Raven watched Heloise closely as she stepped into the library the next morning, interested to see how she was going to react. She lingered uncertainly by the door, obviously eager to escape. Her cheeks were flushed—embarrassment for last night, or fury at his behavior? Either way, it didn’t matter. The messages he’d received at breakfast had changed everything.
He held up the first of them. “From Castlereagh. The French have officially proposed the prisoner swap they discussed in that first message you read in England.”
Heloise’s face lit up in a smile, her nervousness forgotten. “That’s wonderful!”
He lifted his hand to forestall her celebrations. “It would be, except for one minor problem. Their agent, the Baker, is dead.”
“Dead? How?”
“He managed to get himself killed during an escape attempt a few days ago. He clearly hadn’t heard his release was imminent. It’s damned inconvenient.”
“The death of another human being isn’t inconvenient,” she admonished sternly. “It’s tragic.”
Raven rolled his eyes. “There you go, feeling sorry for the enemy again. The man was a sadistic bastard. He got what was coming to him.”
She scowled and he felt his heart lighten. It was nice to be back on their old footing.
“As soon as the French discover he’s dead they’ll kill Kit in retaliation. For all we know, there could be a message on its way to Savary right now telling him the news. They have their spies in London, as we have ours in Paris.”
Heloise’s brow wrinkled. “So what will you do?”
“Castlereagh’s replied to the French, agreeing to the swap.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Even though the prisoner they want is dead?”
“How many people know what the Baker looks like? Savary does, and so do a few of the other French agents, but none of them will be present at the handover. Do you think the guards making the exchange will be able to identify him? Because that’s one of the good things about us spies. Very few people know our faces.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Kit’s going to be at that church in the foothills of the Pyrenees in three days. I’ll go to the rendezvous point and pretend to be the Baker, under British escort. When we get close enough, we’ll ambush the guards and rescue Kit.”
Heloise frowned. “Who are you going to use to help you? Scovell’s men?”
“No. A group of gypsies who know the land better than anyone. I’ve worked with them before. They’re good fighters.”
She nodded.
“You need to pack your things.”
Her face fell. “Are you sending me back to England?”
Was that disappointment he heard in her tone? Or eagerness? He shook his head. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying where I can keep an eye on you. I had another letter this morning, from your brother Richard. Edward Lamb’s murder apparently had all the hallmarks of a kill by a French agent named Georges Lavalle. From the intelligence he’s received, Richard thinks Lavalle’s already left London with orders to come after you.”
Richard’s note had merely confirmed what Raven had already gleaned from the agent he’d killed in his garden, but seeing the threat in writing had hardened his resolve.
Heloise opened her mouth to argue, of course. “But—”
“I’ve had run-ins with Lavalle before. His code name’s the Butcher.” Raven watched her throat work nervously.
“Why the Butcher?”
“Because he’s good with a knife.” He paused to let that sink in. Heloise shivered. Good, she was scared. He needed her to be on alert. Maybe now she’d take the threat to her life seriously, instead of gallivanting off on sightseeing trips.
“You’re lucky Lavalle was sent after Edward first and not you. He wouldn’t have missed that shot through the window, not at such close range.”
He couldn’t tell what she was thinking from her expression. Was she disappointed to not be going home? Angry at his order? Or was she glad that her adventure was continuing?
“The good news is, I doubt Lavalle will be able to work out where you’ve gone. Even if he suspects you’re with me, he won’t be able to discover our destination.”
Her face brightened. “Well, that’s good, isn’t it? I mean, if this Lavalle doesn’t know where I am, he can’t be a threat, can he?”
“He’s not a threat while you remain here in Spain, no. But I can guarantee he’ll be able to get to you as soon as you set foot back in England. That scar of yours makes for an extremely recognizable face, sweetheart.”
He saw her flinch at his jibe, but it was nothing more than the truth. “So you’ll be safe as long as you stay here with me.” He glanced down, dismissing her. “Now go and pack.”
He heard her inhale as if she was about to speak, then she clearly thought better of it, released her breath in a huff, and left. Raven breathed a sigh of relief.
It was a measure of the depth of their friendship, he supposed, that Richard hadn’t even questioned his decision to bring Heloise with him to Spain. He’d merely offered whatever assistance he could provide. There weren’t many men you could write to and say I’m taking your sister abroad, and by the way, there’s a corpse in my garden that needs disposing of discreetly. Thanks. R.
Richard’s own brief signoff, Keep her safe, was sufficient to convey a whole host of meanings, including the unspoken threat: Hurt my little sister and I’ll castrate you, Ravenwood, and the absolute confidence that Raven would lay down his life for hers. It was good to have such a friend.
Castlereagh’s note, in contrast, had specifically ordered Raven to send Heloise home. He was furious that his best code breaker had been taken out of action, even for a few weeks. He wanted her back in England and working on new codes immediately.
Raven ought to comply. The next stage of the rescue would be even more dangerous, but the simple truth was he didn’t trust anyone else, especially if Richard was right and Lavalle truly was after her. The idea that the Frenchman could be out there even now, waiting for his moment to strike, made Raven’s blood run cold. Lavalle wasn’t a bungling amateur; he’d need to be dealt with before Heloise could return to England. Hopefully, that was something Richard could accomplish soon.
This wouldn’t be the first time Raven had ignored a direct order, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Castlereagh might punish his disobedience by pulling him from future missions, but Raven didn’t care. This way she’d stay safe.
To his surprise she was ready and waiting in the courtyard, dressed in her shirt and breeches, when he emerged from his room half an hour later. She thanked Scovell for his hospitality, asked him to take care of her copy of Description de l’Égypte until she returned, and mounted her horse.
Scovell came to his stallion’s head and frowned up at him, mustache bristling. “Are you sure Miss Hampden can’t stay here, Ravenwood? Seems a plaguey dangerous thing, to have her go with you.” Seeing his closed expression, Scovell harrumphed in defeat. “Well, you look after that young lady, you hear me? I want to work with her again. Mind like a razor, that one.”
Raven bit back a sarcastic retort about it being her tongue, not her mind, that was razor-sharp, and nodded instead. “I’ll protect her with my life, sir.”
Whatever Scovell saw in his face apparently satisfied him, because he nodded and patted his horse’s neck in farewell. “Off you go, then. And good luck.”