Chapter 19
James
James strode from room to room, his worry mounting with every passing second.
The housekeeper and maid he questioned did not know Kate’s whereabouts, only that she had left her chambers hours ago.
He knew his fear was irrational, but the dread refused to lift.
He had always been driven to protect her, but never more so than after their time in the library the previous night—especially now that he knew who she truly was.
He opened the door to the drawing room, but only a hollow stillness greeted him.
He continued down the passage, a knot tightening in his gut.
He reached for Henry’s token in his pocket, its familiar weight a reminder of what was at stake.
It was proof that a single mistake could cost everything.
Losing Kate was a price he could not—and would not—pay.
He strode through the portrait gallery, passing the gilt-framed paintings without seeing them.
The morning room had been empty earlier, but he held a desperate hope that either Lady Hawthorne had arisen or that Kate had miraculously appeared.
He tamped down a swell of frustration as he found the room just as vacant as before.
Pacing in front of the large window, he fought to master his spiraling emotions as he considered his next move. He needed to seek out Tess. Surely the maid would know where he could find her mistress.
He glanced out the window at the grounds below.
Lady Hawthorne’s dog was trotting dutifully behind a slender figure in a white gown and blue pelisse.
The woman’s chestnut-colored locks strayed from their pins, bonnet ribbons in hand as she walked the path around the lake.
Even through the haze of the low-lying mist, he would have recognized that silhouette anywhere.
Kate.
Relief struck hard as he sank to the window bench. He unclenched his fists and willed his heart to slow now that he knew she was safe. Yet with the truth of her identity laid bare, perhaps his concern was justified.
Only yesterday he had determined that Kate was using her intelligence and skill with ciphers in service of some dangerous but noble cause. He understood she was already living in the shadows he had been trying to keep her from.
But when she shared the decoded ledger pages with him last night, the final piece of the puzzle had snapped into place.
He knew that handwriting as well as he knew his own.
The sharp angles. The unique loops. He had studied the script for years.
He had trusted it and relied on the intelligence those messages had provided.
Never in his wildest imaginings would he have guessed Kate was the author of those decoded messages.
That they had been working together all this time, unknowing partners in the same cause.
Kate was the agent known as Raven.
“Good morning, James,” Lady Hawthorne greeted as she entered the morning room, clad in a purple gown and appearing far more cheerful than he felt. “I trust you slept well.”
He rose and inclined his head. “Your accommodations are beyond reproach, Lady Hawthorne,” he remarked, omitting his restless night. “And may I extend my thanks again for allowing me to impose upon your hospitality.”
“Oh, nonsense, James,” she scoffed, her voice warm with amusement. “You are always welcome, but why the sudden stiffness? You were not so formal when you let that goat into my house.”
She sat on the window bench and he joined her, chuckling at childhood memories, a time when life had seemed so simple. Her gaze followed his to the window, where Kate lingered by the water, playing fetch with the dog.
“Ahh,” was all she said. Perhaps he should be embarrassed at being caught staring at Kate, but if Lady Hawthorne was half as observant as her niece, she likely already guessed at his conflicting feelings.
“When I met Lord Hawthorne,” she said, “he was serving as an officer in His Majesty’s army.
He had asked his father to buy him a commission despite being the heir, believing it his duty.
” She paused, lost in her own memories. “He survived the war in America, and we met at a ball shortly after he returned home. Despite loving him, I turned him down the first time he proposed.” She chuckled. “Can you believe such a thing?”
He gave her a wry smile. “It is not as difficult to imagine as you might think.”
Her smile widened into a grin as she watched Kate below, though her expression soon sobered. “I was afraid of loving him and then losing him, the same way I lost my father.” She turned back to James. “And so I ran.”
She waved a hand, dismissing the past. “You know how my story ends, but I wasted time worrying about the threats he faced as a soldier, something that I could not control, and I nearly lost him anyway. He passed away a short time ago, but I had a lifetime of happiness with him. Even if he had died on the field as a young man, I still would have no regrets.”
She clasped James’s hand in hers, patting it with tender affection.
“James, love is not the absence of danger. Love is choosing someone despite the risks. You cannot protect a person by standing between them and the world, no matter how hard you try.” She offered a sympathetic smile.
“Life is unpredictable and there is no greater joy than loving another person without reserve and letting them see every part of you in return.” She paused, studying him as he took a long, deep breath. “So, you only need to ask yourself one question.”
“What is that?” he asked, unable to tear his eyes away from Kate.
“If you do nothing, what is the cost? And are you willing to pay it?”
“I suppose that was two questions,” she said as she rose from the bench, “and I am certain you would rather not spend your day listening to the ramblings of an old woman.” She gave his hand one final pat. James rose with her.
“Just remember. Indecision is still a choice, James,” she said. “It simply costs more in the end.”
She exited the room with soft steps. James turned back toward the window, his focus fixed on Kate’s profile—the grace of her movements, the quiet courage in her bearing, the beauty that undid him despite his every effort to resist.
His mind and his heart warred. He wanted nothing more than to run to Kate and gather her into his arms, to keep her there always, shielding her from the world. But Lady Hawthorne’s words anchored him in place.
He pressed his brow against the cool glass of the window, dread pooling in his gut. How could he ensure her safety, especially now that he understood the true nature of the danger she faced?
The French knew Raven existed. They had cursed the name for years, hunted for any clue to the codebreaker’s identity. As far as James knew, Westmarch alone had guarded that secret—until now. Until James had recognized her handwriting across a library table.
If Kate was Raven, then her secret was not his to drag into the light. Not when exposure could place her in the path of the enemy. Not when she had guarded it with such care. And not when he still had secrets of his own.
But even if he could command her to walk away, he would not.
He would not ask her to abandon work that gave her purpose or deny the skill that made her essential to the cause they served, simply because it terrified him.
He would not demand she become something she was not merely so he could feel at ease.
Shielding her now meant standing beside her in the choices she made, no matter how dangerous.
And if he could not protect her every moment of the day, perhaps he could make sure she knew how to defend herself. Should that instruction provide an excuse to hold her in his arms, even for a moment, then all the better.
The future might be precarious, but there was one thing he knew with absolute certainty.
He wanted Kate in his life, however she would allow him to remain.
The morning air was thick, and the cool dampness clung to James’s coat. He walked across the field, his doubts parting with the drifting fog. He approached Kate with sure steps, his entire purpose bound to the woman standing at the water’s edge.
Kate had not noticed him yet. As he reached the lakeside path, he stopped a few feet behind her, clasping his hands behind his back.
She was a painting come to life, standing ethereal in front of the misty lake, the pup playing at her feet.
He let the sight settle, proof to his racing heart that his worst fear had not come to pass.
“Good morning, Kate.”
The breeze carried his words through the haze. She tilted her face toward him, a smile forming on her lips.
“Good morning, my lord.”
He ignored her pointed salutation. “I confess I was worried when I could not find you in the house,” he told her.
“I could not ignore the call of the birds this morning. The fog over the lake has a poetic appeal, does it not?” She bent to pet the creature who seemed wholly devoted to her. James could relate.
A servant called from the porch, summoning the dog, who let out a bark, then bounded toward the house.
“You always did prefer the outdoors.” She nodded in agreement, taking a deep breath, her face serene.
He cleared his throat, searching for the words to explain his presence without seeming presumptuous. “Given our experiences the last few days, I wonder if you might grant me a small indulgence.”
“And what is that?”
He withdrew his unloaded flintlock pistol from his coat, cradling the weapon in his palm. “I would like to teach you how to shoot.”
Her expression turned skeptical, and a teasing grin lifted the corners of her soft lips. He allowed himself to linger on the sight.
“You are going to teach me to shoot?”