Chapter 13
Smith was not in his bed.
And it was far too late for a casual stroll among the corridors.
Blake slipped silently across the carpeted wards, keeping to the shadows where moonlight from the tall windows wouldn’t betray his movement.
The nights among the patients remained mostly still, punctuated only by an occasional nightmare that roused the room until morphine brought merciful slumber again.
But Smith’s bed occupied a more secluded part of the music room, tucked back near a door that gave easy access to the back hall. No doubt by design—and precisely how Smith had managed to leave unnoticed night after night.
The man had arranged his blankets cleverly, creating the silhouette of a sleeping form beneath. But Blake had used the same trick himself on enough occasions to recognize it immediately.
Smith was not there.
Blake moved through the corridors leading toward the west wing, careful to avoid any passing nurse on rounds or servants finishing their evening duties. The house settled around him with familiar creaks and sighs, a language he’d learned over the past week.
Then he saw her.
Evie carried a stack of linens—proper camouflage for a housemaid moving through the servants’ areas—but her posture was all wrong for someone simply going about their duties. She stood alert, watchful, positioned near the back stairs in a way that gave her clear sight lines in three directions.
Blake made the slightest movement, catching her attention. Her eyes found him instantly—no searching, no hesitation. She’d been expecting him.
He stepped back toward the shadows of a recessed window, and she followed moments later, setting down her linens on a nearby side table.
“What have you found?” she whispered, those large, deep blue eyes staring up at him as they’d done hundreds of times before, yet not the same.
Now he knew the truth about her heart.
And his own.
And that changed everything.
He barely restrained the desire to push back a single strand of hair behind her ear to taste those delightful lips of hers. Alas, kissing her was much too distracting to his faculties than either of them needed at the moment.
“Smith isn’t in his bed. I was attempting to locate him but haven’t. You?”
“Wilson retired to her room twenty minutes ago. Light’s still on.” Evie glanced down the corridor, then back at him, drawing close enough for him to catch the faintest hint of lavender. “But I managed to get into her room this morning. Only five minutes while she was supervising breakfast service.”
“What did you find?”
“Nothing of specific consequence, I’m afraid.
” Her mouth tightened into a frown, which seemed a rather unfortunate use of those lips.
“No letters, no coded messages.” A small smile emerged.
“No convenient diary confessing her sins. But tucked away in her desk drawer, beneath some handkerchiefs, I found German Reichsmarks. Perhaps twenty marks total, along with a few pfennigs.”
Blake’s attention sharpened. German currency. In a British nurse’s private quarters. “Curiosity or confirmation?”
“Too easy to find,” Evie finished, her brows rising. “Too obvious.”
He studied her face in the dim light. “What aren’t you saying?”
“It’s nothing. Probably.”
He raised a brow.
She rolled her eyes, her smile growing. “Right. ‘Doubt is immediately suspect.’”
“Exactly.” And the desire to kiss her returned with alarming vigor.
“The money was simply lying there. Not hidden, not particularly concealed—just tucked in a drawer any housemaid might open while tidying.” She shook her head.
“If Wilson is actually the Midnight Angel, she’d be more careful.
This operative has evaded detection for months, Blake.
She’s meticulous. Why would she leave evidence sitting about where anyone could find it? ”
The same thought had been nagging at him since he’d seen that Russian document in Wilson’s medical bag. Too convenient.
“You think someone planted it.”
“Perhaps.” Evie’s brow furrowed. “But who? If she’s the one collecting intelligence, who would frame her? Smith?”
“Smith would have no reason to.” Blake’s mind worked through the angles.
“If they’re working together, framing Wilson only exposes their operation.
It’s a cross-purpose. And Smith can’t be working alone while posing as a wounded soldier.
He doesn’t have as much free access to the patients.
No, what your brother shared? It has to be one of the nurses. ”
Her gaze flew to his. “What if we’ve been so focused on Wilson that we might have missed someone else entirely?”
Blake’s chest tightened. “Someone who strategically diverted us toward Wilson.”
“And someone who benefits from Wilson taking the fall.” Evie leaned closer, urgency sharpening her features. “Think about it. Wilson’s the perfect scapegoat. German ancestry, stern demeanor, access to patients and the schedule. If anything goes wrong, suspicion naturally falls on her.”
“While the real Midnight Angel moves on to her next assignment.”
“Precisely.”
And the answer lodged in Blake’s chest. Too clear now in hindsight. “Rivers.”
Evie’s eyes widened. “The young VAD?”
“I heard her questioning one soldier a few days ago and Corporal Davies today. Asking about Loos, about troop movements and artillery positions. She claimed her brother was stationed there, that she was worried—”
“A brother at the Front is excellent cover for asking questions.” Evie’s voice held growing conviction.
“And she’s always so helpful. With almost naive cheerfulness.
Who would suspect the sweet young volunteer of being a German agent?
” Her brows creased. “It’s the sort of strategy I used to test the theory of how easy it might be to gain information from the patients. ”
“When I saw you in the garden?”
One corner of those delightful lips tipped. “Spying on me, were you?”
His returning smile dissolved as the story became clear.
Blast it! Why didn’t he see it all before?
“If Rivers, it would explain why the leaks continue despite Wilson being under surveillance by both of us.” Evie continued, “Rivers has access to the same patients. More, actually—she’s always chatting with them, bringing them books, writing letters home for them.
No one would think twice about her asking questions. ”
“And she’s young enough and presenting as inexperienced enough that any missteps could be attributed to naivete rather than calculation.”
“Perfect cover,” Evie breathed.
All at once, footsteps echoed in the corridor. Quick, light, and coming directly toward them.
Blake’s training kicked in. If it was Smith doubling back, their surveillance was compromised. If it was a servant, questions would be asked about why a patient and housemaid were having whispered conversations in shadowed alcoves after midnight.
The footsteps grew louder, the shoes decidedly female in nature.
No time to separate, no time to construct an adequate excuse, no time for anything except—
Blake made his decision.
He pulled Evie into his arms, stepped into the moonlight from the window, and kissed her.
For a heartbeat, she went rigid. Then—bless her brilliant, quick-thinking mind—she melted into him, her hands sliding up to grip his shoulders, playing her role with conviction.
Excellent, thorough, mind-numbing conviction!
Her mouth was soft and warm and tasted faintly of tea. Her arms slipped so wonderfully around his neck, allowing him to tuck her flush against him. The scent of her—lavender soap and something darker, uniquely her—enveloped him in a wonderful, intoxicating way.
He’d never enjoyed his work so much in his life.
The footsteps stopped abruptly.
“Oh!” A startled gasp. Young. “I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
Blake broke the kiss slowly, reluctantly, then turned with what he hoped was an appropriately embarrassed expression.
Nurse Rivers stood frozen in the corridor, one hand pressed to her mouth, eyes wide. A lamp dangled from her other hand, casting wavering shadows across her face.
But something was wrong.
She stood still. Her surprise was perfect—exactly what it should be—but her eyes …
Her eyes were calculating. Assessing. Recording every detail of their positioning, their body language, the shadows they’d chosen. Then her attention shot beyond them down the hallway. Toward the west wing entrance.
The look lasted barely a second before transforming into scandalized shock, but Blake had seen it.
And from the way Evie’s fingers tightened on his shoulders, she’d seen it too.
They’d found their angel.
And hopefully it wasn’t too late.
“This is rather awkward,” Blake said, injecting just the right note of chagrin into his voice.
He kept one arm around Evie’s waist—the protective gesture of a man caught in a compromising position but unwilling to abandon the woman involved, which described his feelings much too accurately for facade. “Miss—Rivers, isn’t it?”
“I—yes—I was just—” Rivers’ gaze darted between them, her behavior perfectly fitting to embarrassment of the situation. “We … are missing a patient.”
Clearly, she’d not planned her cover as quickly.
“Poor lamb!” Evie pushed back, her accent shifting back into working class. “Is it Private Jones again? He has a tendency to wander off. Where should we search, miss?”
“Yes, of course. And no, it’s quite all right.
” Rivers backed up a step, still clutching her lamp.
But her free hand—Blake noticed with cold certainty—had moved to her apron pocket.
Just for a moment. Touching something there before dropping back to her side.
Checking for a weapon? Or something else?
“I wouldn’t want to interfere with”—she waved a hand between them—”this. ”
“Thank you for your ready understanding.” He grinned. “You must be a kindred romantic at heart?”