Chapter 7
James
James cursed himself for getting Kate into this predicament.
He had failed to escort her out of the library before the men arrived, and now she was chilled near the window in her light gown.
He cautiously slid his arm around her and drew her into the shelter of his side.
Scandalous, perhaps, but if the men in the room had anything to do with Henry’s death, as he suspected, then a few moments of impropriety were worth keeping her warm and safe.
Besides, she was his intended. Almost. Was it strange that he was starting to think of her as his?
But whatever claim he had or wished to have meant nothing if he failed to keep her safe.
Kate was a breath away from dangerous men, and he had never known a fear quite like this.
Yet holding her close roused a distinctly unwelcome awareness.
He only needed to lower his head a fraction and his lips would brush the soft skin of Kate’s neck.
It had been hard enough to resist this invisible pull toward her when she was across the ballroom or dancing in his arms, but this?
This was torture. He summoned every ounce of his self-control and turned his head away.
Kate remained stiff for a moment and then, blessedly, relaxed against him. She fit there with unsettling ease. He forced his attention back to the threat on the other side of the curtains, though the woman in his arms made that more difficult than he cared to admit.
The door opened, and another set of footsteps entered before the door clicked shut again. The faint scent of tobacco filled the air. An unfamiliar voice, deep and smooth, muttered a few indistinct words in French. The other voice, rough and menacing, responded impatiently.
He strained to hear their whispered conversation, his nerves sharpening as he translated what he could and committed the words to memory.
“. . . envoi perdu?” A lost shipment?
A shipment of what? His frustration mounted at catching only fragments of the exchange, but he would not try moving closer, not with Kate here.
The voices suddenly stopped. Had he and Kate given away their presence?
He met her widening eyes as they stood frozen.
The quiet hush in the room was absolute save the crackling of the fire. Then, hurried whispers.
“La livraison est confirmée. L’après-demain, à onze heures du soir, sous les branches du grand chêne.”
The drop is confirmed, one of them had said. The night after tomorrow, eleven o’clock under the branches of the big oak.
“Tu sais ce qui va se passer si tu trompes encore une fois.”
You know what happens if you make another mistake, the other growled.
Then, in English. “See that it’s done. This is your last chance.”
Silence reclaimed the room. He squeezed Kate’s shoulder, a wordless reassurance even as his own heart thundered.
She leaned into him, her forehead resting against his chest as they both held their breath.
The feel of her in his arms—depending on him, trusting him—made focusing on anything else almost impossible.
She was becoming the one distraction he could ill afford, making it dangerously easy to forget why he could never allow her to see the shadows he lived in.
Around her, the truths he kept buried pressed too close to the surface.
One careless admission, a single misplaced confidence, and Kate could be pulled into a world she was never meant to see.
James drew on years of training to steady himself as he tracked every sound in the room. The scratch of a quill. Ripping paper. Low murmurs. The leg of a chair scraping against the floor. A shuffling stride and the door closing with a soft thud.
James waited, unmoving, for the space of several heartbeats. Only then did he allow himself to relax a little.
“They’re gone,” he whispered.
Neither moved. The air between them was charged with more than the secrets they had overheard. Kate pulled away first, and he was unsettled by how reluctant he was to let her go.
“Since the mysterious gentlemen have left,” Kate observed dryly, “perhaps we can move to the other side of the curtain now.”
Her voice was calm, and it irked him that she was so untouched by their closeness when he had been anything but. But he also admired her composure. Most ladies of his acquaintance would be reaching for their smelling salts after enduring what she had.
“Are you certain you wish to move that far away from me?” he asked, masking his uncertainty with a rakish grin. “I rather thought you were enjoying the proximity.”
He worried Kate saw more than he intended to show, but when a flush climbed up her cheeks, he knew his flippancy had distracted her. She threw aside the heavy curtains. The library beyond lay empty.
“Why do you suppose those men were meeting here tonight?” she asked as they crossed the room toward the fireplace.
He paused, weighing his answer carefully. He was unsure how much she had understood. A half-whispered conversation in French through curtains would be a challenge for anyone. But if she had heard anything of consequence, surely she would not appear so composed.
He forced an easy shrug. “A payment of debts? A business deal gone wrong? What are your thoughts?”
“That it was nothing of significance,” she said lightly.
So she had not understood the French conversation. Relief coursed through him.
“Why were you in the library, Lord Brenton? And why did you drag me behind the curtain?”
He should not have expected her to let go of things easily. “I was seeking a brief respite from the ball, the same as you. And when I heard footsteps, I acted before we were discovered. Your reputation deserved no less.”
Kate studied him warily. She twisted the drawstrings on her reticule, unintentionally pulling it open and spilling the contents across the floor. She let out a small gasp. “Oh, dear!”
As he bent to retrieve the items, he found himself drawn to a small book lying open at her feet.
It was a poetry volume, the margins crowded with hurried notations.
Curiosity tugged at him, but before he could read anything in detail, Kate snatched it up, closing it with a snap and slipping it back into her reticule.
Kate seemed determined to surprise him. First, the calm she had shown tonight, and now this brief glimpse into her mind. Both stirred an ill-advised interest in her. He sighed. Keeping her from occupying his thoughts was already a losing battle.
“Shall we return to the ballroom and rejoin your mother?”
“We certainly cannot be seen returning together.” A telltale crimson stained her cheeks. “You know what everyone will assume.”
A corner of his mouth twitched upward. “And would those assumptions be so terrible?” He was the worst sort of gentleman to ask, but he desperately wanted to hear her answer.
“You know very well they would be.” Her voice cooled. “While you may be certain about a marriage between us, I do not wish to be forced into anything.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I must beg you to leave and allow me to return without your escort.”
“Kate, have I not already proven tonight that I am trying to protect your reputation? As much as I hope for a union between us at the end of our courtship, I would not wish you forced into anything.”
“Then you will cease keeping such a close watch over me?”
So she had noticed. That knowledge settled somewhere deeper than it ought. A smile spread across his face. “Why would I stop when I know you enjoy it so much?”
She leveled him with a withering stare that only made him want to goad her more. Teasing her was becoming his new favorite pastime.
“I am returning to the ballroom. Without you.” She turned on her heel but before she could leave, James caught her arm.
“Kate.” He gave her a pleading smile. “Since I played the hero tonight, have I earned the right for you to call me James?”
She tilted her head and gave him a soft smile full of pity. “While I am grateful for your quick thinking and assistance in preventing a scandal, I doubt one small rescue qualifies as a remarkable feat.”
She opened the door and glanced back at him over her shoulder, her lips curving in a challenge that made his pulse thrum. “When you have accomplished something truly noteworthy, Lord Brenton, do let me know.”
She disappeared into the corridor, leaving him staring after her. He grinned. He was half tempted to laugh, half tempted to chase her down and see what other sparks would ignite between them.
Truly noteworthy?
Challenge accepted, Kate.
He remained in the library, giving Kate the time she had requested, and forced his thoughts from her.
He needed to consider the information he had overheard.
He surveyed the surface of the desk and the surrounding floor, searching for any clues the men might have left behind.
Nothing. He straightened, his jaw tight.
A shipment? There had been rumors of French sympathizers sending aid to Napoleon, but he had never been able to uncover any evidence.
Until tonight. It appeared not only was there such a movement, but that it was connected to Henry’s death and the network he had been investigating.
Now he had the first real thread toward solving his friend’s murder and unlocking the list Henry had sent.
Tonight’s discovery was one more thing he could not yet bring to Westmarch.
And when he finally did, it would help if he had answers.
Leaning a shoulder against the mantel, arms crossed, he studied the glowing fire, willing it to reveal the truth.
If only he could decipher where the next meeting would be taking place.
“Under the branches of the big oak” was maddeningly vague.