Waves crashing against wood and the rolling motion of the channel brought Blake out of slumber. “Damn, I’m on a boat.”
Tingling sensations crept up his arms as he began to move. He tested his restraints, only to realize he was bound by ropes across his thighs and chest, allowing no movement. His wrists and ankles were bandaged and he no longer felt feverish. How much time had passed? Hours? Days?
A hand on the back of his head prevented Blake from looking up. He could only see the tips of the man’s boots, but they were hessian’s and well polished.
“Yes, we are at long last on our way. I would have preferred to leave days ago, but the winds were not favorable. If the current conditions prevail, we should arrive in Calais soon.” The voice belonged to the gentleman in charge. The man’s stomach made an awful sound as he declared, “God, I hate sailing. Six hours on this ship is enough for me to last a lifetime.”
Who was the traitor that dared to kidnap a lord? For what purpose was he being sailed to the Continent? Blake had not wanted to set foot on foreign soil again unless it was for pleasure. The idea of venturing to Evora with Lucy made his mouth curl into a grin.
The large hand at the back of his head forced him to stare into his lap, and his captor moved to stand behind him. The man shoved his head down farther before releasing it. “Do not attempt to turn around.”
Blake rasped, “Calais is a bustling port.”
“We shall arrive under the cover of night. Not to worry, Devonton, I’ll ensure your accommodations will be comfortable enough once we reach land. It’s a shame you were not willing to cooperate earlier. My man wouldn’t have had an excuse to use you as a punching bag. I had hoped you would visibly be in better condition. Now I will have to wait until your body heals before I am able to turn you over.” Why had his captor shared his plans? Would the blackguard confide for what purpose he had been taken?
Blake asked, “Turn me over to whom? Why do you need me?” He was extremely frustrated at not being able to deduce the reason for his abduction.
With a snicker, his kidnapper apprized, “Do not concern yourself, Devonton. All will be revealed in due time.”
He tried to turn as footsteps retreated. The gentleman ordered, “Lights out.”
A huge fist struck him, and stars appeared. Then blackness descended upon him.
Lucy wiped the back of her hand across weary eyes. Someone was snoring. Loudly. It was Matthew. She observed her brother’s form facing the fire, his head resting on a throw pillow from the settee and his jacket over him like a blanket. It was as if he was accustomed to sleeping on a hard surface and not in his luxurious bed that easily held his tall frame. When had he had cause to sleep on the floor? What type of assignments had Archbroke sent him on? Lucy frowned, not quite believing her eyes. Why had I not trusted my twin? How had he not confided in me?
Lucy released a deep sigh, banishing the depressing thoughts. As another snore rattled the walls, she thanked her lucky stars her rooms were in the opposite wing of the town house to Matthew’s or she would never get any sleep.
Blake had been taken nearly a fortnight ago. They were exhausted; they had hoped to have the assignment completed before the original deadline of the nineteenth, but even working day and night, they were not able to decipher the missives.
Home Office had sent agents to the Lone Dove to monitor activity, but Archbroke’s hunch that the plans had been altered was confirmed when there was no sign of Blake. They both knew the answers to their questions were contained in the missives. She was growing extremely frustrated and had been undulating between tears and pure determined focus. Matthew had been quiet but supportive, making sure she had everything she needed and providing helpful responses even when she seemed to be talking to herself.
Lucy stretched and saw Mr. Smyth snoozing in a chair by the door. He had remained present, although he did not involve himself in her work. He remained vigilant in his duties. He ensured the town house was not being watched. He acted as Lucy’s messenger; she often sent him to the Home Office to obtain documents. Other times, when Matthew was unavailable, Mr. Smyth, acting as a Harrington footman, would escort Grace to visit Lucy, ensuring her safety to and from her parent’s town house. Grace was the only distraction Lucy allowed herself.
Despite having the two men by her side day and night, she longed for Blake. She didn’t fully comprehend how the man whom she had spent relatively little time with could make her feel safe and comfortable.
Lucy called for her maid and a bath and quietly made her way up to her room. “Carrington, I’ve never had this much trouble decoding. I can’t seem to see any correlation between the five documents, and while I’ve tried to decode them as if they were all independent, it just doesn’t feel right. Argghhhh…”
“My lady, I think you are putting too much pressure on yourself. Perhaps you need to walk in the garden, get some fresh air. You haven’t been out in days. It might help you relax and clear your mind.”
Lucy lay back in the tub and tried to submerge more of her body in the hot, almost burning water. For days, she had felt a cold numbing sensation invade her body as if she were experiencing the feelings of another, and in her mind, she was convinced it was Blake. She feared he was unwell and his mental strength was being tested to its limits, just as her limits were being pushed. Lucy wondered how she had come to be in tune with the man in such a short time.
“My lady, it seems to me you have strong feelings for Lord Devonton. Might you pretend another was taken and not Lord Devonton?”
“Carrington, I have been trying! He needs me, and I’m failing. My thoughts are a jumble, and I keep remembering our conversations. They play over and over in my mind, and sometimes I think I can actually hear his laugh.”
Carrington was frowning as she tried to follow the conversation. “His laugh, my lady? What would he have to laugh about?”
“My jokes! The ones I shared with him by the lake at the Redburn house party.”
“Your jokes. He actually laughed?” Carrington was grinning at her mistress.
Lucy frowned. She was fully aware that it was rare for anyone to understand her wit and humor. She often received blank stares or silence in response when attempting to share a joke.
“Blake may be the only person to really understand me, and… I miss him. I can’t stop thinking about his all-knowing smiles, his intense looks, holding his hand, his kisses, and his… I miss everything about him terribly.”
Lucy closed her eyes as Carrington poured water to wash out the soap in her hair. Carrington had always been the one Lucy talked to when she was working on missives in the past.
Abruptly, Lucy sat up in the tub, sloshing water on the floorboards. “Carrington, I need you in the library with me. Matthew has been there, but I need you. You are the one who has helped me all these years. Why have I not thought of this before…”
Carrington’s eyes were misting—had she hurt her maid’s feelings by not realizing this before? “I would be delighted to join you in the library, my lady.”
Glad that Carrington would not hold the oversight against her, Lucy said, “We must hurry, Carrington. We need to get to it right away.” Lucy stood and tried to exit the tub.
“My lady, there is still soap in your hair. Please sit so I can finish.”
She sat back into the tub. “Yes, yes. Just hurry, Carrington. Blake needs us…”
Dry and dressed in a simple lemon-colored day gown, Lucy sat in front of the fire as Carrington brushed her hair. The maid listened to her mistress recount the various details of the five missives. “My lady, do you think you could tell me the rest while we take a walk in the garden?”
Carrington’s suggestion was perfect. Lucy always worked best when she was in motion. “Certainly, Carrington. We will just have to inform Mr. Smyth.”
Lucy continued to share with Carrington everything she had determined and eliminated as they descended the stairs. Mr. Smyth was milling about in the foyer.
“Mr. Smyth, I’ve decided to take advantage of the weather and venture out to the garden. Carrington will accompany me.” Lucy had not even bothered to stop to hear his reply as they made their way out to the garden. Even though the man walked without sound, she was confident Mr. Smyth would only be but a few paces behind them.
Carrington asked, “My lady, do you find it odd that five missives were intercepted all at one time? Before they would come to us at different times; it seems like a lot of work for five to be written together.”
Lucy pondered Carrington’s question. “Do you think they intentionally sent multiple, just to cause confusion or to delay?”
“Well, we have never had two missives that go together before, my lady.” Carrington was quiet for a moment. She continued walking but was looking down at the ground and then slowed to a stop before saying, “My lady, I find it all unusual. The Lone Dove is a tavern used by our people, not the frogs. Why was Lord Devonton over on the Continent for the duration of the war, I wonder? Why would anyone have need of Lord Devonton, my lady?”
Lucy had asked herself those exact same questions many times over the past few days. The war had been declared over as soon as word came of Napoleon’s exile to Elba. Were Napoleon’s supporters behind Blake’s abduction? Had he been taken to somehow assist the frogs in determining the terrain that would aid Napoleon, or was there another reason for Blake’s abduction?
As they stood in the garden, Lucy took in a deep breath. Carrington had been right. She needed the fresh air to clear her mind. A light drizzle fell, and it was rather refreshing.
Unexpectedly, Mr. Smyth’s hand was at her elbow. “My lady, I think it is time we return to the house.” Mr. Smyth’s hand was warm but firm. He kept looking behind them as they turned back.
“What is it, Mr. Smyth?” Lucy asked as she twisted to see what Mr. Smyth was concerned about.
“I’m not certain. I just have a feeling we are being watched. I want to return to the house immediately.”
“Mr. Smyth, I think you are overcautious. Why on earth would anyone be watching our stroll in the garden?”
The look Mr. Smyth just gave her could only be described as incredulous. Did he think she was unaware of the dangers of working for the Home Office or being identified as being one of their agents? She was well aware of the risks and on more than one occasion had been reminded she was but one woman, but she was not one to ever give up. Lucy had worked diligently to establish her skills, not only to assist the Home Office. Others had benefited from her sharp mind and intuition.
Mr. Smyth was still muttering curses when Lucy addressed him again. “Mr. Smyth, that is some colorful language. You must tell me what on earth you are saying.”
“None of what I spoke is for the ears of a lady.”
Carrington giggled, and Mr. Smyth made a hasty retreat.