Eleven #2
He thought of Anna’s eyes, bright with fury and wounded trust. He wasn’t sure reason would be enough.
He rode toward the harbor post as dusk settled over the road, Mrs. Pembroke’s original message still hidden in his glove and Anna’s hatred following him like a second shadow.
By the time he reached the British sentries, he’d put his useful face back on. It was all he needed when he lied to soldiers. And he prayed the woman he wanted safe would forgive him for saving her in the worst possible way.
Anna made it back to the kitchen without running. She considered that something of a miracle. Her legs wanted to sprint while her heart wanted to pound its way out of her chest.
Nathaniel had taken the message. He’d reached beneath her cuff as if he had every right, pulled Mrs. Pembroke’s note free, and hidden it in his hand before the soldiers could see.
Then, when they came close enough to search her, he’d stepped between them and sent her back like a foolish maid who’d wandered where she shouldn’t.
She closed her eyes at the thought. That’s exactly what she was. Foolish. Because some part of her had wanted to believe him.
Even when he asked for the message and everything in her screamed not to trust him, there’d been that one terrible part of her that remembered his warnings, his little glances, and the way he’d drawn attention away from her at the ball. She’d wanted him to be better than he appeared.
Anna slipped through the kitchen door, shut it behind her, and stood with one hand against her chest.
Mrs. Fenwick looked up from the table. “Where’s the horehound?”
Anna stared at her.
Mercy, who’d been doing a poor job of pretending to cough, stopped mid-wheeze. “Anna?”
Mrs. Fenwick rose slowly. “What happened?”
Anna tried to speak but couldn’t get the words out. Probably a good thing. Mercy looked frightened as Elias stepped in from the passage with a basket of kindling in his arms.
Mrs. Pembroke appeared in the doorway behind him. One glance at Anna’s face, and all the old woman’s sharp humor vanished. “Morning room,” she said.
Anna obeyed without question. She didn’t remember crossing the hall. By the time Mrs. Pembroke shut the morning room door behind them, Anna’s breath was coming in short pants. “He took it,” she said.
Mrs. Pembroke’s face went still. “Who?”
“Mr. Reed.” Anna pressed both hands to her middle. “The soldiers didn’t search me. He stopped them. He took the message before they could, then gave them another paper. I don’t know how, but he knew exactly where I’d hid it in my sleeve. How did he know?”
Mrs. Pembroke crossed to her. “It’s a common hiding place, dear. Did he give them our message?”
Anna closed her eyes. She hadn’t seen him do it. But she had seen him hand them a paper. She watched him speak calmly to them, all authority and usefulness, while she stood there feeling stripped of every secret she’d tried to protect.
Anna opened her eyes and whispered, “I don’t know.”
Mrs. Pembroke’s expression shifted. Not into relief or fear, but something more complicated.
Anna opened her eyes. “You think he didn’t.”
“I think Mr. Reed is more careful than that.”
She frowned. “He’s a British courier. And you still want to give him the benefit of the doubt?”
Mrs. Pembroke lifted her brows as she put her spectacles on. “I rarely give anyone the benefit of anything, dear.”
Anna turned away, furious because tears stung the backs of her eyes. “Then what are you saying?”
“I am saying you may have seen one thing and understood another.”
“I understood enough.”
“Did you?” the older woman drawled.
Anna spun to her. “He frightened me. Put his hand on me, took the message and spoke to me as though I was nothing. And then he sent me back like a scolded child!”
Mrs. Pembroke’s gaze softened a notch. “Ah.”
Anna stood ram rod straight. “Do not say ah.”
“I shall say what I please in my own morning room.”
Anna pressed her lips together, but it did nothing to stop the hurt rising inside her.
Mrs. Pembroke moved to the tea tray and lifted the pot. “Sit before you fall, dear.”
She eyed a chair. “I do not want tea.”
“I did not ask what you wanted,” Mrs. Pembroke shook the teapot.
Anna sat because arguing required strength she didn’t have.
Mrs. Pembroke poured two cups, set one near Anna, and left it there. “If Mr. Reed wished to hand you to the British, he could have done so in the lane.”
Anna stared at the cup. Okay, she was right on that score. She picked up the teacup.
“If he wished to expose the message, he could have let the soldiers search you. If he wished to curry favor with Major Ellis, he could have dragged you by the arm into the front hall and announced that Mrs. Pembroke’s maid was carrying intelligence.”
She looked up. “He may still do that.”
“Yes. People may do all manner of foolish and wicked things. That is why one observes what they have already done before deciding what they are likely to do next.”
Anna hated how sensible that sounded. She also hated that some part of her clung to it. “He hurt me,” she said before she could stop herself.
Mrs. Pembroke gave her a flat look.
Anna glanced down quickly, heat flooding her face. “I mean, he frightened me.”
“No,” Mrs. Pembroke said quietly. “You meant what you said.”
Anna gripped the teacup so tightly it was a wonder it didn’t crack. “He had no right.”
“No, dear. He did not.” The woman’s’ gentleness nearly undid her.
A shout sounded from the front of the house, and both women went still.
Another voice answered. Then boots struck the hall at a hurried pace.
Mrs. Pembroke set down her cup. “Stay here.”
Anna gasped. “I am not a child.”
“No. Children are often more obedient.” She crossed to the door and opened it just enough to listen. Anna rose despite the order and moved closer.
Captain Whitby’s voice carried from the hall. “Escaped?”
Lieutenant Rothburne answered, furious. “Taken before the transfer. Three men down, one wagon overturned, and Bell gone.”
Anna’s breath caught. Mrs. Pembroke’s hand tightened on the door.
Major Ellis spoke next, low and cold. “Someone knew the road.”
“I had men on that road,” Rothburne snapped.
“And yet Bell has disappeared…”
Anna looked at Mrs. Pembroke. The older woman didn’t turn her way, but something in her shoulders eased. The message had not gone to the British. It reached someone, that or Nathaniel carried it himself.
Anna’s heart, traitorous little thing that it was, leapt toward the possibility before her pride could stop it.
Suddenly Nathaniel’s voice sounded in the hall. “Captain, the east road was clear when I passed.”
Anna froze. Mrs. Pembroke opened the door a fraction wider.
“You were seen near the lower field,” Ellis said with an accusatory tone.
Nathaniel’s reply was calm. “I took the cart path after delivering the order. The main road was crowded with your men. I assumed you preferred I return with haste.”
“You assumed.”
“I often do when not given specific directions.”
Rothburne swore. “Bell is gone, and Reed was seen off the road.”
“Enough!” Captain Whitby snapped. “Reed has carried my orders faithfully for months.”
“Then perhaps that is the problem,” Ellis said. “He’s faithful to whom?”
Anna’s hand went to her throat.