“Of course it’s my bedroom,” Raven closed the door and dropped her wrist as if she were hot coals.
Heloise rubbed the red mark he’d left and glared at him, then lurched back against the door as he planted his hands on either side of her head and leaned in close.
“Don’t pretend you haven’t been desperate to see it for years.”
Blood rushed to her face at his insolent challenge. She could hardly look at him, considering what they’d just been doing. God, if they hadn’t been interrupted—
He smiled that maddeningly perceptive smile of his—the one that suggested he knew her every secret and found her mildly amusing. She wanted to throw something at him.
He pushed away and strode over to the fireplace and she dragged in an unsteady breath. The flare of a taper briefly illuminated his face as he lit an oil lamp on a side table then turned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, why don’t you explain why someone just tried to blow my head off?”
Heloise stared at him in astonishment. “I have no idea.”
He raked a hand through his dark hair. “Wherever you go, disaster follows.”
She gasped at that blatantly unfair accusation. “Why would it have anything to do with me? You’re the spy. This is your house. Of the two of us, you’re far more likely to have incited someone to murder.”
He shook his head.
“Did you see whoever it was?” she asked.
“No. It was a man, but he rode off before I could get a good look.”
Heloise frowned. “But you must have been the target. Other than my family and a few close friends, hardly anyone’s aware I even exist. Why would someone try to shoot me?”
He leveled her with a piercing glance. “I have some bad news, I’m afraid. Castlereagh was here earlier. Your colleague Edward Lamb was murdered last night.”
All the blood leeched out of her face in a cold wash. She clapped a hand over her mouth. “What? No.” Her legs buckled and she leaned back against the door for support, afraid she was going to pass out. “Edward can’t be dead. I only saw him a week ago and—oh God—”
Edward was like a brother to her, a kindred spirit. A fellow code breaker, Edward met up with Heloise whenever she visited Castlereagh in London and talked for hours, engrossed in codes, arguing over possible solutions. Theirs was a friendship based on mutual respect. The image of his earnest, bespectacled face with its broad, scholarly forehead filled her mind and she clutched her stomach as a tight ball of grief settled in her chest. Dead? A sob rose in her throat. Oh God. It was like losing Tony all over again.
Raven poured a glass of water from a pitcher and held it out to her wordlessly. She took it, but her hand was shaking so much the rim of the glass chinked against her front teeth when she tried to drink. She took a deep breath. “But why would someone want to kill him? Or me, for that matter?”
He regarded her as if she were dim-witted. “God, Heloise. Don’t you realize how valuable you are?” He rubbed his forehead. “Any British asset’s an automatic target for the French. You think England’s problems have disappeared just because Bonaparte’s been exiled again?” He leaned back against the corner of a desk. “We’re still at war, Hellcat, even if it’s not official. Believe me, there are always people prepared to do whatever it takes to ensure sensitive information stays secret.”
Heloise gulped as the full implications of that sunk in.
“Why did you come here tonight?”
Heloise reached into her bodice and blushed at the impropriety of her hiding place. The translation had been the furthest thing from her mind when Raven’s hand had been there a few minutes ago. She half turned away and extracted the crumpled paper—slightly damp with spilled champagne—with a flourish.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“A message that, until a few hours ago, was undecipherable.”
“And now?”
“I’ve cracked it.” Heloise savored the rush of elation. She’d been so excited about her breakthrough, but there had been no one at home with whom to share her success. As a woman she’d been ineligible to fight on the front lines against Napoleon, or even behind them, like Raven and her brothers, but her skill at code-breaking had given her an unexpected opportunity to serve her country.
“The French change their codes about every six months or so. They created this one just after Napoleon was defeated, and it’s proved far more complicated than usual. I’ve been working on it for months. Tonight I finally had a breakthrough.” She waved the paper at him. “I think this message is about your friend Kit Carlisle.”
Raven straightened, instantly alert. “Kit? Why, what does it say?”
Heloise glanced down at her hastily scribbled translation then back up at him. “It’s dated three weeks ago, addressed to Rovigo.”
Raven nodded. “That’s Anne Jean Marie René Savary, Duc of Rovigo. He was Napoleon’s top spymaster, along with Fouché, but he managed to retain his position despite the French defeat. The man’s as slippery as an eel. Who’s it from?”
“It’s signed Alvarez.”
He frowned. “I don’t know who that is. What does it say?”
“ ‘The prisoner is in poor health and gives us no new information. I urge you to consider completing the exchange you suggest quickly. The Baker will be of more use returned to us than this English Apollo. I can bring him to the church at Endarlatsa with notice of a few days.’ ”
Raven’s eyebrows rose in disbelief. “Apollo? Are you sure?”
“Yes. That’s Kit’s code name, isn’t it?”
Castlereagh’s spies all had code names based on the Greek and Roman gods. Her brother Nic was Mercury, god of messengers and thieves, and Richard, being the eldest sibling, was Jupiter. She’d yet to discover Raven’s code name.
Raven exhaled slowly. “Yes. And this suggests he’s still alive. Or, at least, he was three weeks ago.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Bloody hell. Do you know where this message was intercepted?”
Heloise shook her head.
“Is there nothing else? A seal? A watermark? Anything that might determine where it came from?”
“No, but I looked at an atlas. There’s a village called Endarlatsa; it’s in northern Spain, near the border with France.” She glanced up at him. “Who’s the Baker?”
Raven’s jaw tightened. “The French give their agents code names based on trades or professions. The Doctor, the Farmer, the Shoemaker. The Baker is a man called Marc Breton. He’s currently our guest in Newgate. Richard and I are the ones who brought him in for questioning.”
The way he intoned the word “questioning” held a world of dark menace. Heloise shivered.
Raven pushed off the desk and started pacing. “I have to go and get Kit.”
It was no more than she’d expected. Raven was insanely loyal to his brothers in arms. “Do you think the French have already approached Castlereagh and indicated that they’re willing to swap Kit for this Baker?”
“No. Castlereagh would have told me if he’d heard Kit was alive.”
“What if Savary’s changed his mind?”
He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “It doesn’t matter if he has. We know where Kit is now—it must be somewhere within range of this church.”
“What if they haven’t offered because Kit’s already dead?” She hated to voice the question, but it needed to be said.
Raven fixed her with a piercing look. “If there’s even a chance he’s still alive, I’m going after him.”
Heloise nodded. She’d do the same, in his place. “Well, the good news is, now I’ve cracked this code, I’ll be able to read all the other messages we’ve intercepted. One of them might reveal something more about his location. I can go to London immediately and show Edward how to—” She stopped on a pained gasp. Edward wouldn’t be there to tell.
Raven stopped pacing. “No. London’s too dangerous. Someone’s already taken a shot at you.”
Heloise bit her lip. “I suppose Castlereagh could send the remaining messages here by courier. Or I could go to one of the safe houses, until all this blows over.”
Raven nodded absently, as if his mind was already on something else. “Could you write a message in this code?”
“I suppose so.”
He strode back to the desk, pulled forward paper and ink, and waved her over with an impatient hand. Heloise crossed to the chair he pulled out for her and sank into it. “What do you want me to write?”
“Date it for last week. Say, ‘Still in hospital. Expect to make a full recovery.’ Encoded French, of course.”
Heloise shot him a how-stupid-do-you-think-I-am glare, pulled the sheet toward her, and flattened the translated message on the desk. She ignored the inward curl of pleasure that being so close to Raven produced. Her whole body hummed in awareness. “I have all my notes and workings at home. This would be a lot easier if I could just—”
Raven shook his head. She frowned as he hovered over her shoulder. “I’ll need a while to work this out, you know. Go glower somewhere else, at least.”
He stepped back and she began to reverse-engineer the code into its individual letter components. Muffled sounds of revelry from the party downstairs joined the scratch of her pen as she first wrote out the message in French, then started to encode it, letter by letter. “What does it mean, anyway?”
“It’s a French spy code. ‘Still in hospital’ means still a prisoner. ‘Expect to make a full recovery,’ means he’ll await rescue or further instructions. Sign it Baker.”
Heloise nodded. So this was supposed to be a note from the Frenchman in custody. At least the name was easy—it was already encoded in the original message. “There.” She turned to Raven and handed him the note then glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel. “So now what?”
He folded the note and slipped it inside his jacket. “I’ll send this to Castlereagh. He can get it into French hands without arousing suspicion.”
Heloise stood, smoothed down her skirts. Raven sidestepped, blocking her escape. He was half-smiling again, a look that made her instantly apprehensive. His dark gaze dropped to her mouth and a traitorous warmth curled through her. “I haven’t thanked you properly.”
He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss on her lips. Heloise frowned. Was this a goodbye kiss, because he’d be going to Spain? He kissed her again, and everything went a little hazy.
When the back of her knees hit something hard she realized, dimly, that he’d maneuvered her to the side of the bed. She shivered when he entwined their fingers and drew her arms behind her back, angling his head to press kisses along her jaw, her ear, her temple.
“Hellcat…” he murmured against her lips. “I’m sorry about this.”
Heloise frowned. Sorry? Why would he be—? A terrible suspicion formed the exact moment something cold closed around her wrist with an ominous metallic click. Raven reared back. She felt her arm jerk sideways and glanced down. Disbelief quickly gave way to fury.
The pig-swiving bastard had handcuffed her to the bed.