Chapter Fourteen
“Leave Beatrix alone,” Diana ordered.
She paid no mind to Ian’s thunderous expression. He was itching for a fight, and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of acquiescing to so hostile a demand. “I will explain what I can when your temper cools. Take a walk.”
Ian stood stock-still, as if contemplating a challenge to her proposal, and she casually reached into her pocket for her blade. She’d no intent to use it, but he knew what the gesture meant, and his eyes widened a fraction before he marched off to fume along the length of the pier.
“I take it things aren’t going as planned,” Beatrix commented.
Diana scoffed and placed her woolen scarf around her friend’s shaking shoulders. “Forget him for the moment. Are you truly well?”
“It’s only damp at the bottom of my skirts. I don’t need to go inside yet. Luckily, this didn’t get damaged.” Beatrix handed her a black-edged envelope.
They studied it for a quiet moment.
“How was it delivered?” Diana finally asked.
“The skiff pilot. The poor man thought it was a real mourning note. He looked at me so sadly.”
“Perhaps he felt guilty about ferrying you in a boat that would leak.”
“I don’t think anyone interfered with it.” Beatrix sighed. “It’s my natural ability to attract disaster.”
“It is one of your greatest strengths.” Diana tried to hold back a laugh and failed. Beatrix caught her giggle and in short order, the two of them were wiping tears from their eyes.
During their debut season, the ship Beatrix was supposed to travel aboard sank en route to France, and Diana mourned her friend deeply. Years later, the quest to find a better treatment for her father’s illness took them to Melbourne. A Stag missive had led Diana to Beatrix.
When Diana had discovered why Beatrix had remained hidden on the other side of the world, she knew the Stags’s mission would resonate with her, and she’d recruited Beatrix to join them.
She reached out and gave Beatrix another hug, to assure herself that her friend was now well and flourishing. “Lord, it’s so good to see you.”
“And you. I’ve missed you and Amy so much.” Bea’s eyes shone. “I confess, I didn’t think it would take me this long to work up the nerve to leave Melbourne.”
Diana glanced over her shoulder to confirm Ian was finally out of earshot. “There’s been no other news about Henry’s uncle. Our sources say the engagement is still proceeding.”
“So Henry hasn’t stopped it.”
“Not that I know of. But I’ve been considerably preoccupied.”
“Fleeing your wedding with the groom’s brother,” Beatrix teased. “Are you returning to England with us?”
“Not tonight.” Diana clutched Widow’s note. “I have a terrible feeling about all of this, Bea. We’re one wrong move away from disaster.”
Beatrix looked back at the ship. “Nothing firm yet on any of your crew linked to the payments or the attacks?”
“The terrible thing is, other than you and Amelia, I trust no one.”
“What about Ian?”
At Diana’s groan, Beatrix flashed one of her impish smiles. “Oh, it’s like that, is it? And don’t tell me he’s only here for the emeralds. I’ve been gone eight years, but there is no force—neither earthly nor divine—that could make Ian Holt’s feelings for you change that dramatically.”
“I think I have to trust him. Which means I’m going to have to tell him everything, and it will make things worse between us.”
“When I came up with my crazy scheme to win Henry back, you insisted it would be worth the risk.”
“And it will be,” Diana assured her. “But this is different. Ian and I—we haven’t been honest with each other since we were children. There’s no way I can conceive of for this to end well.”
“It will if you both want it enough to work for it. Women like us, Di…we have to fight for our happiness.”
Diana gave her friend another squeeze.
“I’m not sure I’m doing the right thing either,” Beatrix said softly. “If Henry is as affected as Ian said, how can he ever forgive me?”
“You’ll find out in London.”
“It could all blow up in my face.”
“Nonsense.” Diana flapped a hand. “But Henry’s diabolical uncle does concern me. You are taking precautions?”
“Yes. Amelia made all the arrangements. Poor dear, she’s working herself ragged for both of us.”
“I’ve dragged her into this mess with the emeralds. Luckily, she’s safe in France until we need her elsewhere.”
“She’s a smart woman. If she’s involved, it’s because she wants to be. And you’re too protective of all of us. We all need looking after sometimes.”
They both stole a glance at Ian pacing the docks.
Diana regarded the letter. She didn’t want to be alone with whatever it said. “Will you wait with me while I read it?”
“Of course.”
She opened the note and scanned it several times. “They want me to hand over the necklace. There’s a meet here, at sunrise.”
“But that would mean a delay. The women—”
“Ever Hart will depart as planned. You’ll have to take them with Virgil. It’s too risky to stay here.”
Beatrix narrowed her eyes. “I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I.” Diana kept her voice steady. “But I can handle it.”
“Not by yourself, Di.”
“I won’t.”
They both turned back to Ian. He halted his pacing and paused beneath a lamppost. His expression was darker than the evening.
“He looks a little too murdery to be alone with you,” Beatrix murmured. “Take Birdie with you.”
Diana gave a low whistle and beckoned Ian with a dip of her head, which made him glower. He approached them carefully, with his hands buried in his pockets.
At least he wasn’t overtly reaching for his pistol.
“The Ever Hart must make sail now,” Diana said. “Beatrix will take the cargo to Bristol with Virgil. For the safety of the women, you and I will not be on board. We have other orders.”
Ian remained suspiciously silent, which disappointed her; it was easier to know what he was thinking when he was growling and sniping.
Diana gave Beatrix one last hug. “Safe travels, dear. I’ll meet you in London soon. With Henry,” she added in a whisper.
Beatrix tossed her a grin before she scrambled up the gangplank.
“Come with me.” Diana flicked her eyes to Ian before she marched in the opposite direction down the pier. Over her shoulder, she added, “Perhaps we can find something for you to hit.”
They ended up in a dockside mesón that catered to sailors making port and shipping out at all hours.
Diana’s stomach rumbled at the savory scent of marmitako—stewed bonito with sausage and potatoes. She signaled the barmaid for an order and two glasses of local cider.
She was always ravenous after an operation, and it was a relief to concentrate on the small act of fulfilling that need rather than plot out their next move. Ian demolished his food. She envied how he ate with such quiet and efficient zeal.
He leaned back in his chair and eyed her neck, as if he was trying to see through the thick scarf she wore to conceal the emeralds.
She mirrored his posture. “Go on, ask me.”
“How long have you known Beatrix was alive?”
“Two years,” she replied without hesitating. “And I’m not telling you any more details about why she did it. It is not my story to tell. If you want to protect Henry, you’ll keep silent about it until Beatrix reaches him.”
“He grieved her. Henry never moved on from her death.” He sounded affronted by Henry’s pain. “When Beatrix drops out of the sky, back into his life, it’s going to break him.”
“It won’t. I know what he’s about to face, better than you can possibly imagine.”
“Just because you’ve forgiven her doesn’t mean he will.”
“They hunted her, Ian. All Beatrix wanted was to stay safe.”
His scowl softened. “Then how did you find each other?”
She hesitated while she debated what she could reveal.
Without Beatrix or Amelia, Ian was the only person she could rely on to help track down the Stag traitor. But if she brought him with her to the meet to exchange the emeralds, he’d find out everything about why she’d joined the Stags.
And she’d finally be free of the burden of hiding so much from him.
Diana recalled the brush of his fingers along her throat earlier, and the seamless way they’d disarmed the guards together.
It was foolish to continue denying the true reason she’d made him part of her endeavor.
She couldn’t let him go; she wanted him alongside her.
“Eight years ago, a covert collective known as the White Stags recruited me,” she began. “And before you say something biting which you’ll later regret, it’s merely a coincidence that both my name and the organization’s are associated with the goddess of the hunt.”
“If you say so,” he replied with mock solemnity.
“When I agreed to join the Stags, my handler emphasized that secrecy was a necessary part of our mission to help and protect women in trouble.”
“There are plenty of organizations with the same mission that don’t operate in the shadows.”
“They don’t need to if their sole purpose is to convert the poor and downtrodden into righteous Christian soldiers.
The members of those organizations seek to rationalize their own indulgent lifestyles by forcing others to adopt a set of values and morals that are as far away from London’s rookeries and slums as Arabia is. ”
Ian made no comment on her summation of good society, which was wise of him since she was in no mood to entertain any misogynistic counterarguments.
“The Stags help women leave dangerous and abusive situations and place them in communities far away, hidden from their abusers. But that is only one part of our mission,” Diana went on.
“We also work with them so they can live independently. They come from all walks of life. Some have no money, connections, or skills. Others come from what society would deem as respectable homes, but they know nothing beyond how to manage a household. All of them need help to support themselves and navigate a new world.”
“And Flora and Blanca?”
“They’re an exception.”
“Which is why you had cause to suspect the traitor arranged for their rescue.” He drummed his fingers against the cider glass. “Do these women do well in their new lives?”
“Yes. We are clear from the start that it won’t be perfect, that there are sacrifices involved. None of them go into this expecting utopia.”
“I understand,” he said softly.
“Of course. Your mother had to do the same thing. She left Malta to escape her first marriage. My mother told me about it.”
Ian’s gaze hardened. “Whatever you think you know is most likely wrong.”
Diana was tempted to ask if that entanglement had something to do with the emeralds, but it would only anger him more.
“You know what her life was like, what she had to do to start again in a new place. With no one she could trust or depend on. She made a new life from the ashes of her old one, and you were witness to it.”
“And you’re telling me all of this to protect the people you’re working with?”
“I’m telling you so you’ll understand how difficult this is for me.”
Ian leaned forward with a glint in his dark eyes. “I’m tired of smoke and mirrors. We barely scraped our way out from that mess with Costa. Your ship—the one center of security in this storm of madness—is setting sail without us. Who the hell are you working for, Diana?”
“Are you saying you want to meet them?”
“Are you saying I have a choice?”
He said it so dryly, it made her laugh. The momentary release of tension made her fatigue settle on her.
Her eyes sought comfort in the familiar, handsome planes of his face. His dark whiskers hid the cleft in his chin, and she pondered what it would be like kissing him now, with his beard.
Sitting across the table from him, arguing like this, felt so right, so close to a sense of belonging. She wondered if this was how married couples settled into each other at the end of each day.
Diana would never capitulate to some cliché sense of destiny. But she was tired of pretending that she could easily push Ian out of her life.
It was the last thing she wanted.
“I’ve received orders to deliver the emeralds at sunrise,” she said. “I can’t refuse. It’s the best chance to find something that will expose the traitor. If you come with me to the handover, you’ll know everything I know about the Stags.”
“If the extraction operation at Costa’s wasn’t a trap—and I’m still not convinced it wasn’t—this certainly is,” he insisted.
“There is a time for stealth. And there is a time for calling someone’s bluff.” She rose from the table. “I’m tired of being manipulated.”
Diana wove her way through the tables, but before she reached the door, Ian caught her arm. His hold was surprisingly gentle.
“It would have taken little to convince Jared to give you access to the emeralds. You had the bloody key…you could have stolen the necklace any time,” he murmured.
“The Stags could have swapped it for paste without blinking an eye, and you would have remained in the clear. Running from your wedding and flaunting Costa so publicly has drawn attention to your clandestine collective. They can’t like it. ”
He leaned in and crowded her against the door. She could have brushed her lips against his if she wanted.
If he’d let her.
“Why did you do it, Diana?”
He wasn’t an obtuse man; she had to conclude that it was sheer stubbornness that kept him from seeing why she’d dared him to chase after her.
“When I received the orders to steal the necklace, I knew the mission could only bring harm to you, and that—” She drew a breath. “That made me see red.”
He echoed her sentiments with a faint growl.
“Whoever is leading the White Stags doesn’t want to protect women. They want to punish the men who harm them. I have to stop whoever is threatening our true mission. Maybe I’m a terrible person for not telling you this sooner. It was the only way I could think of to protect you.”
“You can’t. I’m in this up to my neck, exactly like you.”
“I know.” She studied his face and tried to summon her wavering courage to answer his question truthfully.
“There was another selfish reason I orchestrated it this way.” She reached one hand for the door. “I needed to know where we stood. If you were only after the emeralds. Or if you wanted to find me.”
She flung open the door and stepped out into the darkness, with Ian bellowing behind her to wait.
His words were drowned out by the sound of triggers unlocking as half a dozen men surrounded them.