Chapter 20
Kate
Heat flooded Kate’s face as the rest of her went cold. James lingered in their embrace, and she was grateful for his strength. The world felt unsteady, as though she had been pulled from a dream too quickly. She drank in his warmth and tenderness, taking a careful breath.
He removed his arms from her waist, gave her one last smile, and turned to face the new arrival. Kate was startled when James reached for her hand, his fingers threading through hers as if they had always known the way.
Westmarch stood a few paces away, tall and commanding in the faint morning light. He regarded them in silence, one eyebrow raised.
Guilty panic sparked, but not because of the kiss.
Had Westmarch discovered her investigation in London?
Was he angry that she had left home to investigate the strange messages in The Morning Post?
That she had traveled to Dover? Her mind raced through every rule she had bent or broken, and there were far too many to count.
He had mentioned a complaint, but she could not recall making one unless he was referring to her request that certain agents write more legibly.
She was not surprised he had found her. She would ask him how, but she did not need to. This was Westmarch. And now he was here, before she had told James the truth. The two discordant halves of her world were crashing together, and she feared the inevitable ruin that was sure to follow.
Westmarch finally said, his voice gruff, “Let’s retire to the house. It seems we have some things to discuss.”
She and James walked together, his grip firm.
The warmth of his palm anchored her even as apprehension threatened her peace.
Whatever Westmarch was about to reveal, she only hoped she would have the opportunity to tell James herself about the name Raven, the work behind it, and the life she intended to keep.
She wanted it to be a choice, not a confession dragged into the light.
James released her hand only when they reached the drawing room. He bowed to Aunt Edith, who was waiting for them and greeted Westmarch with the ease of old friendship.
“You have found my wandering guests, I see,” Aunt Edith said. “And without frightening my dog this time.”
Westmarch’s stern expression softened. “It appears the mutt is learning to trust me.”
Aunt Edith smiled. “How is your wife? And the new baby?”
At that, Westmarch was a man transformed. “Both are well. My daughter has already learned to command the household, including her two older brothers, more effectively than I ever could.”
“A sensible girl, then,” Edith said.
Westmarch’s mouth curved, but his attention returned to James and Kate. “Unfortunately, this is not merely a social call.”
Aunt Edith understood the request, at least in part. Westmarch had long consulted with her father and James on matters of business, so a private discussion would not seem unusual. Kate only wished the matter before them were truly so mundane.
“Yes, of course,” Aunt Edith agreed. “My study is yours. I shall inform the servants you are not to be disturbed.”
Westmarch and James bowed to Edith and moved toward the study.
Kate hesitated, then turned toward the stairs.
Whatever Westmarch had come to discuss, the ledger copies would be required sooner or later.
She retrieved the pouch from her chambers, her hands trembling, then joined them in the study.
The door closed behind her, the click of the latch echoing in the hushed room.
Westmarch and James stood near the desk, talking in low voices. Kate moved to James’s side, her fingers turning white as she clutched the leather pouch.
Westmarch eyed them both in turn, brows raised. “I assume that, as two of my best agents, you have each reached at least half the truth by now.”
Kate’s breath caught. Two agents. Half the truth.
She turned to James. He was not simply a spy then. He was Westmarch’s spy.
James’s expression shifted only slightly, but it was enough to answer her unspoken question.
He had known they worked for the same man and said nothing. Regret crossed his face, brief but unmistakable, before he turned back to Westmarch.
Westmarch had known far more. He knew her full identity as Raven, that James was one of his agents, and was well aware that their families expected them to marry.
Yet he had still said nothing. Whether it had been strategy, matchmaking, or both, Kate could not yet decide.
But if he had told her the truth outright, she begrudgingly admitted she might have refused James on principle before giving him the smallest chance.
“Good,” Westmarch said dryly after observing them both.
“It appears your journey was enlightening in more ways than one. You can discuss the personal implications later. I am here because several threads of my investigation have begun moving at once, and I dislike coincidence. Tell me everything you have discovered since I left London.”
James began with the meeting at the library, though to Kate’s relief, he omitted several details that would have made her blush. Westmarch offered no commentary. Only an occasional nod or twitch of his jaw indicated he was listening.
But when James came to their discovery at the warehouse, Westmarch lifted a hand to stop him. “The ledger. Tell me about it.”
The leather pouch grew heavier in Kate’s grasp.
“We left it behind so we would not alert anyone to our trespassing,” she said, finding her voice. “But I copied most of the pages.”
Westmarch’s gaze sharpened. “Where are they?”
Kate moved to the desk and opened the pouch. The paper edges whispered against one another as she withdrew the folded ledger papers and laid them before him. Westmarch leaned over them at once, his face hardening with every line he read.
James shifted closer, leaning one hip against the desk’s edge. He said nothing, but she felt him beside her as surely as she felt the heat of the fire at her back. Only minutes ago, his arms had been around her. Now every inch between them felt crowded with questions.
Turning the last page, Westmarch let out a heavy sigh and rested one hand on the desk.
“Tell me what you learned from these pages.”
Kate glanced at James. He smiled and gave her a nod, and some of the tightness in her chest eased. “The names all appear to be false. We do not recognize a single one.”
“The shipments suggest treason,” James said. “The other entries are less direct, but they point to blackmail and bribery. Whoever controls this ledger has reach, money, and influence.”
Kate watched him speak. He was confident, composed, and experienced. She could see it in him now, the discipline beneath the charm, the calculation beneath the ease. Perhaps she should have recognized it sooner. Or perhaps James had simply been very good at hiding in plain sight.
How long had this been his life? How much had he guessed about hers? And how many times had they stood beside one another, each guarding a truth the other had nearly touched?
Westmarch straightened, crossed his arms, and paced between the desk and the bookshelves, the firelight moving across the room. Surely he had dealt with grave matters during his years at the Home Office, but the concern etched into his features worried Kate.
Westmarch stopped abruptly, his focus locking onto her. “I trust you were thorough. Are there any other pages?”
“A few.” Her fingers felt clumsy as she opened the pouch again and withdrew the remaining sheets. She held them out toward him, but a folded parchment slipped free and fluttered to the floor.
Kate’s stomach dropped.
She had almost forgotten.
The warehouse letter lay at her feet, the unmistakable symbol of a serpent coiled around an oak leaf, pressed into a wax seal. Firelight moved across the dark red impression, making the serpent seem almost alive.
The quiet in the room grew suffocating. Her pulse quickened.
Westmarch observed her, his head tilted in silent assessment. “You have seen this symbol before.”
It was not a question.
“Yes. Several times.”
“Where?”
“I first noticed it on the corner of a message I decoded, but I did not think it significant until it appeared again. Do you remember the series of unusual poems in The Morning Post I wrote you about? They all referenced different combinations of oak, leaf, and serpent. Then the same mark was hidden on a note I picked up after the meeting in the library as well as on the crates in the alley at The Crown & Oak.”
As she spoke, she became aware of a change beside her. James had gone still, his gaze fixed on the seal lying between them on the floor. Kate’s voice faltered.
“Go on,” Westmarch said, his tone turning serious.
She forced herself to continue. “I know you told me to observe and send word if the pattern became clearer, and not to do anything that would risk exposure. But by the time I understood the messages were more than strange poems, I had no way to reach you. Someone in London was submitting them, and I could not let the trail go cold.” She held her breath, feeling as though she were about to be reprimanded by her governess.
“I am aware I may have been imprudent, but I deemed it necessary.”
Westmarch’s features hardened. “I will not pretend to approve of the risk you took with your identity. We have guarded it too carefully for that.”
Kate braced herself.
“But I will also not pretend that the result was anything less than extraordinary.” His mouth softened into the smallest smile. “Brilliant, Kate,” he said. “You managed to piece together in weeks what has taken me months.”
Kate blinked, caught entirely off guard, but before she could respond, Westmarch’s attention shifted past her. “James?”
James had not moved. He was staring at the letter lying on the floor.
“James?” she echoed.
He did not respond. His body had gone rigid. Then he reached into his inner pocket and withdrew something she could not see. He finally raised his head. Despair marked every line of his face.
“I—” His voice broke. No further words came. He extended his trembling hand and slowly uncurled his fingers, revealing a small object.
Henry’s token.
Etched with a hissing serpent coiled around an oak leaf.