years.”
“Even when you visited us at Langtry?”
“Yes.”
She stared into the cold hearth. Slashes of red deepened across the high angle of her cheekbones, but it wasn’t until she spoke that he realized just how angry she was. “You have lied about everything. Has there ever been a time you haven’t been dishonest with me?”
“I have never denied working for the Home Office. But I also could not share the entire truth. Discretion is obviously key to my work.”
Her head swung away from the hearth to pin him with a glare. “You have lied by omission.” She spat out the words. “You have never shared your true self with me. Not even that night when you bedded me.”
His chest squeezed. “I shared all of me with you that night, and I am truly sorry that you never realized it.” He had loved her with everything in him and she had thrown it all back at him.
“You left me the very next day.” The accusation rang out through the chamber. “Abandoned me as though what occurred between us meant nothing.”
“It meant the world.” His voice was hoarse with emotion. “You are the one who left your baseborn lover to marry your French nobleman. You obviously chose a man who wasn’t beneath your touch.”
Her eyes widened. “You cannot possibly believe that to be true.”
He silently cursed himself for letting the frank words escape his mouth. “I was correct to fear you would be inconstant.”
“Inconstant? Me?” She jumped to her feet, her eyes blazing. “I’ve been in love with you for more than half my life.”
“You were a young girl smitten with an older man, who happened to be the bastard son of an earl. At your tender age, a young man at university would have seemed a very glamorous thing.” He stood stiff-spined, with his arms clasped hard behind his back. “You couldn’t know what it portended for your future to marry someone born on the wrong side of the blanket.”
She gave a huff of mirthless laughter. “I’d fooled myself into believing you cared about me. I see now that you were just putting me off so as not to bruise my feelings.”
“You knew nothing of the world beyond your father’s house,” he interjected. “There were many doors in society that would have been closed to you had you wed me.”
“I never had a care for what the ton thought.” She exhaled a tremulous breath. “And then—after our night together—you insisted we wed because you felt you’d ruined me, not because of any depth of feeling on your part.”
His mouth dropped open. “Is that what you truly believe?”
“What else was I to surmise?” Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “You left and I was alone.”
“It was never my intention to abandon you.”
“Then why did you depart for Town the very next morning?”
“Because—” He bit back the words, unwilling to admit how foolish he’d been. He couldn’t tell her he’d ridden to Town to secure a special license so he could take her to wife immediately, without having to wait for the banns to be read.
“And I thought you’d ignored my letters—”
“I swear on my honor that I never received any letters,” he interrupted. “As soon as I reached London, I was sent on an urgent assignment, one I could not refuse.”
Surprise lit her face. “An assignment? Your father said you were on a coin-collecting endeavor.”
“My numismatic pursuits provide excellent cover for my work. The truth is that I was in Brussels for several weeks attending to matters related to the Home Office. I returned to Langtry as soon as the mission was completed only to find you had already married.”
She paled, one hand going to her chest. “You came back for me?”
“Yes, but it was too late.” He took a fortifying inhale before continuing. “In the end, I suppose it was just as well.”
She exhaled a shaky breath, her expression grim. “You came back.” She said the words more to herself than to him.
“You were gone by then, married to a gentleman more suitable to your station.” He stared into the empty fireplace, embarrassed at the idea of her knowing he’d pined for her. “As for me, I soon realized it would have been ill-advised for a man in my line of work to take a wife.”
She looked stricken, her face completely drained of color. “I didn’t know.”
“I presume you cared for Laurent.” He wanted to hear it from her lips—the brutal confirmation that she’d loved another when he’d only ever loved her. “You are not the sort to marry a man solely for his title.”
She nodded. “He was a good man.”
Pain tore through his chest. She’d loved her husband.
Biting her lower lip, she studied him. “Do you regret not having a family? Do you never imagine yourself married with a child?”
“Never. I have no place in my life for those things.
” He’d convinced himself of that long ago, but now the words tasted bitter on his tongue. “Matters between us turned out as they should.”
She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I suppose you’re right.”
And yet he still wanted—needed—to know why she had written to him before her marriage. “What was in the letters, Elle? I assumed you wrote to tell me of your impending nuptials.” Hope surged in him. Had she changed her mind about refusing him? Perhaps she’d wanted to marry him after all. “Was there more?”
She didn’t answer at first. Then she shook her head, looking at him with dazed eyes. “No, nothing that matters now.”
His gut clenched. “Are you certain?”
She hesitated and then nodded again. “Yes.”
He turned toward the food tray, anxious to stave off the hollow ache in his gut. “We should eat. Our supper is getting cold.”
—
She chewed on the lobster, which she normally found delicious, without really tasting it. Will’s question kept rolling through her mind. What was in the letters, Elle? She wanted to tell him the truth, that she’d revealed she was with child and urged him to return to Langtry as soon as possible so they could marry.
She didn’t doubt that he’d never received the letters. Had she not been so young, desperate, and naive, she would have realized back then that Will was far too honorable to abandon the woman who carried his child. Even if he didn’t love her.
“Is there something wrong with your food?”
She looked down at the half-eaten crustacean in her plate. “No. I just have much on my mind.” She slid a piece of the lobster into her mouth, chewing slowly, and licked her fingers. He followed the motion, his eyes flaring, riveted by the movements.
Averting his gaze, he cleared his throat. “You are thinking of your daughter.”
