Weary and not at all certain who had succeeded in laying a false trail, Lina left Dokes’s rooms and made her way to the agreed-upon destination; a modest Kensington row of houses where a lantern left out on one front stoop identified it as the safe house—a residence used when any of her compatriots needed a temporary place to go to ground. She signaled for the hackney to stop and drew Maisie’s cloak hood tight under her chin. I must look like a cast-off from the Seven Dials district, she thought. Just as well—that way no one will attempt to peer under the brim of this oversized hat.
Alighting from the cab, she tossed a coin without raising her face, her thanks delivered in a gruff voice. She had been careful to take a circuitous route so as not to be followed by Dokes, although Dokes would certainly anticipate such a subterfuge and may not have bothered as a result. They both knew how to conserve their actions in the face of futility.
Slipping into the shrubbery beside the front stoop, Lina stood in the shadows for a few minutes, waiting for possible observers to pass by before she approached the door—no point in drawing attention at this late stage. One such passerby was a gas lighter; a tall, lean man as was suitable for his profession, carrying his torch and ambling along the pavement with a rolling gait, pausing to light the lamps in the falling dusk. A former sailor, she thought—one could always tell by the walk.
The man paused directly before her and lit a clay pipe, tamping down the tobacco and sparking a flint. In the sudden flare she caught a glimpse of grey eyes directed her way and stifled a gasp.
“Good evening,” he said.
With a monumental effort, she concealed her acute dismay. “Good evening, sir.”
He turned to face her, puffing a cloud of smoke from the pipe as they assessed one another for a few moments, Lina’s heart pounding in her throat. He finally said, “So—you live.”
She smiled serenely and wished she didn’t appear so bedraggled; her beauty made a better shield. “You did not think I would make your task so easy, did you?”
He continued to puff on the pipe, regarding her. “On the contrary—I am well-pleased to behold you before me. It would be a rare tragedy were you dead.”
She bowed. “I thank you.”
“What the devil are you about?” He asked in the same tone he would have used to discuss the weather.
Matching his bluntness, she decided to answer honestly. “I’m afraid I cannot say. I would, but it is a matter of divided loyalties. Be assured that I am not your enemy.”
He took a step toward her, thoughtful, and turned to gaze up the dark street for a moment, surveying the other people in the vicinity out of long habit. “No—you are not my enemy. Quite the contrary.” He then looked down into her eyes, his own containing a message in their grey depths that she had interpreted many a time and from many a man.
She gazed up at him, unprepared to believe the implication.
Witnessing her reaction, he made a self-deprecatory gesture with his hands. “It is true—despite my best efforts, apparently I am only flesh and blood.” A small smile played around his lips. “That night, when you sat in your nightdress on your cellar steps, I had half a mind to put it to the touch.”
Controlling her bemusement only with an effort, she returned a mild response. “You honor me. Unfortunately for such a plan I was already pregnant at the time—and by your own contrivance, I might add.”
He shook his head with regret. “You were careless, to allow such a thing to come to pass.”
“No one was more surprised than I, I assure you.”
He placed a boot on the railing’s crossbar and contemplated it for a moment while she watched him, wary and off-balance. “And you will bear this child and stay with Carstairs?” He glanced at her, sidelong. “If you are not hanged, that is.”
Nodding in acknowledgment, she agreed, “That is my plan—if I am not hanged.”
He glanced up the street again, gathering himself to speak. Lina very much hoped her spymaster was not going to declare his undying devotion—it would be beyond surreal.
But instead he said only, “If it does not work out—for any reason—I will have your promise that you will give me the right of first refusal.”
Frowning at him, she seriously thought about it. She then decided if she couldn’t have Carstairs, she may as well have this one. “Agreed—but I have a condition.”
“Name it.” The grey eyes were intent upon hers.
In a level tone, she continued, “If anything untoward happens to Carstairs—even if he is hit by a dray while crossing the street—I shall never speak to you again.”
He leaned back his head and chuckled, contemplating the starry sky. “You overestimate your attraction.”
“I believe,” she countered, “that you and I are well-suited because we understand one another very well.”
He sobered and contemplated her. “My promise on it, then.” He offered his hand and she took it, his clasp warm, firm, and brief.
They stood together in silence while he plied his pipe and leaned against the railing. Lina breathed in the night air and thought, I have managed another in a long string of lucky escapes, thanks to my formidable wiles. Although to be accurate I have never practiced said wiles upon this particular man—unless you count the duet at the piano, I suppose.
She also noted with interest that they were now comfortable together—as though they were old companions, neither willing to break off the interlude. In the past, there had been a tension that she had attributed to his unswerving suspicion. Now that she was aware of the true source of the tension, she was almost disappointed—he had been the one man who had seemed impervious to her beauty. Studying his averted face, she decided it was just as well they would not be together—she would never have any idea of his thoughts. “What will you do now?”
He did not hesitate in his answer. “I will be on a knifepoint of agony wondering if I should have killed you outright.”
She chuckled. “No need, certainly—I am true.”
“But to whom?” He shot her a look, no longer warm.
Teasing, she asked, “Is there anything you do not know?”
“No.” He leaned to tap out his pipe on the railing.
“Did you know of Grant?”
Amused, he chided her. “Please—how could I not? He is an amateur.”
“He is loathsome,” she retorted with revulsion.
Her companion straightened up and spoke seriously. “You of all people should know not to allow your emotions to color your judgment.”
Her mouth curved in amusement. “As you would never do such a thing.”
Bowing his head in acknowledgment at the irony, he replied, “Then don’t make the same mistake as I—I will no doubt live to regret it.”
“You will not. And perhaps someday we will repose somewhere together, you and I, and laughingly remember your doubts.”
He bowed. “My fondest wish.”
Reminded, she sighed. “You and your wretched Bible—I spent many an unhappy hour searching for your reference.”
Making a sound of annoyance, he tilted his head in contrition. “It was petty of me, and self-serving; I beg your pardon and shall say no more.”
She nodded, and he lifted his lighting torch and turned as if to continue on his way. Placing a hand on his arm, she stayed him. “If I wanted the truth from you, and I asked you to swear, what would you swear by?”
“My country,” he answered without hesitation, the grey eyes upon hers.
“Well then; on the honor of your country, tell me whether Carstairs told you I was yet alive and that you would find me here.”
He met her gaze without wavering. “He did not. Which is disquieting in its own right.”
With a fond smile, she tilted her head. “He thinks to resolve all problems neatly, and to clear me of my taint.”
“Good luck to him,” he riposted in a sour tone, and she chuckled in response.
His sharp gaze was upon hers once again. “I should perhaps mention that I nonetheless believe he will not put his regard for you above the interests of England.”
She met his eyes calmly. “Nor should he—he will not be put to such a test.”
“You reassure me.”
She chuckled again at his dry tone. “Do you have an assignment for me?”
He blew out a breath. “I have no idea. I will await events.”
She hesitated, then offered with all sincerity, “Shall we be friends? If I am not hanged, that is.”
He cocked his head to the side and studied her. “Allow me to think on it—it may be too much of a distraction.”
“Well, then.” She bowed, and he bowed in return. She turned to mount the steps into the safe house and did not look back.