by Gayle Callen
“I can finish this myself,” she said quickly.
“But I already touched your ankles,” he said with dry amusement in his voice.
“Only to bind them cruelly.”
She could hear his hesitation. “It’s necessary, Charlotte.”
She ignored him then, wincing when her cloth touched a particularly sore spot on her ankle. He was going to tie her up again, further aggravating her injuries, and there was nothing she could do about it, except plan another escape. She took her time washing her skin and looked about the room for help. There was a small table and chairs, and a standing screen for privacy in the corner. She’d thought there were windows in the far wall, but then she realized they were doors. There must be a balcony or gallery outside. Did he even realize it yet?
Nick stared at Charlotte, who huddled on the bed with her back to him, bright blue silk rising high on petticoats all around her. With all that material gathered up around her, it was practically impossible for her to reach her ankles, but she was doing her best.
She would do anything rather than let him touch her.
This was good, he told himself. Just looking at what he’d done to mar her smooth skin made him feel uneasy and guilty. If only she were a man, the wounds wouldn’t bother him a bit.
But if she were a man, he wouldn’t have the pleasure of looking at her.
She was merely a hostage, he reminded himself as he turned away and began to pace in front of the bare hearth. She was a hostage with a husband who would be missing her.
Yet he couldn’t help but admire her stubborn insistence in trying to escape. When he’d opened the carriage door and she’d kicked him in the chest, he’d almost laughed and applauded her bravery. She stubbornly continued to defy him, no matter how overwhelming her task seemed.
He was watching the way her bare shoulders seemed to gleam in the near darkness, when a soft knock sounded at the door.
Charlotte lifted her head and met his gaze wide-eyed.
He frowned at her and called, “Aye?” in his Scottish brogue.
“It’s me,” Sam said.
Nick unlocked the door and Sam slipped inside, carrying an overstuffed portmanteau. Sam had changed clothing and was now wearing the coat and top hat of the country gentry.
“How was the trip to London?” Nick asked.
Sam dipped his head to Charlotte as he set the portmanteau beside her on the bed. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Sinclair.”
“Sam,” Nick said impatiently, as his partner seemed lost in the loveliness of her smile. He hoped she didn’t think she could pit them against each other with feminine wiles. That had been tried many times before, and it had always failed.
Sam only grinned, as if he knew what Nick was thinking. “That horse moves like the wind. It was a quick journey.”
“And Julia?”
His face sobered. “She’s left London, heading north.”
Finally the culmination of a year’s worth of work was at hand. If only they didn’t have to worry about Charlotte. “And you have no way of knowing if Julia is on to us?”
“None. She could be racing us to Leeds—or heading for Kelthorpe’s house party.”
“Then we’ll need Will’s help. I’ll go to him tonight.”
“Who’s Will?” Charlotte asked as she knelt on the bed and opened the portmanteau. She pulled out a plain brown dress and frowned at it.
“No one you need to know,” Nick said abruptly.
That delicate chin lifted higher into the air. “I need you both to leave so that I may change.”
“We’re not leaving you alone.” Nick pointed into a shadowy corner of the room. “There’s a changing screen right there. You may use that.”
“But—”
“Or you can change in front of us.”
She blushed in a very lovely way, he thought, almost wishing she’d accept his challenge. But then he’d have to kick Sam out of the room. All so he could drool over a married woman. He sighed heavily.
“Does that mean I cannot bathe?” she asked.
“Not any time soon.”
Frowning, she lay three dresses side by side and then chose one, along with several feminine items she tried to keep hidden from them. Sam had even brought her one of those useless little bags women liked to carry.
“If you need help unfastening your dress, just call,” Nick said.
She hesitated. “Can I not have the services of a maid?”
“You cannot.”
Glaring at him, she said, “You are a wicked man.”
“Only a practical one. Now, do you need help?”
He thought her eyes glistened with tears, and he felt guilty. But he couldn’t change anything. He started to walk toward her.
She looked past Nick and appealed to Sam. “There are just a few fastenings at the top that I cannot reach.”
While she turned her back and Sam walked forward, Nick fisted his hands and tried to tell himself it was better this way. He was too drawn to her, his hostage, a married woman. Let her show her disdain—it would help him remember the situation between them.
When Sam was finished, Charlotte walked regally to the screen, displaying a long line of skin. When she disappeared behind it, Sam eyed Nick as if he were enjoying himself.
“Be wary of her,” Nick said in a low voice. “She’s still trying to escape.”
“Can you blame her? But I’m off to follow Julia. I assume while you’re gone that Cox will be handling our lovely hostage.”
Nick nodded.
“That ought to be interesting.” Sam shook his head and grinned. “When I left Will he was headed for Huntingdon. I’m sure that’s where they’ll spend the night. There are only three inns; you should be able to find them easily.”
“Them?”
“He has a woman with him.”
“Ah, to have time for such things,” Nick mused.
“She appears very wellborn. He met with her frequently in London, but I kept my distance. I didn’t think it important to know who she was, as long as I could find Will when I needed to. And now they’re looking at estates as if to purchase one.”
“Maybe Will really is settling down. I’d better go before we lose him. Stay here a minute, Sam. I’ll explain everything to Cox and send him up to take over for you.”
But before Nick could escape the room, their hostage made her appearance. She was wearing a gown of plain dark green, which buttoned up the front. It covered every part of her but her neck and head, yet across the bodice it stretched rather…tightly, outlining her assets.
Sam winced. “I did my best estimating her size.”
Charlotte frowned and looked down at herself. “It is not too uncomfortable, although I wasn’t able to wear a—” She broke off, her face flushing red.
“A corset?” Nick finished for her. He had noticed immediately that her shape was womanly instead of confined.
Her mouth snapped shut, and she glared her contempt at him.
Once again he’d embarrassed and angered her. But he preferred her this way, rather than frightened of him.
“Sam and I have to go,” he told her as he rummaged through his portmanteau for a long, shabby cloak.
She looked wary, as if she didn’t understand where the conversation was going.
“My coachman, Cox, will be with you. He’s not a man who takes his duties lightly, so I would not cross him. I’ll return as soon as I can.”
“But—” She broke off, the worry in her voice evident. Then she collected herself, gave a cool nod, and turned away.
After an hour’s ride on a fast horse through mists and occasional rain, Nick reached Huntingdon. He looked for the most disreputable lodging first, over a tavern, and took a room there so that he had a private place to meet with Will. Then he went back out into the streets, walking slowly as he limped and leaned on his cane. Twice women came out of the shadows to offer themselves. He kept walking, knowing Will wouldn’t bring a lady near such a place.
> The next inn he came to was made of uneven stone, built near an ancient bridge that spanned the Ouse River with many arches. The innkeeper knew Will by Nick’s description. Nick went inside the public dining room, eased himself onto a wooden settle before the hearth, and propped his leg up.
The room was crowded with travelers and local people, and it didn’t take long for him to spot Will Chadwick and his companion taking a seat at the table. Will was much better dressed than the last time Nick had seen him, though there was more gray in his brown hair. In Afghanistan he, Sam, and Will had all sported beards and turbans, and had wrapped themselves in sheepskin cloaks to fight the bitter winter winds of the Hindu Kush mountains. They’d passed as natives and kept watch for the East India Company on the Russian plans for the country. The three of them had relied on one another and had been as close as brothers. But then Will’s cover had been blown, and he’d been ambushed by Afghani tribesmen and almost killed. He had had to leave the country and work in India.
And now Will was in England, ready to begin a new civilian life. Nick promised himself he would use Will as little as he needed to.
To Nick’s surprise, Will’s companion began talking to other people in the room, and eventually walked over to smile at him. She was an attractive woman, with black hair and the most direct green eyes.
“Good evening, sir,” she said in a cultured voice. “I’ve been looking for some local people who might be able to tell me where some unusual historic sights are. Might you be able to help me?”
Nick glanced behind her at Will, and saw the moment that recognition dawned in his eyes. Will frowned at him.
Nick turned a smile on his lady. “Sorry, miss, I’m but a stranger here like you.”
Though she would have politely continued their conversation, he rubbed his leg a few times and looked pained, until she said she didn’t want to disturb him. She and Will left eventually, but Nick knew Will would be back.
It took him only an hour, and this time he came alone. He ignored Nick and sat at the bar for several beers while he talked to the innkeeper. Occasionally, Will let his arm drop, and his hand made the gesture they’d long used for “meet outside in the back.” After Will left, Nick waited a few minutes, then went out the back door, following an alley toward the stables. In the gloom a man passed him going toward the inn, and Nick was certain it was Will’s servant Barlow, but neither of them acknowledged the other.
Will stood near a carriage parked beside the stables, and Nick limped toward him. There was no one else in sight.
“Is the wound real?” Will asked.
“No,” he said. “Nice to see you, too.”
Though Will shrugged idly, his gaze was direct and challenging. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to say the same. The disguise doesn’t reassure me.”
“It shouldn’t. There’s trouble. I never would have bothered you otherwise. But let’s not talk here. I have a room above a tavern nearby. Follow me.”
Chapter 5
A spy keeps tight hold on all information until he needs to use it.
The Secret Journals of a Spymaster
Nick led Will back through the decaying alley that paralleled the Ouse River, then held up a hand when he reached his lodgings. “This is the place. I’ll go in first. Take the steps in the back, right corner. I’m the first door on the right at the top.”
He went in ahead of Will, limping through the smoky, loud taproom to the far staircase. His room was in one corner, where the ceiling slanted over the bed and he had to duck if he wanted to pace. After tossing his cloak and cane on the bed, he threw another piece of peat on the iron grate in the fireplace, and it belched out smoke.
When Will gave a soft knock, Nick let him in. They sized each other up for a moment, and he saw the suspicion Will didn’t bother to hide.
Nick looked at Will’s fine garments. “I should have given you the cloak. You stand out around here.”
“They thought I was drunk, so I fit in well enough. Now what do you want?”
“Sit down,” Nick said, nodding toward a wooden chair. He had never had to figure out a way to talk to Will before. They’d always known each other’s thoughts, yet this well-dressed Will, this fine gentleman who’d recently become a baron, was almost a stranger.
After explaining to Will where Sam was, Nick was able to get to the most important question. “So who’s the woman? She looks of quality, yet she’s traveling with you.”
“I am of quality now, old man, thanks to our good queen. But her name will tell you who she is—Jane Whittington.”
This new information sent Nick’s thoughts ricocheting in another direction, but he had to be sure. “As in Colonel Whittington?”
“She’s his daughter. I’m bringing her north to see him.”
How had they both gotten tangled up with the colonel’s daughters? There was no such thing as a coincidence. “And she doesn’t mind traveling alone with you?”
“We’re engaged.”
Nick pretended casualness with a whistle. “Well, look at you—a nobleman, a dandy, and soon a married man. Hard to believe.”
“Miracles happen.”
But even Will’s assurance seemed forced.
“Now why did you feel the need to find me?” Will continued.
“Do you remember General Reed?” Nick asked. “He had a sister named Julia.”
“I remember. He was with the Bengal army.”
“Yes. Do you remember how his sister came with all the other army families into Kabul? She was always foolishly brave, even more so than her brother, I think.”
Nick tried not to let his bitterness show, but Will was too clever for that.
“You knew her?” Will asked, tilting his head to study him.
“Intimately. We both agreed it was only for a short while because I wasn’t going to be in Kabul long. Sam had introduced us. He grew up in the same parish as the Reeds.”
“So what does this have to do with me?”
For a moment, Nick stared into the fire. Was it still so difficult for him to believe that Julia had committed treason without him even knowing? “She was sending British troop information to the Russians.”
Will stiffened. “How can you accuse a woman of treason, let alone be certain she actually did it?”
Nick hadn’t anticipated how difficult it would be to talk about something so personal—and embarrassing—even to Will. “The Reeds didn’t have much money. They were from an old family whose investments had long ago gone bad. I knew then that she wanted more than someone like me, a mere cousin to nobility, could give her. She took matters into her own hands.”
“All right, you’ve given me motive,” Will said as he stood up to pace, “but not any proof. I assume you know for certain this happened?”
“Originally, the word ‘treason’ was whispered by one of my Afghani informants. I knew he was playing both the Russians and us, but he could be useful. I think he was shocked when he realized that a British woman was involved. She sent the information in a coded letter, and he saw her deliver it.”
“And you know it was Julia?”
“He described her perfectly—how many women can there be in Kabul with hair so blond as to be almost white? One who would roam the bazaars dressed as a boy?” Nick had been drawn to her independence, to the wild, unfettered way she lived her life, so different from the other European women he knew.
“Maybe she spurned his advances,” Will said thoughtfully, “and he’s decided to punish her.”
Nick shook his head. “She left a necklace I had given her with a certain Russian officer. I saw it myself.” He didn’t want to see the pity in Will’s eyes. Will must have suspected that Nick sympathized with women. Had Will realized Nick’s weakness as an intelligence agent?
“Nick, you might be only one of many she bedded,” Will said cautiously. “How do you know she wasn’t simply involved with this Russian?”
Nick refused to allow his emotions to get the better of him
, and he hardened his tone. “Because I traced her accomplice back to England. He’s here now, ready to testify against her. He gave me one of the letters, and he has the matching code letter. They look innocent—except for little blobs of ink, certain letters filled in, as if someone just randomly scribbled on them. She would send two letters, by two different routes, and you could not read the code until both letters were side by side. The accomplice will give me the matching code letter when I reach Leeds and get him to safety. He’s afraid she’s going to have him killed for what he knows.”
Will leaned back into his chair, his expression wary. “But why now? This all happened over a year ago.”
“It’s taken me a long time to track this man down. But the main impetus is that my lovely Julia has made a good match for herself. She’s supposed to marry the Duke of Kelthorpe.”
When Will gave a low whistle, Nick scowled and said, “I can’t let a traitor to England marry into one of the highest families in the land—hell, the groom is a distant cousin to the queen!”
His outburst sounded loud even to his own ears, and the silence that followed was awkward. He was making this assignment too personal, and he had to get past that. He understood Will’s reluctance to return to a life he’d left behind, but Nick explained that he needed Will to get himself invited to a house party that the duke was holding. If Julia hoped to marry the man, she could hardly afford to miss the event. Will only had to watch her, and inform Nick about her movements.
But Nick was surprised by what worried Will the most: Jane’s welfare. Had he fallen in love so quickly? He hardly remembered Will ever making time for women, in all the years he’d known him. Nick was unmoved by this new side of his friend. England’s safety had been weakened, and he would be damned if he didn’t stop it from happening again. Will’s eventual agreement made them both relax, and Nick told him about the location of Langley Manor.
