Justin awoke from his nap with a cold sweat blanketing his entire body. Chills crept up and down his spine as he recalled the terrifying nightmare about Evelyn. His muscles were clenched tight, and his breath was coming in short gasps. Awake, he thanked heaven for the familiar pierce in his chest and the throb in his temple; they took him back to reality. Staring at the inlaid woodwork on the ceiling of his bedchamber, he waited for the beating of his heart to slow from a canter to a trot.
Gradually he sat up, unclenched his hands, and inhaled a shaky breath. In his dream, Evelyn had been a traitor, come to destroy his country. The colonel had charged him with killing her to save the lives of countless Englishmen. Justin had held the gun pointed at her heart, being called upon to do his duty and murder the one woman he knew was his salvation. She had stared at him, unflinching, her sparkling blue eyes contemptuous of his betrayal. His finger had slowly been pressing down on the trigger when he had suddenly snapped out of the dream.
His mouth tasted like rotted cheese, and he leaned over and took a sip of the tepid tea by his bedside. He pulled the chamber pot from under the bed and spit. This was a nasty business indeed.
He leaned over and yanked open the drawer to his nightstand, wanting to see her handwriting on the single page he’d taken from the cabin. He always kept it near. Something clattered and rolled to the front of the drawer, undulating slowly to a stop with a clank against the wood. He lifted out the metal. A shiny gold ring with two clasped hands carved around the band.
“What the…?”
His grandmother’s love token. It was a reminder of all he had done to Evelyn and all he yet still owed her.
“Whatever the future holds for us,” he had told her. “I want you to think well of me.”
How could she think well of him when he had accomplished so little to help her thus far? He was getting nowhere with his sources, was deplorably unable to get the warrant quashed and still had no idea where they held Sully. The magistrate who’d executed the warrant for Evelyn’s arrest had suddenly become ill, and no other person seemed able to handle his matters. He would have thought his title could have garnered him at least that minor accomplishment.
Finally, desperate and hoping beyond hope that Wheaton was still honorable, Justin had tried to convince the colonel that Evelyn was not involved in anything nefarious. It had made no difference in the old man’s determination to see her arrested, yet doing so had exposed Justin’s partiality. If he’d had any doubts before, Justin now knew that Wheaton would not trust him with any information regarding the conspiracy, Sully, or Evelyn. For all intents and purposes, Justin had been cut loose and was alone in his quest for justice.
A wave of fear blanketed his heart so painfully that he fell backward on the solid mattress. He could not fail. Closing his eyes, he remembered Evelyn’s soft skin, her fresh lavender scent, and the tinkling harmony of her laugh, and he recollected her misty gaze when she spoke lovingly of her father and Sully. She was the most remarkable woman he had ever known. He refused to let her down.
Sitting up, a feeling of sureness in himself cast all of his doubts to the wind. He slipped the golden sphere into his pocket as a talisman of his mission and the woman who held his heart.
“Ah, pardon me, my lord, but there are two men waiting to see you downstairs.” Sylvester stepped deeper into the chamber. “Misters Clontz and Montag.”
“Who?”
“They are the Bow Street Runners retained by my lady to…ah…assist in your return.”
“Really?” An idea took shape in his mind. Perhaps all of his cards had yet to be played.
Sylvester’s cheeks reddened. “Although it is not my place to say, my lord, I might add that it seems the men have not yet been paid for their services.”
Well, Justin knew a way to allow them to earn their keep and then some. “Help me dress, Sylvester. We’ve much to do.”
Always efficient, his man rushed to obey.
Evelyn held the golden ring up to the light, marveling how such a tiny thing could come to mean so much. But exactly what, she was not sure. Was it a forerunner to another betrayal? Did it mean Justin wanted her to think well of him after he’d scarred her heart beyond redemption?
“It’s a trap, I tell you,” Angel voiced her fears as he paced the small square of the room, his booted feet making the floorboards creak with his every step.
“How did he find us?”
“The pub is a rendezvous point used by many. He took a chance leaving the message there.”
“Justin told me they’d had men following you before. Perhaps they observed you frequenting it then?”
“Regardless, I will not return there again.” He scowled. “And don’t fret, I took extensive precautions making my way back here.”
The candlelight in the cheap, barren room shimmered on the gold ring in her hand. She was tired of the tangled web of her emotions, tired of this relentless second-guessing. She wanted to know once and for all whose side of this madness Justin played on. She had doubts about his allegiance, doubts about his honor and, yes, doubts about his treachery. Part of her could not accept his betrayal. Hope lingered, making her want to tear her hair out. She would go mad if she did not brand him friend or foe once and for all. And if he was the enemy, so be it. He would lead her to Sully or die for his failure.
A sense of inevitability settled over her. She dropped the ring onto the scarred tabletop and watched it slowly undulate to a clattering stop. “I think we should meet him.”
Angel waved his hand. “You are not exactly thinking with a clear head when it comes to the marquis, caro. No. Too much depends on trusting him.”
“You just finished telling me how we couldn’t continue searching the safe houses for fear that the authorities will lie in wait for us. What choice do we have?”
Scowling, he ran his hand through his raven hair. “I am beginning to think we’d be better off departing the country.”
“I will not leave Sully.”
“He would not want you to place yourself in peril for him.”
“He’s not here to have a voice in the matter. I’m an adult making my own decisions. If you feel you cannot abide by them, I thank you sincerely for your help and will not think any less of you if you leave.” She held her breath. She wanted him to know he was not beholden to her, yet the thought of being alone…
He growled deep in his throat, reminding her more than ever of an angry leopard. “Do not speak foolishness, caro.”
Relief swamped her as she let out a long breath. “We will meet Justin at the appointed place.”
“And if it’s a trap?”
“Let’s hope when the man took a bullet for me it meant more than a mere strategy.” Sighing, she rubbed her hand over her eyes. “I must confess, part of me yearns to believe he had his reasons for leaving.”
“It is not inconceivable.”
“What?” Her mouth almost dropped open.
He shrugged. “Even if he had claimed to be able to stop Napoleon himself, I never would have let him go.”
“What are you saying?”
“It was the only way he could get back to London. To do good or mischief.”
“How do we find out which?”
“We meet him.” Angel scratched his chin as he did when deep in thought. “Yet we do not have to come into the encounter as lambs to the slaughter.”
“Well, there’s no need to take unnecessary chances.” Resolve flooding through her, she asked, “What do you have in mind?”
Ghostly gray fog swirled around the damp mausoleum, and for the tenth time in an hour Justin wondered at his choosing such a morbid place to meet Evelyn. He shifted on the hard cold marble, squinting his eyes into the gloom as he caught a hint of movement in the corner of the crypt. He lifted the low-lit lantern, illuminating only about two paces forward. Against the white marble a rat peered up at him, wrinkled its whiskers, squealed, and scurried off behind the tomb.
The bell in the nearby church chimed the hour of two, and he was glad he had thought to wear his warmest cloak for the rendezvous. He pulled the wool closer around him and sniffed the stale air that was barely freshened by the thin slits near the ceiling. Peering through them, he could see only the black night. Even the moon deigned to take cover this grim night.
He ignored the nervous flutter in his middle and prayed that Evelyn trusted him enough to come. She was late. It did not bode well. He stood, anxious to move and warm the blood in his numbing legs. He paced the oblong antechamber, his boots scraping along the stone floor.
The slight scuffle of footsteps on gravel emanated from outside. He shifted closer to the slit on the high wall. The stone pressed cold through the thin leather of his gloves. The exterior metal gate creaked as it was pushed open. His breath caught in his throat and his heart hammered. He pulled the pistol from his pocket, ready for anything, but praying he was being overcautious.
Three clanks hammered against the iron-studded door. He stepped close. His voice was a hoarse whisper. “Who goes there?”
“Angel Arolas and Evelyn Amherst,” came the smooth inflection of the Spaniard.
Justin unbarred the heavy door and stepped back, his pistol unwavering in his hand. The heavy door groaned open. Two black-cloaked figures stepped inside. The one on the right wore a long, dark mourning veil.
Justin’s heart sank. Anger etched with deep remorse as he held up the pistol and accused, “What do you take me for? A fool?”
Arolas’s wary eyes scanned the chamber and then settled back on him. “What do you mean?”
“That’s not Evelyn.”
The Spaniard swiftly pulled his gloved hands from inside his dark cloak, a pistol in each one. The figure next to Arolas shrugged off the black veil and cloak. Instead of Evelyn, her man Ismet stood ready with a long, menacing dagger slicing through the air with a hiss.
“We needed to know this was not a trap,” Arolas commented tightly as he balanced on his toes, ready for a confrontation. “Is it?”
Justin had to begrudgingly admire the defensive tactic. Anyone who did not know the graceful glide of Evelyn’s step or the fact that her head came just to Justin’s shoulder might have missed the ruse. Although jealous to the core of the handsome Spaniard, a part of Justin was thankful Evelyn had such vigilant friends.
“This is no trap. I have a man in a coach by the eastern gates. Otherwise, I am alone in here.” He did not bother to mention the Bow Street Runners in the crypt next door. He eyed the fighting men warily, realizing there was only one way to proceed. He slowly un-cocked his pistol and relaxed his stance.
With Ismet watching, Arolas turned and paced the chamber with catlike grace. He peered into each corner of the crypt and behind the central tomb. The man moved with the natural agility of a predator. Apparently concluding that all was as it should be, Arolas leisurely put his firearms in the inside pockets of his cloak.
Ismet nodded to the man, then silently slipped out the heavy door. It closed with a grating thud.
Justin could just barely hear Ismet’s soft footfalls on the mossy grass outside. “Is she coming?” He slipped his pistol into the exterior pocket of his coat.
“In a moment.”
They waited in silence, an owl hooting off in the distance.
Arolas said softly, “An interesting place to meet, yet ingenious. Quiet, away from prying eyes, we can hear anyone coming near.”
Justin accepted the tribute with a nod. “There is only one entrance.” He tried to ignore the jealousy nipping at his gut as he imagined the Spaniard and Evelyn together. Even he could recognize that the Spaniard was too good-looking by half. Guardedly, he asked, “How is she?”
“She is strong, our Evelyn.”
He did not miss the possessiveness in the man’s voice. “I heard that two of the safe houses were compromised. It was you.”
Arolas shrugged. He stared hard at Justin. “You said in your missive you could return Sully. Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then how—?”
“I will explain everything when Evelyn arrives.”
The exterior gate squeaked. Justin’s heart began to hammer once more, and he realized that he was gambling his entire future on the lady’s delicate footfalls that trod near.
The iron-studded door groaned open, and a black-cloaked figure stepped inside. He would know that graceful glide anywhere. A wave of relief swamped him till he felt light-headed. “Evelyn,” he breathed.
She slipped off her dark hood, and he soaked in the sight of her. Her coiled golden hair barely shone in the dim lamplight. Her lush lips were pressed tight and dark circles still banked her eyes, yet the brilliance of that blue gaze pierced his heart.
The corners of his lips rose, but he was too overwhelmed to smile. “I’m so glad you came.”
She was eyeing him as if to discern all his secrets from his gaze. “I see you did not kill yourself in your mad dash for escape.”
“I’m sorry for leaving you so abruptly, Evelyn, but Arolas would never have let me go.”
“In my country, when a man steals your horse, he owes you something of equal value in return.” Arolas’s dark eyes glittered. “Your life, perhaps?”
“We have yet to ascertain if that will be enough,” Evelyn added bitterly.
Her anger tore at his heart, but he had to try to convince her he was true. “I apologize. But I had to go. It was the best course of action available to us, and I was not about to let you talk me out of it or let him stop me.”
“Us?” Arolas raised his brow. “We do not know of whom you speak.”
“I had to try to get the warrant for Evelyn’s arrest quashed. The only way to do that was to appear whole before the magistrate who granted it.”
“And is this done?”
“I am having difficulties.”
“Aren’t we all?” Arolas countered.
“I also had to try to convince my superior that Evelyn is not involved in any French plot. And to endeavor to find Sully. I could do none of those things traipsing around the countryside while we tried to keep a Spaniard, two Turks, and a couple of English gentry from being captured. We were too obvious, and yet to return to London was too risky for Evelyn. I had to go alone.”
“Yet I am here,” she murmured. “At risk.”
“And I cannot deny it: I’m so glad to see you,” he offered, trying to show her with his eyes what he was having difficulty explaining with words. She was the reason for his every action, his raison d’être these days.
“I presume you had no luck with Wheaton.” Arolas waved his gloved hand.
Evelyn looked up, hope flashing in those robin’s egg blue eyes. “And what of Sully?”
“I do know for certain that Sully is alive. Helderby has him at one of the safe houses. I’m working on finding out which one.”
“We are trying the same tack,” Evelyn replied quietly. Straightening her shoulders, she asked, “You said you could help end this mess. Help recover Sully…”
He waved to the white marble steps. “If you would have a seat?”
She eyed him warily, yet let him take her hand. He thanked the heavens for these small measures of trust. He led her to sit on the hard stone steps, never releasing her small hand. The heat of her grasp warmed him on so many different levels that the cold stone on his bottom barely registered.
Arolas negligently flipped open his long cloak and sat on Evelyn’s other side.
Justin began, “I have considered our situation in a thousand different lights. There is only one way to expose Wheaton and ascertain if there is a real threat to the realm or if he has gone rogue.” Justin prayed that he could be as persuasive as he needed to be. “Wheaton claims there is a French plot in the works. We cannot take the chance that he is right.” He swallowed, knowing Evelyn was perceptive enough to grasp the intricacies of the matter. He hoped she would likewise appreciate what he was about to divulge. “Besides administrative matters, the Alien Office handles many sensitive, secretive matters pertaining to France. They are beyond Wheaton’s control.”
Arolas rubbed his chin. “I’d heard rumors, but…”
Evelyn shook her head appreciatively. “Even Father never spoke of it.” She blinked, comprehension dawning in her lovely eyes.
“Few are aware of its clandestine operation. Or of its power. You must contact the Alien Office and offer to trade me for Sully.”
The Spaniard fisted his hands. “We’ve been over this. Before anyone can make sense of this mess, Evelyn will be arrested on the kidnapping charge, and all will be lost.”
Justin played his trump card. “Not if she is immune from prosecution.”
Arolas inhaled a sharp breath. “Are you suggesting what I think you are suggesting?”
“Yes.” Justin clenched his fist. “Do you have any issue with that?” He prayed it wasn’t pure folly to fantasize the Barclay bridal gems adorning Evelyn’s lovely neck.
The Spaniard eyed him critically. “Are you sincere?”
“Deadly. I’m willing to bet the rest of my life on Evelyn.”
Arolas blew out a long breath, considering. “In that case, I have no issue.”
The relief on Justin’s tongue tasted sweet. One down, one to go.
Evelyn squeezed his hand. “I’m not following. What are you suggesting?”
He caught her brilliant blue gaze, stating softly, “As my wife no one would dare prosecute you for my kidnapping. You will be protected, and we will have time to get our answers.”
Her whole body stilled. Her hand was dead in his grasp. With his heart pounding, he rushed on, “We will insist that they bring Sully to the exchange, ensuring that he is whole. I will arrange for the appropriate members of the Alien Office to be there at the meeting, and Wheaton will be forced to answer to them for his actions. If there is a French plot threatening our nation as he claims, then we will fight that battle with additional forces. But you will finally know where you stand and be free from this terrible game. It also will make them have to go through the proper channels if they are going to charge Sully.”
“And if, on the slim chance Evelyn knows something to help stop the French conspiracy, she will be able to impart the information without being indicted.” Arolas tilted his head in salute. “The plan has merit.”
“Can’t you just go to this Alien Office and insist that they step in?” Evelyn ventured, pursing her lush lips.
Arolas shook his head. “Politics, caro. No one can challenge the master of spies unless he is caught with his hands dirty.”
“I can’t imagine Wheaton betraying His Majesty,” Justin stated quietly. “But what he’s done to you in the name of security…” He pounded his hand on his thigh. “This is the only way to get all our answers. The French plot, Wheaton’s actions, Sully’s charges, the warrant against you—” He reached inside his breast pocket and pulled out the parchment. He was thankful his hand did not shake when he held it out to her.
“What is it?” she asked, eyeing the document warily.
“A special license. We have little time. The colonel says that the French plot is set for next week.” Justin watched Evelyn closely, yet he could not read her, as there was so little emotion in her lovely features. It was as if she’d frozen from the shock of his offer.
Arolas reached for the document. The paper crackled as he opened it and read. After a moment, he said, “It appears in order, caro.” He looked up. “But what about the future? Evelyn’s situation?”
Justin squared his shoulders, verbalizing what he dreaded to say. “I know how Evelyn feels about marriage….” He caught her gaze. “After you’re safe, I am prepared to obtain a divorce, if that’s what you want.” It was his most fervent hope that she would not want it.
Crickets chirped in the funereal silence. A rat scurried across the room.
“Divorces are rarely granted,” she stated while looking down and adjusting her black skirts. “They are expensive and publicly humiliating. Everything about you, me, your work in the Foreign Office, will be subject to public scrutiny and scorn. Your reputation and your family’s social standing will be irreparably damaged….”
He squeezed her hand. “It does not matter so long as you are free.”
She turned her head away. He held his breath. If she rejected his offer, he had hit a stone wall from which he feared he just might not recover. He could not stomach the idea of her running for her life as Wheaton and his men hunted her down.
“There are few other options, and we can save Sully.” He was determined to convince her. “It’s the only way.”
Arolas grabbed her free hand. “It is a good plan, Evelyn. You will be protected.”
Evelyn looked down at her hands, one in Angel’s grasp and the other in Justin’s. Two very different but remarkable men who seemed to believe that this was the best course of action. She inhaled a shaky breath. Theoretically it was a good plan. It seemed that Justin could be trusted not to surrender her to his government. But could she entrust him with such power over her life, legally, physically, and—the most thorny—emotionally? She did not miss the irony that everything appeared to hinge on accepting the one thing she feared most in the world.
Justin stated softly, “To ‘wed’ literally means to ‘gamble’ or ‘wager.’ I’m hoping you lay your bets on me finding us a way out of this maze.”
She was caught again in the enchantment of those greenish-gray eyes. She felt his magnetism like a lure pulling her into his warmth, to soak in his passionate fires. Remembering how she had melted against him, she prayed her body and her instincts were sound. Recalling the bitter tang of his betrayal, she marveled at how she could even consider trusting her own judgment where he was concerned. What a fine pickle she was in.
She could not help the ironic smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. “Heavens, what Byzantine quandaries we face.” She chuckled. “It’s almost as if someone is setting obstacles in our paths, by design.” She dropped Angel’s hand and rubbed her tired eyes.
Angel commented wryly, “It fits, don’t you think?”
“How so?” she asked.
“As the wedding lore authority, you should know that in the Scottish Highlands, it is the man who faces the trials, as it should be.”
She smiled at her friend. “All for a woman’s kiss.”
“What are you talking about?” Justin asked.
She turned to him. “In the old custom of creeling, the bridegroom must carry a large basket of stones throughout the town searching for his bride. Only if she comes out and kisses him can he drop the weight.”
Angel leaned forward and faced Justin. “How much weight can you carry, my lord?”
Justin straightened, his mouth pressed in a firm line. “As much as it takes.”
It seemed as if an accord had been reached between the three of them without her actually agreeing to anything. Evelyn felt it like a web around her chest spun so tightly that she thought she might not breathe. Dropping Justin’s hand, she stood, needing to move. She rubbed her suddenly sweaty palms together; even the leather of her gloves chafed. She licked her desert-dry lips. “Well then. Where do we go from here?”
“We have the special license, we can be married at any time or place of our choosing,” Justin offered. “Fortunate for us, my local vicar is in Town for a family service.”
“How opportune,” she mumbled under her breath. Funeral, most likely.
“A christening, I’m told.” He stood smoothly. “I have him waiting at a small chapel near Charing Cross.”
“You expected me to say yes?” She looked up, surprised. Had she laid bets she would have wagered against a wedding that day.
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I had hoped.”
Angel jumped up. “Let’s go.”
“My, you’re in a rush to see me leg-shackled.”
He beamed a wicked smile. “This is a treat I never expected to see—Evelyn, the ultimate naysayer, getting married. I only wish my father were here to witness this. He would not believe it.”
She crossed her arms. “And will you tease me so mercilessly when I am in the midst of an ugly divorce?”
Justin scowled. “No need to make this into a bloody drama. The carriage awaits at the eastern gate.”
Angel headed to the door. “Just so long as it is you and not me in that chapel, caro.”
She swallowed hard and followed him out the door into the gloomy night, toward the dreaded parson’s mousetrap.