by C. J. Archer
"What are you doing here?" she said with genuine interest. The whore looked from Isabel to Nicholas, her painted eyebrows raised.
"I came to return something of yours."
Isabel frowned. "What?"
His gaze shifted to the whore then back again. "Come here and I’ll show you."
She huffed. "Nick, whatever it is, you can give it to me in front of Meg."
He shrugged and pulled out her lace cuff from his pocket. He’d found it on his study floor that morning and decided it provided the perfect excuse to visit. She couldn’t possibly be without one of her finest cuffs a moment longer. "Sorry it’s scrunched."
Isabel colored. The whore—Meg—smiled, not even pretending she didn’t know what it was or why he had it. Nick approached the workbench and handed the cuff to Isabel.
"Thank you," she said. When he didn’t leave she added, "Is there something else?"
"I want to talk to you," he said.
"You’ve done a lot of that already."
"Not about..." he looked at Meg who watched him expectantly, "...that, about the other thing."
Meg giggled. "I was leaving anyway," she said.
Isabel reached across the bench and touched her hand. "Think about what I said, Meg."
Meg closed her fingers around Isabel’s, her smile fading. "Thanks." She hopped off the stool and gave Nicholas another sweeping glance as she swished past him and out the door.
"A friend of yours?" he asked once the door swung closed.
Isabel nodded, brushing the counter top with her hand as if to clean it although it was spotless. She kept her gaze on her task. "Meg works at a whorehouse in Bankside. She often comes in for cures or sometimes just to pass the day somewhere warm. I’ve been helping her with a personal dilemma."
"I also have a dilemma," he said, sitting on the stool Meg had vacated.
She glanced up at him accusingly. "You said you weren’t going to discuss our relationship."
They had a relationship? "I’m not going to," he said, thinking quickly. An idea began to form in his head—an idea to get her home with him where she belonged. "I wanted to ask you who you think might want to kill you," he blurted out.
Her eyes widened. "Kill me? I thought the attacker was after you?"
He shrugged. "Perhaps. But I don’t want to assume anything until I know for sure. Isabel, your life could be in danger right now."
"Oh," she said flatly. "Right. Then I’d best be careful."
"Exactly what I was thinking. If you start packing immediately, I can arrange for your things to be picked up later."
She blinked at him. "What are you talking about, Nick? I’m not leaving."
"Yes, you are. It’s too dangerous here for you—"
"Me? What about you? That man outside the Four Feathers could very well have been trying to knife you. In fact, going by the angle of the blade, I’m sure he was." Her frown deepened. "Besides, you said yourself it was probably just a footpad. If that’s the case, it won’t happen again and there’s no need for concern."
The challenge in her voice was unmistakable. It seemed she didn’t believe it was a mere footpad any more than he did. He had to be very careful. She already suspected he was a spy. He didn’t want to give fuel to her theory.
"And what if it’s not a footpad?" he said. "What if it’s the same person trying to frame you for the poisoning?"
"Frame me?" She paled and pressed her fingers to her lips. "Do you really think that’s what’s happening?"
He stood and walked around the end of the workbench to take her in his arms. But he stopped himself and instead caught her elbows. "I don’t know. It’s a possibility. But as I said last night, in light of what happened with your father, there’s too much coincidence. The poisoner could be seizing on your family’s history to throw suspicion onto you."
"Me?"
He nodded.
Instead of melting into him for comfort as he hoped, she drew away, shaking a little. "Then if I’m the one he’s trying to frame, why kill me?"
She had a good point, one he hadn’t entirely thought through yet. "I don’t know," he said. "But for now, I want you away from here. It’s not safe."
"And you?" she said, thrusting her chin forward. It seemed she wasn’t prepared to give up. "If this man is after you?"
"There’s no reason for him to be after me," he said, wishing she would stop challenging him and start believing him. Wishing he didn’t have to add lie to lie. "Anyway, I can take care of myself."
"So can—" She broke off with a shake of her head. "Nick, I’m not going anywhere. Besides, I have nowhere to go. And no, I won’t move into your lodgings with you."
Damn. Time for Plan B. "I was thinking you could return to Lyle Hall. You would be far from danger there and—"
She barked out a laugh without a shred of humor in it. "I think I prefer London’s dangers to the Kent ones, thank you."
"Please, just consider—"
"No!"
Whatever did she have against their Kent home? "Isabel, be reasonable, I can’t keep you safe if you stay here."
"I’m not asking you to." She sighed and leaned back against the bench. "Nick, don’t worry. I’ll be fine. As I said, I don’t think I was the target."
He didn’t think so either but he couldn’t be sure, and he didn’t want to take the risk of being wrong. But it seemed he had to take the risk because Isabel was determined to stay. And, he was quickly learning, these days a determined Isabel couldn’t be forced to do anything against her will.
Abandoning the first part of his mission, he concentrated on the second. Information. He casually wandered over to the shelf stacked with books and ran a finger along the spines. The scent of leather lingered pleasantly beneath the ever-present smell of the herbs. He counted twelve volumes in all, a considerable library for an apothecary particularly since some of the books were sizable and quite beautiful. He picked out one book, leafed through it, glanced up at Isabel to see if she was watching (she was), then returned it and pulled out the large herbal where he’d found the handwritten note.
"Are you interested in learning about herbs?" she asked, crossing the floor to join him.
"I’m interested in what interests you."
She rolled her eyes and he returned to the book, a little bruised at her off-handedness. He pretended to randomly look at pages then just happened to come across the poisonous concoction that had been swallowed by the queen’s unfortunate lady. The piece of paper slid to the floor.
"What’s this?" She picked it up. "Your courage in this life will be rewarded in the next," she read. "I wonder what that means. And who is S. de B.?"
Nicholas knew. It had taken him some time to remember where he’d seen those initials before but finally it had come to him. Simon de Beaufort, the earl of Croxley. Scholar, adventurer, supporter of the New Sciences, Catholic and a friend to traitors. And patron of Samuel Camm. Isabel’s father had even dedicated one of his books to the earl. Although the Privy Council had suspected he was behind at least two traitorous plots, they had never been able to find conclusive evidence and so the earl had never been charged.
Samuel’s association with Croxley weighed heavily against him. It had been Nicholas’s job to discover his father-in-law’s movements prior to the poisoning attempt seven years ago and he had been the one to report on the number of visits between the two men, and their nature, to his superiors. The evidence had been damning.
"I know who it is," he said, playing out the scenario he’d devised that morning. He’d decided to keep to the truth, or as close to it as possible without giving his position away. "Simon de Beaufort."
"The Earl of Croxley? But why would he leave a note in my herbal?"
"He was your father’s friend, wasn’t he?"
"Yes," she said, returning the paper to the open page. "But I don’t know why he’d leave a note in my book."
"It’s more likely the person he wrote it to left it there. Isabel, what do y
ou know about Croxley?"
She shrugged. "That he owns a large part of Durham and he financed some of Papa’s work. He knows a lot about medicines and is interested in debunking many old theories, as was Papa."
"Do you also know the Privy Council believes he’s behind one or two plots to overthrow the queen?"
She paled. "No, I did not. But how do you?"
"Ash told me."
"Why are you discussing this business with him?" Her voice rose and she wiped her hands down her skirts as if rubbing off a stain.
"He’s a friend and he knows people in the Privy Council." At least that wasn’t a lie. "I wanted to find out about Croxley after I saw this note the other day. He seemed the best person to ask. You can trust him, Isabel."
"The same way I can trust you?" she snapped.
He took a step back, struck by the vehemence of her accusation. "You can trust me."
"Can I? You haven’t yet told me why you were always away after our marriage," she said.
"And you haven’t told me why you left," he countered then regretted it as she stiffened. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. They were supposed to discuss it calmly, rationally and preferably just after making love. "I’ll never let anyone hurt you, Isabel. You can rely on that."
She said nothing but her gaze dropped to the paper sitting in the open book he still held. After a long time, she shook her head. "I, I don’t know what that’s doing there. I’ve never seen it before."
"I believe you." He withdrew the paper and slipped it into his pocket then closed the book and returned it to the shelf. "What I do want to know is who might have left it there?"
She shrugged. "Anyone who comes in here has access to these books, but I’ve never seen anyone actually open one. Not many of our customers can read or write."
"What about Shawe, elder or younger?"
She shook her head. "Not even Fox, and he should use it to further his own education."
He looked up sharply. If she was the only one, then the note wasn’t there because it had been forgotten. It was there because someone was framing her. It was confirmation of his theory but it didn’t make him pleased. In fact, he felt sick. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to place the paper in the herbal where any competent investigator could find it.
Which meant someone also suspected he was a spy and had wanted him, expected him, to find it and come to the logical conclusion and arrest Isabel.
His chest tightened. Thank God he hadn’t been reassigned after all. Another agent would have arrested her immediately.
He let out a long breath and watched the back of Isabel’s enticing figure as she walked away from him to greet a customer. The only thing to be learned from this new development was that she was right. She was unlikely to have been the target of the knifeman since the villain would want her kept alive to take the blame.
Knowing that didn’t ease his mind.
CHAPTER 7
Nicholas followed the arrow’s flight until it thumped into the mark sixty feet away. "Good shot," he said.
Ash lowered his bow. "A little off center," the earl said with a shrug.
He moved aside and Nicholas took his place. He nocked an arrow, raised the bow as he drew and let the arrow loose. It hit the corner of the strip of wood they were using as a target. A poor shot. Archery wasn’t his strongest sport. Ash beat him every time which is probably why they often ended up at Finsbury Fields with their bows and arrows—tradition stated the loser had to buy the winner a tankard of ale and Ash was a stickler for any tradition that involved a tavern.
The other reason for their visit to Finsbury Fields was to talk in the privacy of open space. The fields, used mostly by practicing archers, offered the perfect venue. They looked like any of the other gentlemen enjoying an afternoon of sport in the crisp February air.
They each had another shot. Ash’s arrow hit the middle and Nicholas’s missed everything, including another archer but only by inches. Nicholas held up a hand in apology when the other man shouted obscenity-laden advice on shooting straight.
"You’re distracted," Ash said, his gaze unwavering. "Usually you don’t miss completely."
"Usually I haven’t spent the evening chasing someone who tried to kill me. Not recently anyway."
Ash raised one brow. "Your wife tried to kill you? Good Lord, Nick, are you sure you want her back?"
"Not Isabel! The hooded man from the Four Feathers. I kept my eye on him most of the night until we left. He made his move outside. I’m lucky the blade didn’t connect." Damn lucky since he’d seen it too late to dodge it entirely. And yet it hadn’t even scratched him. Strange.
"Did you catch him?" Ash asked.
Nicholas shook his head.
"Did you see him?"
"No, but he must have been young and healthy to be that nimble and fast."
"True," Ash said. "Any ideas? Perhaps a friend of your wife’s watching you—"
"What are you implying?"
Ash shrugged but said nothing.
"She was as surprised as me," Nicholas went on, compelled to defend her. "I’m sure she didn’t know him."
"She must have been afraid," Ash said with a casual lift of one shoulder. "A little thing like that, a knifeman attacking her husband in broad daylight. She would have tumbled into your arms in terror."
Nicholas said nothing. If there was one thing he was sure of, Isabel hadn’t been afraid. Shocked, yes, perhaps even afraid for him, but not truly terrified. Certainly not scared enough to stop her walking back to his lodgings on her own in the waning light.
He avoided Ash’s sharp gaze because he wasn’t prepared to tell his friend that he suspected Isabel was hiding something. Not until he knew what she was hiding.
"So did she?" Ash asked, raising and drawing his bow.
"What?"
Ash let the arrow loose and watched it hit the mark true. "Tumble into your arms? Or your bed?"
Despite everything, Nicholas couldn’t help smiling. He brushed his fingers along the feather fletches. Isabel’s skin was just as smooth. Her silky hair had poured through his fingers and her body trembled when she peaked.
And her mouth around him had been hot and wet and...
If only he hadn’t made a mess of everything. It’s just that he hadn’t expected such...wanton behavior from her. It had taken him by surprise. She never used to be like that, so brazen and assured.
"I see," Ash said, giving Nicholas a strange look. "But you can make love to your arrow and your wife later. Just fire the damn thing and let’s get out of here. I’m thirsty."
Nicholas nocked the arrow, drew and aimed for the centre of the target. He fired and the arrow flew to the right, dropping at the last moment before it hit the archer he’d barely missed earlier in the leg. The man roared in pain, clutched his leg and turning an apoplectic face on Nicholas.
"Sorry," Nicholas called out, starting towards him. "I’ll fetch a doc—." He stopped when four other archers, previously dispersed over the field, suddenly moved towards him like prowling lions.
"I think you just shot someone with four very big, very angry brothers," Ash said.
"Or four hired thugs. Either way, the odds aren’t too bad," Nicholas said lightly.
"You take those two and I’ll take the ones on the right."
"Now let’s be reasonable," Nicholas called out to the man with the arrow sticking out of his thigh in a last attempt to settle the incident without further bloodshed. "It was an accident. It’s a frequent hazard here in Finsbury." The man said nothing, just clutched his leg as blood seeped through his hose. "I’ll pay for any medical expenses," Nicholas continued. "And if the injury hinders you from working then I’ll pay your wages until you are able to work again."
Still the men kept coming, their thick brows drawn together in earnest as they glared back at Nicholas and Ash. Then one of them stopped, raised his bow and took aim. The others followed suit.
"Run!" Ash shouted.
T
hey ran out of the fields as arrows rained down around them. It was a miracle they made it to the Four Feathers with only a slight graze each. They collapsed into a corner booth, puffing, sweating and laughing.
