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He was much later than he’d hoped. Avery tapped his fingers against his knee as the cab turned onto the Rodmills’ street. He’d debated going straight from the station to his own townhouse to change into evening clothes, since the opera had already started. But Mack suggested Avery might want to be certain Gwen had gone to the performance as planned.
The cab had hardly come to a stop before Avery jumped out and rushed up the front steps. He knocked at the door. Several long moments later, the butler answered.
“Is Miss Barton at home?”
The man shook his head. “No, sir.”
Then she’d gone to the opera after all. “Thank—”
“Winfield.” Bert Rodmill appeared in the doorway. “Looking for Gwen?”
Avery nodded. “I didn’t actually expect to find her here, though. I was told she’d be attending the opera this evening.”
“She is, with Whitson, no less,” Rodmill said with a sly smile. “You may need to make your move soon, old chap, before he does.”
Not wanting to hint at his plans and hopes without speaking to Gwen first, Avery sent the other man a confident smile. “Good night, Rodmill.”
He returned to the cab, but as he climbed inside, an unexpected feeling of uneasiness settled into his gut, as though some instinct had been triggered. Perhaps it was only jealousy over Lord Whitson accompanying the woman Avery loved to the opera. Though he did find it rather odd that Gwen would orchestrate a meeting with him while in the company of another gentleman.
“Do you think it strange, Mack, that Gwen would go to the opera with the earl when she intends to meet me at intermission?” He’d already shared the general content of her letter and telegram with Mack before they departed Exeter.
Mack shrugged. “Maybe she planned to meet you first, then when the earl asked to escort her, she figured she’d already be there and that it might be awkward to tell him no.”
“That’s a fair point.”
Avery attempted to brush off his disquiet during the ride to his townhouse. If he hurried, he could still make it to the opera in time for intermission. His and Mack’s sudden arrival caused a stir among his household staff, but Mack took charge. Before long, Avery had exchanged his wrinkled travelling suit for a pair of neatly pressed evening clothes. He still felt on edge, though—much as he had the last time he’d attended the opera.
Would Hanbury attempt to harm him tonight? It wasn’t likely. No one knew Avery was back from Exeter, unless they’d managed to sneak past his watchmen. Even then, Avery’s plans to go to the opera weren’t common knowledge to anyone save for himself and Gwen.
“Did you hear if anything suspicious happened around here while I was gone?” he asked Mack.
His valet shook his head. “Sounds as though things have been quiet.”
Avery felt a measure of relief. Perhaps Hanbury had realized his error in sending his thugs after Avery, and as a result, the man had backed off. Although, the duke had voiced his skepticism that Hanbury was actually a spy.
“Sometimes the real culprit is not the most obvious one,” Avery’s uncle had intoned in a thoughtful voice.
Avery did up his cufflinks, his mind turning the duke’s words over and over. Was there someone else he’d dismissed as a real suspect? He mentally shook his head, but that only increased his foreboding, instead of lessening it.
What am I missing, Lord?
As Mack helped him into his coat, Avery reviewed the three attempts made on his life. The first had been at the opera. Hanbury had been there that night. The second time had been in Hyde Park. Avery had seen Hanbury before his horse had been hurt. Lastly, the third had been along the Thames with Gwen when they’d been following after Hanbury. The quiet man was the only constant in each encounter.
Although . . .
Lord Whitson had been with Hanbury that day in the park and at the opera too. And hadn’t Avery caught a glimpse of the earl’s carriage right before he and Gwen had started to follow Hanbury?
He frowned at his reflection in the mirror. Could Lord Whitson be an accomplice? It was certainly plausible, given the longtime friendship between the earl and Hanbury. But he’d previously ruled out Lord Whitson as a suspect. The man had no obvious connection with Germany, besides speaking the language.
Still, something urged Avery to pursue the line of thinking further. Hanbury and the earl had been together before each dangerous encounter Avery faced. The only exceptions were his and Gwen’s ride in Hyde Park and the night Hanbury had accompanied Gwen and her mother to the theater. Both times the man had made no attempt to hurt Avery.
Was that because Gwen had been there too? Avery dismissed the idea after a moment. Gwen had been with him the day by the river, and that hadn’t prevented anyone from sending assailants after both of them. The one person Avery hadn’t seen during their ride and at the theater had been . . .
Icy fear filled his lungs as he whirled around. “It isn’t Hanbury, Mack. The spy is Lord Whitson!”
“Wait. You mean the man who is with Miss Barton?”
“Yes.” Avery wiped his hands down his face and tried to gather his muddled thoughts. “Gwen doesn’t know it’s him. I warned her away from Hanbury. But I didn’t think to do the same with Lord Whitson. What have I done, Mack?”
His valet gripped him hard enough on the shoulder to break through his fear. “It was an honest mistake. You had greater reason to suspect the other man.”
“I’ve got to warn Gwen.” He strode toward the door, then stopped. “I need your help, though, Mack. How fast can you dress in a set of my evening clothes?”
The older man grinned. “Faster than you.” He was already hurrying toward the dressing room. “What do you need me to do?” he asked as he exited, a pair of evening clothes in hand.
“You go for the constable, and I’ll meet Gwen in the opera box. I’ll bring her to you, then I’ll find the earl.” He leveled a somber look at his valet and trusted friend. “I need you to watch over Gwen.”
Mack gave Avery a grim nod, all hint of amusement gone. “You can count on me, sir.”
“I know.” Avery swallowed hard and headed toward the door once more. “You’ll have to go without a cravat, or tie it in the carriage, Mack. We’ve got to go.”
He offered a silent prayer of gratitude as he hurried down the stairs, Mack right behind him. God had blessed him with insight beyond his own. Now Avery could only hope—and pray—Gwen would be protected and that between him, Mack, and God, everything would turn out right.
*
To Gwen’s surprise, Lord Whitson had been anything but arrogant this evening. Before the performance had begun, he’d complimented her sincerely on her gown and had even asked her questions about her life back in New York with every indication of actual interest in her answers. Not once had he mentioned some exclusive social event or his dislike for Avery. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so tedious after all.
During one of the numbers, near intermission, he leaned close to whisper, “May I have a moment of your time—alone—during intermission?”
Did he wish to share his desire for her hand in marriage? If so, then she would need to tell him that she harbored no feelings for him in return. “Yes,” she answered back.
When it was intermission, Gwen stood, along her mother and the earl. “Lord Whitson would like to speak with me alone, Mother.”
Cornelia glanced between her and the earl and smiled. “I see. Then I’ll proceed to the refreshment room ahead of you.”
“Thank you.”
Gwen followed Lord Whitson and her mother out of the box. As Cornelia joined the crowd heading away from the boxes, the earl held out his arm to Gwen. She hesitated a moment, then slipped her arm through his.
“Your friend Miss Rinecroft told me all about the injured gentleman you helped the last time you were here.”
“Oh?” This was a topic she hadn’t expected him to bring up.
The lights in the corridor reflected off his smile. “What if I told you I knew the identity of your mystery man? That he’s here tonight, in the same box where you met before?”
“He is?” Avery was here?
“Shall I escort you to him?”
Gwen nodded, her pulse sprinting with hope and excitement. “I’d be very grateful if you did.” She hadn’t expected Avery to return to London this soon, but she welcomed not having to wait any longer to know his reaction to her letter.
“I appreciate your help, Lord Whitson,” she said as he guided her toward the famous opera box. She pressed her lips over adding how out of character it seemed for him. Though perhaps he was gallantly bowing out of the race for her hand and this was his way of showing that. Such courtesy might be unexpected, but it was certainly welcome. “I’m sure . . . my mystery gentleman . . . will appreciate it too.”
Lord Whitson pushed through the box’s curtains, tugging Gwen along behind him. “I’m counting on it.”
The box was disappointingly empty, but that likely meant Avery was on his way. “Will you be joining my mother in the refreshment room?” Gwen asked. Instead of answering, the earl’s grasp tightened on her arm. Gwen frowned. “You can release me now.”
“Not yet.” In the shadowed space, his face appeared almost sinister. “You must first understand your role, Miss Barton.”
She frowned. Her arm was beginning to ache. “My role?”
“You will silently wait here for Winfield,” he said as if she hadn’t spoken. “When he arrives, you won’t make a fuss or dare look in my direction. Is that clear?”
A glint of light reflected off the barrel of the pistol he suddenly produced. Gwen sucked in a sharp breath, her earlier enthusiasm turning to ash. Her heartbeat now raced for an entirely different reason than anticipation at being reunited with Avery.
“W-what’s going on, Lord Whitson?”
The earl gave a bitter laugh. “You think Winfield could outsmart me? He escaped those other times, but he won’t tonight. Not after he received your telegram, asking him to meet you here during intermission.”
None of this was making any sense. The earl didn’t seem to like Avery, but this went well beyond dislike. “You sent him a telegram claiming to be me?” Had Avery even received her letter?
“Clever, wasn’t it? Your friend’s slip of the tongue revealed your connection to Winfield, even if neither you nor Miss Rinecroft knew he was the man you’d helped.”
Gwen looked away from the man’s sneering gaze, but apparently not fast enough.
“Ah, I see,” Lord Whitson said with a note of triumph. “You’ve already discovered the identity of your mysterious man. Then you know why I must succeed in disposing of him tonight. No mistakes this time.”
The bewildering conversation at last came together inside Gwen’s mind, crystallizing into clarity. “You’re spying for the Germans.”
The earl arched an appreciative eyebrow. “Winfield has been sharing secrets.”
Their suspect hadn’t been Mr. Hanbury after all. “Is that why you’ve courted me?” she countered, anger pushing at her fear. “To get at Avery?”
“Not at all, my dear.” As Lord Whitson leaned toward her, Gwen backed up as far as she could with her arm still in his grasp. “My interest in you has been genuine.”
She glared at him. “Genuine enough that you’d send your miscreants after me to do me harm?”
“You were there by the river that day?” The man sounded openly surprised. “My apologies, Miss Barton. I didn’t know. However, you managed to escape unharmed.”
“Only to end up here tonight.”
His expression hardened. “Precisely. And if you value your life and that of your mother’s, you’ll not reveal my presence to Winfield when he arrives. Which should be at any moment.”
Finally, he released her arm. He turned a chair around and thrust Gwen into it. “Do you understand what I’ve said?” He brandished the pistol near her face.
“Yes,” Gwen whispered through her dry throat. She understood perfectly.
The man she adored was now the fish, and she the bait.
*
Avery rushed down the nearly empty corridor of the opera house. Outside his and Gwen’s box, he paused to catch his breath. Still, his heart continued to pound with equal parts dread and anticipation. Was Gwen here? Was she safe?
He pushed through the curtains and stilled at the sight of her. Had it really been mere days since he’d last seen her? It felt like a lifetime. Gwen sat facing the entrance to the box, her chin lowered. Her pale blue dress glowed in contrast to the slight dimness around her, reminding him of how she herself had brought welcome light into his world.
“Gwen,” he said softly.
She lifted her head. “Avery, you came.”
“I got your missives.” He was about to rush forward, to sweep her into his arms, but something in her expression stopped him from moving closer.
“I sent the one . . .” A long pause followed her words before Gwen added, “first.”
Avery furrowed his brow. Something wasn’t right. He knew by her demeanor—Gwen appeared determined but also alarmed. She hadn’t stood and hurried toward him either as he’d expected. Instead she continued to sit primly, her gloved hands clasped tightly in her lap.
“I came as soon as I received them.”
She peered directly at him. “We . . .” Gwen cleared her throat. “I . . . hoped you would.”
What did she mean by we? Her and her mother? No, that couldn’t be right. She seemed to be trying to communicate a different message within her words. But what was it?
Was she upset with him for leaving town with matters so strained between them? “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was leaving for Exeter.”
Her tone remained calm, though there was an edge to it. “I understand, but I think your absence became common knowledge to some.”
To some . . .
He fought an audible groan of frustration. Gwen was telling him that someone else had learned that he’d left town. And that someone, not Gwen, had sent him a telegram about meeting here tonight. Someone who knew Avery would come to the opera—just as he had all those weeks ago.
There was only one person who would have cause to trap him. He glanced at the shadowed corners of the box, fully certain now that he and Gwen were not alone.
“I find I’m rather tired this evening.” Avery fell backward a step while throwing Gwen a meaningful look he hoped she could see and understand. “Shall we continue this conversation later?”
“Enough!” a hard voice snarled as Lord Whitson came forward. “The game is up, Winfield.”
Avery forced his lips into a casual smile, in spite of the horror he experienced at seeing the man standing beside Gwen, a gun in his hand. “Lord Whitson. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
The earl wrenched Gwen onto her feet, causing her to wince in pain. Angered, Avery took a step forward.
“Stop right there or I shoot her.” Lord Whitson aimed the gun at Gwen.
Avery froze at once, the panic from earlier chilling his veins again.
“You know why I’m here,” the earl barked.
“To finish the job your thugs couldn’t?”
Lord Whitson waved the gun. “You know what they say, don’t you? If you want a job done right, you have to do it yourself.”
“Is that why you’ve been spying for Germany? They couldn’t manage their efforts without you?”
The other man’s cold laugh rankled him. Gwen remained silent and still, but Avery could tell her shoulders were trembling. “Not everyone is as altruistic as you, Winfield.”
“What do you mean?” If he could just keep the earl talking, Avery would have a greater chance of coming up with a plan to keep Gwen out of harm’s way. He hadn’t come all this way to lose her now.
Lord Whitson shrugged. “When my father cut off my spending last year, I naturally sought another source of revenue. Unfortunately for Captain Kell and Britain, the Germans were willing to pay a higher price for my services—enough to tide me over until a well-placed marriage could bring in the real capital.”
“You said your interest in me was genuine,” Gwen remarked, her voice full of sarcasm.
“Oh, it was.” The earl glanced down at her. “I was genuinely interested in your fortune.”
With the man’s attention momentarily off him, Avery hazarded another step toward him and Gwen. “How much will you get for disposing of me?”
“Not nearly enough for all my trouble.” Lord Whitson shot him an ominous smile as he pointed the gun at Avery. “Though the satisfaction of besting you as I never could at university almost makes up for it.”
Avery lifted his arms in the air in a show of submission. “You need to let Gwen go first.”
“No, Avery. I won’t leave without you.”
Lord Whitson made a tsking noise. “I’m not as foolish as you think, Winfield. Miss Barton here has heard and seen far too much to escape now. You sealed her fate when you allowed her to become involved with you.”
The earl’s words slammed like a fist into Avery’s chest, resurrecting his dormant fears and tearing at his confidence. Would any woman ever be safe with him? He swallowed hard. His mind was spiraling out of control, making it difficult for him to think clearly.
“Avery?”
Gwen’s whisper reached his ears, though it seemed to come from the far side of a long tunnel. He lifted his head. What he could see of her expression conveyed more tenderness than he’d ever seen. In it, he also read an unmistakable, though silent message. The earl is wrong. I chose my involvement with you, and I would choose it again.
Her belief in him renewed Avery’s belief in himself and cleared his mind of everything but the need to ensure they both made it out of this alive. He assessed the earl’s position to him and to Gwen. In that instant, he knew exactly what he needed to do.
Thank You, he silently prayed. Once again he’d been blessed with insight beyond his own abilities tonight—as Avery had at other times in his life, though he was just now beginning to see it. “May we have a moment to say goodbye?”
“You have to the count of three before I pull the trigger,” the earl said with clear impatience. “One . . .” Lord Whitson kept the gun trained on Avery’s chest as he took a slight step away from Gwen.
It was the exact opening Avery had been hoping for. “My dear Gwen . . .”
“Two.”
Avery stepped forward, bringing himself almost directly in front of her. “Trust me,” he mouthed, tipping his head to the side. With wide eyes, she inched in that direction.
“Three!”
Pushing Gwen farther out of the way, Avery drove his shoulder into the earl’s chest, tipping him off balance. The arm with the gun flew upward. As the gunshot blasted loudly above their heads, Avery propelled the two of them backward over the banister and plunging toward the seats one floor below.
*
Gwen scrambled to free her feet from her dress so she could stand. Pulling herself up, she leaned over the banister. Below, Avery and the earl lay unmoving atop the theater seats.
“Avery!”
He’d risked his life to save hers. Snatching up her dress hem in one hand, Gwen turned and hurried as quickly as she could out of the box. People were already returning from the refreshment room. Or maybe the gunshot had roused them back to the theater.
She elbowed her way through the throng in the corridor. “Let me through. Please let me through.”
“Where are you going?” her mother demanded as she approached Gwen.
Gwen hurried past her. “Avery’s hurt. I have to see him.”
“What are you talking about?” The rest of Cornelia’s protests became muffled by the crowd as Gwen was finally able to work her way through.
When she reached the ground floor of the opera house, Gwen could hardly bear to put weight on her injured foot. Her harried pace had intensified her limp, along with the pain in her foot and leg. But she wouldn’t allow her impediment to delay her in reaching Avery. The growing crowd downstairs was a different story. A mob of opera patrons stopped her progress at the doorway closest to where Avery and the earl had fallen.
“Please, I have to get through! I have to get inside.” No one heeded her cries.
Tears of frustration temporarily blinded her. She had to reach Avery. Blinking rapidly, Gwen noticed a small opening in front of her. She seized it, forging her way through the swarm of bodies, heedless of the exclamations of annoyance around her.
At last she cleared the crowd of onlookers. Her gaze went to where she’d last seen Avery, but he wasn’t there. Had he been taken away?
“Avery?”
His hoarse reply from the side of the theater weakened her knees with relief. “Gwen!”
She rushed forward to find him lying on the floor, his eyes shut tight, his right arm at an odd angle. An older man knelt beside him. Farther up the aisle, Gwen could see the prone figure of Lord Whitson. Several other gentlemen stood staring down at the earl, along with a constable who held what she assumed must be Lord Whitson’s gun inside a handkerchief.
“Are you all right?” She dropped to her knees beside Avery and clasped his hand.
He winced and she softened her grip. “Mack here says I dislocated my shoulder. He’s my valet and the best medic Britain has ever seen.”
“You must be Miss Barton,” Mack said, his smile friendly and approving. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Gwen smiled in return. “You as well.” She turned back to Avery. “How did the constable know to come here?”
“I sent Mack for him,” he said as he opened his eyes. “After I realized Lord Whitson was our spy.”
Our spy. The words filled her with a relieving sense of happiness. Avery still thought of them as a team. “Will the earl be arrested, then?”
“Sure enough.” Avery’s valet threw a glare at the other man. “Attempted murder and conspiring against Britain are serious charges.”
As if Lord Whitson knew they’d been discussing him, he let out a bellowing howl. “My leg! It must be broken. How am I supposed to ride now?”
Avery chuckled. “I wish I could have seen his face when I sent us sprawling over the balcony.”
“I was terrified.” Gwen brought her hand to rest alongside his cheek. “I thought you might have been killed.”
His gaze gentled in a way that made her pulse trip. Thankfully, Mack promptly rose and went over to talk to the constable, leaving them to themselves. “Not without first telling you that I got your letter. Yours, not Whitson’s telegram.”
“You already told me that,” she said with a laugh.
“Yes, but I didn’t tell you all that I had planned to say tonight.” His fingers threaded through hers. “You were right, Gwen, in what you said at the ball. I’ve been afraid to risk my heart. However, unbeknownst to me until this week, you have gently and courageously claimed it little by little, piece by piece, ever since that night in the opera box.”
Gwen’s breath caught as much at his declaration as at his touch when he lifted their hands to his mouth and kissed her knuckle. “Are you saying that . . . that you’re ready to risk your heart?”
“Indeed, my love, I am.”
She leaned over him, mindful of his injury, and brought her lips near his. “We really need to stop meeting under such precarious circumstances, Avery Winfield.”
“Oh, we shall,” he whispered back, his grin sending tingles of feeling through her middle. “I’m resigning from my post with Kell. I’d rather spend my days with the people I love.”
Surprised, Gwen inched backward. “You mean that?”
“I do.” He released her hand to cup the back of her neck and drew her toward him again. “I love you, Gwen.”
“And I love you.”
She brought her mouth to his and kissed him ardently, unaware of anything and anyone until a sharp voice from behind disrupted the joyous moment. “Gwenyth Barton! What are you doing? What happened with the earl?”
Drawing back slightly, she glanced up to see that her mother had successfully followed her to the first floor. “I turned down the earl, Mother, and have thrown myself at Mr. Winfield instead.”
“What?” At her mother’s shocked exclamation, Gwen and Avery shared a laugh.
“I’m afraid that means my reputation is now in shambles, Mr. Winfield,” she said, smiling down at him.
He caressed the side of her face. “Fortunately, that’s something I believe we can rectify at once.” Twisting his head, he glanced at Cornelia. “Mrs. Barton, I would like to marry your daughter. I love her fully and completely and would like to start marriage negotiations immediately.”
“Well . . .” Cornelia lowered her hand from where she’d pressed it against her bosom. “I suppose that can be arranged.” She flicked her fan open and waved it before her flushed face. “After all, I knew my Gwen could make a more suitable match than the son of a marquess. The nephew of a duke is so much more dignified. My friends back home will be green with envy . . .”
Gwen looked at Avery and they started laughing again. When they stopped, he tugged her forward once more. Then despite her mother’s crowing and the bedlam inside the opera house, they shared another long kiss.