Chapter 18 #2
She walked past him into the library, keenly aware of his presence.
He had asked for five weeks to court her, to change her mind.
Apparently, she had not needed that long.
She could no longer deny that she was falling in love with him.
And after his fiercely intense gaze at the inn, the way his voice had softened when he asked to work with her, the spark that passed between them every time they were close, she suspected he was no longer courting her merely out of convenience or duty.
Whatever had grown between them felt deeper than that. It had become something lasting.
But love had never been the thing she feared. She feared becoming small in its keeping. She had shown James one piece of herself and he had not turned away, but he did not understand the whole of it yet.
He knew she could decode a cipher, but he did not know what it meant to carry the name Raven.
He did not know how many secrets had passed through her hands or how many dangerous men cursed her name.
He did not know that her work was not a passing fancy or some reckless adventure, but something with purpose, a part of her life she did not intend to surrender simply because it came with a risk.
And until he knew all her secrets, she could not be certain whether he wanted the woman she truly was or only the parts he had learned to accept.
Inside the library, the fire in the large hearth and the familiar comfort of the room offered a sanctuary for her scattered thoughts. She stopped, taking in the rows of leather-bound books and the tall, arched windows.
“A little warning would be welcome,” James said, close enough behind her that the space between them suddenly felt small. “Unless you prefer our current arrangement, in which case, you will not find me complaining.”
She stepped away before turning, putting a few paces between them to collect her thoughts and calm her nerves.
“Perhaps now would be a good time to review the pages I copied from the ledger. Aunt Edith may be lax in her chaperone duties at the moment, but I am not certain how many more opportunities we might have here.”
James’s smile faded. “That’s not exactly how I imagined spending our time, but your suggestion is the more responsible course.”
Kate’s face heated. “I will retrieve the papers from my room.”
When she returned, James was seated at a small side table as the fire crackled in the hearth. He had placed an empty chair beside his own. Kate sat and arranged the papers between them as a sort of barricade.
James spread out the first few papers from the stack, and they examined them together.
Each sheet contained three columns of coded information.
Based on Kate’s previous work, they knew the first column recorded dates.
The next one contained names, unmistakably aliases.
The last column was a jumble of numbers and letters, perhaps a record of money or goods exchanged.
James blew out a long breath and turned to her. “You seem to be the expert here, Kate. Where do we start?” His trust slipped past her defenses and threatened to erase the distance she had placed between them.
“Most of the information is still in code, so before we can make sense of what we are seeing, we need to decipher it.”
He nodded. “Right, of course.” He paused, pressing his lips together. “And how exactly do we accomplish that?”
Removing her gloves, she bit back a smile. “If you could fetch some ink and a quill, I can start decoding the sheets, and you can try to make sense of the information, if that is agreeable to you.”
“With pleasure.” He retrieved the necessary items from the large desk near the fireplace and placed them in front of her.
She gathered the papers into a neat stack and pulled off the top sheet.
She copied the portion she had already decoded and then began at the top of the next sheet, falling into an easy and familiar rhythm.
Once she had finished decoding the first page, she slid it toward him on the table and pulled the next sheet closer. They worked in silence, the scratch of her quill and the ticking of the clock the only sounds until James’s sudden intake of breath.
She stole a glance at him and found he was no longer looking at the papers, but at her. He studied her with unsettling intensity. What had he discovered, and why did she feel as though she were the answer?
“Were you able to find something helpful?” She gestured toward the papers in front of him.
He spoke softly, his gaze steady. “Yes, I believe I did.”
She waited for him to explain, but he offered nothing. She touched her hair, but nothing seemed to be out of sorts. At last, he slid one of the papers toward her. She forced herself to lean in. Their shoulders brushed, and only then did she realize how close they had become.
“The aliases and shipment entries tell us two things,” he said, tapping the parchment with his finger.
“First, this is no minor enterprise. There are far too many names. And second, the scale of goods and money suggests the involvement of men far above common smugglers. If they truly are aiding France, then they are traitors of the highest order.”
“You mean . . .” Her voice trailed off.
He nodded with a grim expression, running a hand through his thick brown locks.
“The ledger indicates involvement by tradesmen, merchants, and men with influence in society, possibly even within Parliament. The information also suggests blackmail and political coercion. We will have to discover the identities behind some of these names to know just how high the treachery goes, but I fear their circle is much larger and more influential than we believed.”
“Then we cannot keep this to ourselves. These papers need to reach someone who can act on them.” She realized with horror what it would mean if the decoded pages fell into the wrong hands.
“I agree. First, we finish—or rather, you finish—decoding these papers, and then I will take them to someone who can help us.”
“Who?”
He hesitated. “I wish I could say, but I am not at liberty.”
The pieces aligned with unforgiving clarity.
She could no longer dismiss the lockpicks, the practiced search of the manager’s office, his knowledge of smuggling and traitors, or the unnamed ally he refused to explain.
James was not an earl who had stumbled into a dangerous affair. He had been trained for this.
He was working for someone powerful. A high-ranking government official perhaps or someone connected to the war effort. Whoever it was possessed enough authority to command James’s silence.
The exact name hardly mattered now because the shape of the truth was clear. James was a spy.
It should have surprised her. Instead, it made far too much sense. Her growing feelings for James had kept her circling reality instead of recognizing that she was not the only one in the room with a secret.
“Very well,” she said as she turned back toward the papers. She could not demand his confession while she still kept truths of her own hidden. If James chose to confide in her, to trust her, it would be his choice.
“I noticed a word at the bottom of several pages that isn’t included in the columns,” James said.
She followed his gesture to the name. “Arcadia,” she read aloud. “What does that mean?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure, though it carries a ring of familiarity.”
“Arcadia is a mythological place,” came a familiar voice from the doorway.
Aunt Edith strode into the library, walking toward one of the bookcases and trailing a finger along the leather bindings before stopping on a large brown volume with cracks along the spine.
She slid it from the shelf and carried it to the table, setting it before them as she flipped the pages.
“Ahh, here it is. You seem surprised an old lady would know such a thing, but you forget that Lord Hawthorne was a great fan of Greek mythology, and we read his collection together several times over.”
“What can you tell us about it?” James asked.
“Arcadia was seen as a utopian ideal.” Edith pointed to the page that described it. “A place of harmony and simplicity, untouched by corruption.” She turned the page, her expression pensive. “Though it was always just a vision. A land of order and beauty that never existed in truth.”
She looked back and forth between Kate and James. “Why are you wondering about Arcadia? I would have thought the two of you had better things to do than discuss mythology.” She winked and walked back toward the bookcase.
Arcadia. The name lingered unpleasantly in Kate’s mind as she thought of the snake and oak leaf, a symbol of harmony concealing the poison beneath.
She gathered up the papers with care before her aunt could see them and placed them in her leather pouch before joining Aunt Edith on the sofa.
Now that she knew what James truly was, it seemed more likely he would understand her desire to continue her work. But would he accept it? Understanding her secrets was one thing. Binding his life to them was a different matter entirely.
The quiet warmth from the fire and James’s nearness should have offered comfort. Instead, unease settled over her. She had let him get closer than she ever intended, and when James finally knew her full truth, she was no longer certain her heart could escape unbroken.