Chapter 19 #2
“Now, since we are, in fact, the walking wounded”—Blake winced as his shoulder protested the movement—”I think we ought to find some bandages for the two of us.” His smile turned wicked. “Your room or mine?”
“Does yours even have bandages in it?”
He frowned and stared up at the ceiling in thought. Did his room have bandages?
She shook her head and took him by the good arm, leading him back toward the servants’ hall and her room.
He liked this—being guided by her. Feeling her near him.
Reveling in the soft looks she kept sending him, even if one of her eyes was horribly bruised.
His own were rather swollen, so they proved a matching pair.
An idea he liked. Except with fewer bruises for the both of them.
But then the soft look dissolved into one of concern. “Stephen, if Rivers knew my true name and identity, there’s a good chance others do too.”
Stephen. He sighed like a lovesick schoolboy.
Few in his life had ever called him Stephen.
He liked that she did. “But Rivers hadn’t sent that information out yet,” he said gently.
“Smith was the only other one who knew, along with Weber. But one is dead and the other is incapacitated and awaiting custody.”
Evie looked away, her lips pinched tight. “I need to disappear. To keep …” Her gaze moved back to him. “To keep the people I care about safe.”
And he was one of those people. His grin took on idiotic proportions.
“Actually, I do have a thought on that score.” He caught her waist again, stopping her and drawing her close. The bandages could wait a few more minutes. “A way to secure more protection for you.”
One dark brow tipped a fraction higher in question.
“We could change your name.”
She narrowed her eyes the faintest bit. “Could we?”
“Hmm …” One palm slipped to her cheek, gaze roaming over her beautiful, bruised, delightful face. “For safety purposes, of course. New identity. New name.” He shrugged his good shoulder. “Lifelong protector who has excellent style and impeccable taste in shirts thrown in for good measure.”
“Hmm,” she echoed back to him, not pulling away. “Is that a proposal, Mr. Blake?”
“Only if you’re going to say yes. Otherwise, I’ll feign my intentions entirely to save my pride.”
She studied him, her teasing expression melting into a look of adoration that stalled his breath.
Yes, perhaps it was time to hang up the spy business for a while and engage in quite a different sort of life-altering adventure.
“It is a sound suggestion.” Slowly, that wry smile he loved curved Evie’s lips. “And I suppose I could consider it. Though I have conditions.”
“Naturally.” He grinned, his gaze roaming her face with unadulterated devotion. “What are your terms?”
“First, you must find a way to reduce the number of times you are regularly shot at, successfully or not. It’s very difficult to keep clean linens or furniture with a man who is constantly bleeding.”
He stole a kiss. Briefly. “Entirely reasonable.”
“Second, you must promise to replace that dreadful green oxford immediately. The color does nothing for your complexion.”
“Another Egyptian cotton one?” He pressed a hand to his chest in mock anguish. “You wound me.”
“I shot you. That was wounding. This is constructive feedback.” Her smile widened, and this time she kissed him.
“And third”—she grew serious, her hand coming up to rest against his cheek—”you must promise to stop trying to be heroic and almost getting yourself killed.
Because if I’m planning to marry someone, Stephen Blake, I plan on doing it for life, and my hope is that your life will be long enough for a happily-ever-after with me. ”
His throat tightened. “I promise to be significantly less heroic. Unless it comes to sweeping you off your feet, pet.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Not that one either. I already have a favorite.”
He crooked a brow. “Do you?”
She leaned in close, her lips so near he could feel her breath. “My love,” she whispered. “I like that one best.”
“Ah.” He brushed his lips against hers again. “So is that a yes … my love?”
She pulled back, eyeing his shoulder with professional assessment. “That’s a ‘we’ll finish this conversation after we’ve stopped bleeding.’”
“Always so romantic,” he murmured, but allowed her to lead him toward her room.
“Romance is wasted on the actively hemorrhaging,” she said primly. Then softer, “Ask me again when we’re both patched up and I’m not quite so furious with you for nearly trading intelligence for my life.”
He stopped in front of her door, pausing her to stumble back toward him. “But you’ll say yes?”
She turned and looked at him with an expression that was equal parts exasperation and tenderness.
“Didn’t I tell you that I only returned for you?
” She squeezed his hand. “Of course I’ll marry you.
” She winked, and the action radiated a pleasant warmth all the way through his body. “Someone needs to keep you humble.”
Blake was fairly certain no idiot on earth had ever been happier. “Quite right, and only the best will do.” He grinned despite the pain radiating through his shoulder. “Though I feel I should mention—I’m fairly certain Director Lark won’t approve.”
“Director Lark can go hang.” Evie pushed open her door and pulled him inside. “Now sit down before you fall down, and let me see that shoulder.”
“So commanding.” Blake dutifully lowered himself into a chair. “I’m beginning to think married life will be remarkably similar to espionage. Lots of taking orders and trying not to die.”
“The difference being”—Evie began gathering bandages and water, despite her own injuries—”in espionage, I might shoot you. In marriage, I definitely will if you do anything this stupid again.”
“Noted.” He watched her work, this woman who’d shot him and saved him and somehow become the center of his entire world. “Though I should warn you—I’m terrible at following orders.”
“I know.” She met his eyes and sighed with enough exaggeration for him to notice. “It’s one of your more endearing qualities.”
“Along with my impeccable taste in shirts?”
“I said excellent style, not impeccable taste. There’s a significant difference.” She began cleaning his wound, and he prepared bandages for both of them. “The shirts need work.”
He caught her wrist gently, bringing her attention back to his face. “I love you.”
She paused, brushed his hair from his forehead, and smiled. “I know.”
No mission had ever been more appealing in Blake’s life than this newest assignment.
Mission: Loving Evie Montgomery ‘til death do us part.
Which, given his line of work, was always unpredictable.
But given the strength of his heart at the moment, as she stared down at him with those lovely eyes and that tempting smile, he considered with even more certainty that a future with her was definitely worth fighting “unpredictable” for.
“I still cannot believe that my butler helped defeat a German spy with a serving platter.” Frederick shook his head as Grace nestled near him in their private sitting room, where he, Grace, Blake, and Evie sat around the small table.
An intimate place for tea, and the only spot where curious eyes wouldn’t see the horrible state of both Evie and Blake after such an extraordinary evening. Grace sighed, her eyes heavy but her heart filled with the gratitude of someone who had all the people she loved most nearby and safe.
So many families couldn’t say that. Bombs still exploded throughout Europe. Soldiers still dug trenches in the rain and longed for home. Evil men and women on whatever side of the war still plotted ways to cause more destruction.
But in this moment, snuggled beside Frederick and watching dear Mr. Blake stare adoringly at Evie Montgomery, Grace welcomed the quiet. The stillness. Bathing in gratitude for God’s … grace.
Things could have turned out much differently. More painfully.
But they hadn’t.
“To be fair,” Blake said, wincing as he shifted in his chair, “it was a very well-polished platter. The reflection was impeccable.”
“One does take pride in one’s silver, sir,” Brandon said without a hint of irony, setting down the teapot. “Will there be anything else?”
“Just your assurance that you’ll never leave our employ,” Grace said warmly. “You’re far too valuable.”
“And dangerous,” Blake added. “I’ve worked with agents who had less effective timing.”
“Never this agent,” Evie said, raising her brow at him in challenge. She sat beside Blake, her freshly bandaged shoulder beneath a borrowed dressing gown.
“How could you ever think I would impugn you, ducky?” Blake looked over at her in mock shock. “Your timing is perfect. It’s your aim I take issue with.”
Evie’s eyes narrowed, though a smile played at her lips. “You’re alive, aren’t you?”
“Barely,” Blake countered. “And with significantly more scars than necessary.”
“I did relay to the police, sir, what you requested about Private Pennington,” Brandon continued, cutting through their banter.
“They’ve agreed to keep watch for him but do not intend to pursue him, since you do not deem him a threat.
” Brandon looked over at Blake. “And the other man … um … other matter remains appropriately discreet, collected from the ruins and taken into custody.”
“Is that so?” Blake asked quietly.
“Yes, sir. Secured and awaiting transport to London under guard,” Brandon confirmed. “The authorities have been informed he’s a dangerous German operative and have been remarkably cooperative.”
“And the patients?” Frederick asked. “Have you been able to assist Nurse Wilson in returning order and method?”