Celeste Bradley - [The Liar's Club 0]

by The Spy

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “Miss Atwater, I presume?” James stood there, solid and rather menacing. Phillipa shivered at the cold tone of his voice and looked away. She hesitated, so long used to the safety of anonymity. But she owed this man the truth, after what she had done. “Phillipa Atwater.”

  Her gaze was down, locked on her entwined fingers, but she was aware that he had halted before her at those words. Oh, Robbie, I’m so sorry—

  “The missing daughter of the traitorous Rupert Atwater.”

  Phillipa’s head jerked up at that. “No more traitor than you!” she retorted. Instantly she saw her mistake, for the cool judgment in his eyes was erased by hot and angry loathing. She should have held still, should have waited until she was in a better position to defend Papa—

  Her inward gibbering panic was stunned to silence by the impact of his fist on the paneled wall. She sat stiller than still, aware that something had just gone even more horribly wrong, but not sure what.

  James rubbed his fist with the other hand and leaned his forehead on the paneled wall. He faced away from her, but Phillipa could hear his deep mutter. “Rupert Atwater. The biggest traitor in the history of the Liars and I let his daughter into the club. By God, I let her into my house.”

  Phillipa stepped forward. “How is Robbie? Please, tell me. I’ve been so worried.”

  “Robbie has a broken arm and has yet to wake from his concussion. Not that you would care.”

  Phillipa made a sound of protest. He whirled on her and she started backward. Then he was down on one knee before her, his hands planted on the cushions on either side of her, penning her in. He leaned his face close into hers, his once warm brown eyes gone black and shadowed.

  “What did you tell them? How many have you betrayed? Was it only me?” His hands came up to clutch her shoulders in a hard grip. He didn’t hurt her, not really, but there was no escaping him either.

  “Who have you betrayed? Tell me!”

  Phillipa could only shake her head frantically, gulping back her remorse in the face of his naked torment.

  She leaned away from him, breaking the snare of his furious gaze. She could not escape the wall of his body but she would not allow him to sap her will. She was fighting for her life again, hers and quite possibly Papa’s.

  “I have betrayed no one. I am not a traitor. My father is not a traitor. There must be some explanation—”

  She was interrupted by a bark of harsh laughter. “Explanation? For giving the French our codes? For creating codes for them that cannot be broken by us?” He leaned closer, until she could feel his breath on her cheek. “And what of you, Phillip? How do you explain your deception? How do you plan to explain away using a child to further your traitorous ends?”

  His voice broke slightly. He turned his face away. “I hired you. I gave him into your care. What happened? Did he discover you raiding the back rooms? Did you throw him from the window with your own hands?”

  “No!” She faced him at last. “James, I would never—I couldn’t hurt Robbie! I love him like my own, like I—” love you. She bit back the words and took a shaking breath. “James, I would never hurt you—him. Either of you.” Raising her hands to his large ones encasing her shoulders, she gently wrapped her fingers around his to ease his shattering grip.

  James found himself in the small hands of this strange creature. His mind continued to play tricks on him. Phillip—not Phillip—Phillip—until he thought he’d go mad from it.

  He gazed into large green eyes that were reddened from hours of tears. Her cheeks were smooth as silk and softly rounded. Her chin was small, her jaw fine, her lips full and pink. She was undeniably a woman.

  The extent of his own stupidity washed over him. He pulled his hands away and stood abruptly. “I am an ass,” he muttered furiously. “Have I no judgment left at all?”

  “Do not blame yourself, James. I worked very hard at being male.” Her voice came from behind him, completely different from Phillip’s husky accents. That at least gave him solace, for she’d masked the natural feminine music of her tones well.

  “Indeed, you did. We were all quite—” James stopped, remembering Robbie’s response to the new tutor. Robbie hadn’t been fooled for a second. James turned to her. “Why did Robbie keep your secret from me? How did you sway him to betray me?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” She glanced away, her lashes lowering almost shyly over those amazing green eyes. He stepped forward, clearly menacing her but not caring. This evil creature had ruined his life and he was not about to take pity because of this newly charming manner.

  “From nearly the first day, Robbie knew you were female. How did you persuade him to keep that secret? Dear God, I left him completely in your power! Did you abuse him into compliance?”

  She jerked in obvious surprise, her horrified gaze meeting his once more. “Of course not! The only thing I did to him was to teach him to read!”

  She had indeed. James didn’t want to be reminded of the true help she had rendered Robbie, and indirectly, himself. And Stubbs—

  He shook off that silent litany of her virtues. How she had amused herself gaining their confidence did not signify. The meat of the matter was that she had lied and betrayed them all, leaving the Liars vulnerable and Robbie lying unconscious in the next room.

  “Answer the question.”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “All right. But you must not blame Robbie. He truly didn’t mean to hide anything from you.” She shrugged. “He simply has a great deal to learn about being a gentleman.”

  He nodded shortly. She continued. “I believe that Robbie’s original intention was to use his knowledge as a sort of blackmail—for the student to control the teacher.” A small smile flitted across her face.

  James refused to be charmed. He only waited stonily.

  “Then I believe he began to have . . . certain fancies of our being a sort of family.” She glanced up at him warily then. “I didn’t encourage this, you understand. It was only natural for him to wish to fill the void with the man and woman nearest him. I never pretended to be his mother and you—”

  Never pretended to be his father. The unspoken words hung in the air between them. James did not bother to deny it.

  “So Robbie knew.”

  She nodded. James continued to regard her with his jaw clenched, for there was no doubt in his mind that this particular charade had obtained aid from elsewhere as well.

  “Who else?”

  She focused her attention on her hands, quite simply and quietly refusing to betray her co-conspirator. She sat like a lady now, feet together, back straight as a rod, frock-coat-clad shoulders straight.

  James stepped forward to take hold of a lapel of her coat. “Stand.” She stood, giving him a single worried glance before looking down once more. He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her in place. Every stitch of her clothing had been taken for the sole purpose of hiding her femininity.

  “Button.” The conspiracy went deeper than he’d imagined. If there was one person who he would have vowed possessed undying loyalty, it was Button. The little valet quite unashamedly worshipped Agatha and by association, Simon.

  She turned then, still standing quite close to him. He gazed down at her as she placed one pleading hand on his arm.

  “Button didn’t know anything but that I was a girl who needed help.” She came a step closer in her urgency, until she stood within the circle of his embrace, should he care to embrace her. As if he would.

  “He would never betray you. You must believe me.”

  “I wouldn’t believe you if you told me the grass was green.”

  Her mouth quirked. “So says the Liar.” She tilted her head at him. “So you’re a spy. Like the Griffin?”

  He flinched. “The Griffin is dead.”

  She gazed at him for a long moment. “Then I’m sorry for your loss. Just so you don’t lay that at my door as well, I didn’t kill him.”

>   “No,” murmured James, distracted by her nearness. “I did.”

  She was closer to him now than she had ever been. Her scent rose to him. Not that of flowery soap or eau de toilette, but simply woman.

  Suddenly, James was back in the shadowed park, holding a soft and struggling redhead in his arms. Hot want flashed through him once more.

  Apparently his night with Amilah hadn’t completely taken the edge off his needs, not if he could feel desire for this sexless creature. He stepped back.

  “Button and Robbie. Who else? Denny?”

  She shook her head. “Not Denny.”

  “No, of course not. Denny likely couldn’t see past the end of his own nose.” His lips twisted cynically. “Much like myself.”

  “James, you must understand. I had to know whose side you were on before I revealed myself.”

  “And when you discovered that, you should have run for your life.”

  “I thought about it. Even planned on it. But you mistake me still. I am on your side. My father is as well.”

  “Ah, yes. The fabled explanation.” He assumed an indifferent pose, leaning one shoulder on the frame of the window. “Go on.”

  Phillipa swallowed. James had never seemed so large and intimidating before. She was beginning to see the other side of this man, the side that no doubt made him a spy and a hero. Drawing her desperation about her in lieu of any real courage, she raised her chin to look him in the eye.

  “My father was taken from our home in Spain by force. He managed to hide me in time, but the French soldiers abducted him and ruined our home.”

  James nodded but said nothing. The light did not reach his eyes where he stood, but she could feel them like lances of black ice upon her.

  “I made my way to London on my own, as he’d instructed me.”

  “To Upkirk’s.”

  Phillipa blinked. “Yes, to Mr. Upkirk’s. But he’d died in the meantime and I had no way to find any other of my father’s old friends.”

  “And so on to Mrs. Farquart’s boardinghouse.”

  A cold chill went down Phillipa’s back. How could he know so much, unless—

  “You’re the one who has been following me?”

  James grunted. “Yes, but too far behind to catch you. And much farther behind than another.”

  “There is another after me? Who?”

  “You would know that better than I, I’d think.”

  She shook her head. “As far as I know, the only one who wants me is Napoleon.”

  “Really? Why is that?” James’s voice was casual.

  The tone snapped Phillipa’s last thread of control. “One would assume he wants to use me to force my father’s compliance, you dolt!” She threw out her hands. “Good God, no wonder England is losing the war, if you’re any example of our secret weapons!”

  One hard hand wrapped itself around one of her outflung wrists. She was pulled close as if she were nothing more than a toy, until she slammed against his hard frame. He leaned down until she could feel his breath on her ear.

  “Don’t anger me.” His low rumble ran through her like a tremor. “You wouldn’t like me thus.”

  She could tell he was being very frightening. Surely any other woman would be trembling in her stays at this moment. It simply wasn’t working on her. When she was this close to him, she wanted him. All of him. Hot, naked, and angry, if that was how he wished it.

  Her knees buckled and her palms grew damp. She wished he were thinking what she was thinking, about how they had touched and pleasured each other—

  A thought ripped through Phillipa’s heated daze. He doesn’t know it was me. Last night, James had made love to Amilah, not Phillipa Atwater. And she could never, ever tell him otherwise, for he would never forgive her.

  Suddenly, Phillipa hated Amilah more than ever. She herself would be treated as a spy and a traitor, while Amilah would live on in James’s memory as a fantasy fulfilled.

  “Damn,” she muttered, and wrenched herself from his grasp, turning to pace the room as she pondered this new twist.

  “What did you say?” The surprise in James’s voice was obvious. Apparently, most people didn’t become distracted and wander off when he was in the middle of intimidating them. A half-tearful giggle rose in Phillipa’s throat. She was too late covering her mouth and it escaped to fly into the room like a hummingbird uncaged.

  Oh, merde.

  James’s expression was priceless. He’d likely never had someone laugh in the face of his intimidation before either. The hysteria within Phillipa only rose the higher for it.

  He stood with folded arms until she was finished. “I do believe you’re mad,” he said with complete seriousness.

  She sighed. “I do believe you’re right.” He continued to gaze at her sternly. She smiled at him sadly. It made him scowl. What a wonder he was, all righteous patriot and restless adventurer in one.

  How I love you, my warrior-king. She couldn’t say it, as much as she longed to. He wouldn’t believe, not now.

  She continued to smile into his scowl. “Are you going to listen to me now?”

  “No.” Then he sighed. “I think I need to bring in clearer heads.” He turned toward the door. “You’ll be kept here as long as it takes, you realize. And don’t try your wiles on the man guarding your door. Stubbs will be forewarned.”

  He left then, with an audible click of the lock to assure her of her captivity. Phillipa paid no mind, for she was looking down at her rumpled, grimy, trouser-and tweed-clad self in wonder. “Wiles?” she murmured. “Wiles?”

  Phillipa was wearily contemplating sleeping in her shirt—for she had nothing but what she wore—when a diffident tap came upon her door. She turned to stare at it. Did someone think she had the power to open it?

  “Yes?”

  “Miss Atwater? May I beg a moment of your time?”

  The extreme politeness of the request made Phillipa snort. “Oh, by all means.”

  The lock tumbled and the door opened to reveal a bookish young man adorned with spectacles and a painfully earnest manner. “I beg your pardon, Miss Atwater. I know this must be a tremendous imposition.”

  Phillipa flicked a glance left, then right. “Actually, I would call it a prison cell, but then, that is simply my opinion.”

  The fellow nodded in earnest agreement. “Too right. I couldn’t agree more.” He stood there in the open door, fidgeting with a small stack of documents in his hands. Finally, Phillipa lost patience. “Come in or go away. But if you come in, you must bring your own candle. Mine went out from a draft and I have no way to light it.”

  Actually, the candle had been left by James, and ironically, it had been his exit that had provided the draft that had extinguished it. The symbolism of it had given her many a droll moment in between.

  Muttering apologetic noises and waving flustered gestures, the fellow bent over her candle with a small box in his hands. With a single quick motion, he created a flame from apparently nothing at all.

  Phillipa was astounded. “Who are you people?” she asked, alarm beginning to twine through her once more. James she knew, or believed she knew. The rest—well, perhaps she ought not to relax just yet.

  “I beg your pardon,” the fellow said for what had to be the tenth time. “I must introduce myself, I fear. Oh, dear . . .”

  Phillipa was quite exhausted by his blithering. She stood and offered her hand in a masculine manner. The man shook it automatically. “Hello, my name is Phillipa Atwater. What is yours, may I ask?”

  He blinked at her. “Fish.” Then he shook his head quickly. “No. It isn’t. It’s Fisher. Bartholomew Fisher.”

  “And what is it you’ve come to see me about, Mr. Bartholomew Fisher?” Phillipa asked wearily. “For I’m expecting royal guests soon and I must prepare the tea.”

  “What? Oh, a little jest. I see.” He didn’t look as though he saw at all, but Phillipa didn’t hold it against him. Her humor was most uncertain when she was tired.
>
  “Perhaps you could tell me—I mean to say, if you think it is at all possible that you might help—not that you would know the codes, I suppose—”

  “Mr. Fisher, I fear you’ve confused me completely. What codes don’t I know?”

  “Your father’s, of course. But you’re a lady. You likely don’t know them at all.”

  “But I do. A few of them.”

  Mr. Fisher rushed forward at that. “I’ve so wanted to meet you. Your father is a great influence on my work, you see. I mean, not that I’m a traitor, of course—oh, dear . . .”

  “Mr. Fisher, it is my opinion my father is only helping Napoleon because he must believe that I am in danger, or possibly a prisoner of the French myself.” Phillipa turned away. “Not that you will believe that, of course.”

  “Oh, but I do believe that!”

  Phillipa turned back, startled. “You do? Why you, when I cannot convince James Cunnington of this?”

  “Well, James may be a brilliant saboteur, but he’s not a cryptographer, is he? I’ve been handling the decryption process for the last few months and it seems that the codes have been getting simpler all the time, as if someone on the other end is trying to help us decrypt them.”

  Phillipa smiled, hope blooming in her at last. “Yes! That is precisely what he would do!” She threw her arms around a very startled Mr. Fish and danced him about in a circle. “Do you know what this means! It’s proof! He’s alive!” She kissed Mr. Fisher on the cheek from the sheer welling of happiness within her. Papa was alive and she was finally going to be able to help bring him home.

  The door opened. Phillipa looked up, still smiling and still with her arms around a further flustered and blushing Mr. Fisher.

  James was glaring at them from the doorway, a nearly visible storm cloud gathering over his head.

  Phillipa released her not-terribly-unwilling dance partner and wiggled her fingers at James. “Hello.” Then she decided not to care that he was simply simmering with fury and smiled at him happily. “Papa is alive, James. And I can prove he isn’t a traitor.”

  James’s eyes narrowed. “Then you do have the code key.”