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With Lord James out for a ride and his brothers otherwise occupied, he had no trouble slipping out of the house undetected to meet with Bates. He let the dun race across the meadows; the horse seemed to be in the same high spirits as himself. Only six more days until England would be awakened to a new order. Another week and the government would finally be forced to embrace parliamentary reform. The men who supported this country on their shoulders would, at last, have a say in the making of its laws.
He rode into the wood, grateful to escape the relentless sunshine. The abandoned hunting box was another half mile deep; he’d discovered it last summer while out shooting.
As he approached, he saw Bates pacing in front of the window—or what was supposed to be a window; there was no glass and only one shutter remained, hanging haphazardly by a rusty nail. Bates, well-trained former soldier that he was, noticed his arrival and stood in the doorway as he tethered the dun to a nearby tree.
“Are you ready for this evening’s meeting?”
“O’ course.” Bates’s reply sounded confident, but the way the man surveyed the surrounding forest gave away his anxiety.
He put his arm around Bates’s shoulders and steered him inside. “Don’t be such a ninny! I need you.”
The man scowled as he sat in a straight-backed chair. “I wish you weren’t blind to the risks. I sees them. Why can’t you?”
“We will overcome the risks, such as they are. No one knows what we are about.” He scraped the other chair in the room across the planked floor and turned it backward, dropping onto the splintered wood without a care. Bates, as usual, did not look reassured.
He sighed and then tried to mollify his friend. “If they had any suspicions, don’t you think they would be scrutinizing the Hampden Clubs more closely, possibly even shutting us down?”
Brow furrowed as deep as the fields a few miles away, Bates popped up and began to pace again in front of the blackened fireplace. “You’re bringing someone new tonight.”
“Lord James, an aristocratic do-good.” He rested his arms over the chair back. “I wrote you about him. There’s nothing to fear. I don’t expect him to be of much help, but he was interested so...” He shrugged. “We have more important things to discuss. When will the gunpowder be delivered?”
“Monday.”
“Excellent.” He nodded. “Have you found a place to store it?” Two barrels of gunpowder would not be easy to hide. He could not use any of the outbuildings near the house for fear the powder might be discovered. Nor did he want to use this place. It was too exposed to the elements.
Bates pivoted on his booted heel, his hazel eyes alight. “Did you know there’s a root cellar beneath the kitchen?”
“No. Show me.”
The former corporal led the way through the small lodge. On the ground floor there was only the one main room and a rudimentary kitchen in the back. There were two first-floor bedchambers, but the staircase had rotted ,and they could not access them. The box had not been built solidly to begin with and had fallen into disrepair during the tenure of previous non-sporting viscounts.
Outside the rear door Bates pointed to a spot in the ground covered with some kind of creeping vine. “It was dry down there last week when it rained, so I think it’ll work.”
Bates undoubtedly had cleared away enough foliage to reveal a handle, which was the only reason he recognized it as a door. Bates now swung it open with an agonizingly loud screech of its metal hinges. A set of wooden steps descended into darkness.
“You want to haul two barrels of gunpowder down there?” he asked his partner.
Bates shrugged. “It’ll be a bit o’ work, but no one will find it. I can fill the trunks down there too.” They planned to fill small wooden boxes with the gunpowder, making it easier to transport the explosive to London and to load onto the carriages of the prime minister and Secretary Sidmouth. Those gentlemen would be in for a surprise after their visit to the theatre next Wednesday. “Then we won’t have to haul the barrels back up.”
He grinned at Bates and slapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll bring a lamp next time we meet so you can see and not worry about the flame of a candle. Brilliant work, old fellow. I knew I could count on you.” Then, remembering the other reason he’d come, he sobered. “We will need help. I can’t be here until Wednesday. I’ve too many commitments in Town.”
A rustle from a nearby tangle of bushes drew their attention. Bates looked to be holding his breath in terror, so when a timid rabbit inched its nose out from beneath the leaves, he couldn’t help but guffaw at his associate’s hen-heartedness. There would be nothing to laugh at, however, if Bates seized up on their mission.
Grasping Bates by the shoulders, he summoned up a speech from his days in the 52nd. “Come now! We are about to enter our battlefield. The enemy lies near. I need you strong and I need you brave.” He shook the other man, letting his voice rise. “Are you with me? Are you with England?”
“Yes, sir!” At last courage blazed in Bates’s eyes, as it had before Waterloo. “I will be ready, sir. You can count on me.”
“Excellent.” He let go of the man and strode around to the front of the building. As he untied the dun, he spoke over his shoulder to Bates, who had followed him. “At the meeting tonight, we’ll speak with Hal Stickney. He’s trustworthy. I’ll arrange to meet with him in London.”
Bates nodded. “I’ll see you tonight then.”
He swung into the saddle and grinned down at his friend. “Only six more days!”
Then he urged the dun into a trot, anticipation pushing his spirits even higher than they’d been. Everything was set. They would change England.
***
AMELIA NIBBLED ON THE tart, trying desperately not to smile at James’s perception regarding her hunger and her irritation. She did become rather cross when she hadn’t eaten in a while, but she’d not noticed until he pointed it out. So, it appeared she could be either thin or even-tempered but not both. A difficult choice.
As for the rest of what he’d said... She’d memorized every word for reflection later but right now, she had no right to savor his sentiments.
James sat on the stone beside her, knees bent, boots resting on the grass that was so green it looked painted. He had finished his tart and was watching an energetic little wren poke the ground repeatedly with its beak.
“Thank you for this,” Amelia said about the food.
James shifted, adjusting the tails of his coat. “You’re welcome.”
How strange, that he knew her so well. He was harder to define, always keeping his emotions sealed away, and his secretive work for the government made it clear he was in many ways inscrutable. But now that she’d got over the shock of him investigating Stephen, she saw how hard he was trying to balance his duties and his personal life.
“What did spying on the Continent entail?” she asked. He wouldn’t tell her anything about his current mission, but he had already divulged a little about his past.
He gazed at the lazily flowing water almost as if he hadn’t heard her. Amelia opened her mouth to repeat her question then quickly snapped it shut. He was thinking. Planning what to tell her, deciding what was appropriate and what wasn’t. She wished he wouldn’t be so deliberative, at least not with her.
“I changed my name frequently, my appearance less so, and I infiltrated various institutions—government offices, banks, prisons. Private homes as well.”
“What were you looking for?”
“Documents, plans, records, people to bribe, prisoners to free. Always trying to stay one step ahead of their spies and not get caught by anyone of authority.” He did not look up from the water. “It was not as exciting as you might think.”
She leaned forward, trying to catch his eye. He blinked and hesitated before finally turning toward her.
“I wouldn’t think it exciting at all,” she said softly, holding his blue gaze. “At least, that was probably not how you felt most of the time. I think you must have been terribly lonely.”
James’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Eventually he looked away and picked up a pebble, throwing it into the stream.
Since he wouldn’t speak, Amelia continued. “How could your work not be solitary? Keeping secrets, lurking about in places you shouldn’t be, stealing things.” She studied his profile as he’d recently done to her. His expression was bland, but his eyes told the real truth. A wealth of pain reflected there, and she didn’t think it was all in the past.
“It’s no different here in England, is it? You aren’t any less lonely because you are amidst your family. You still have your secrets. You still can’t expose your true self to them.”
He lowered his eyelids, and it was as if the curtain had come down on a stage, blocking her view. His jaw twitched before he said, “My life wasn’t horrible. Some things, like sneaking into places I shouldn’t be, taking documents that will help the cause, are exciting. There’s a thrill, a feeling of being very much alive.”
“But it’s only a temporary feeling.”
His eyes, of darkest blue and yet softly vulnerable, cut to her. She wanted to reach over and sift her fingers through his coal black locks. She wanted to smooth the worry lines from his brow. She wanted him to open up, but he sat there silently staring at her.
Amelia continued, intent upon digging deeper. “I imagine the more worthwhile, permanent feeling comes from knowing how much you assisted your country in the war effort.” He’d done as much as any army officer, and for absolutely none of the glory.
He shrugged, turning back toward the stream. The light from the sun-spattered water reflected off his spectacles.
Getting him to talk about his work was as difficult as uprooting a stubborn weed—but worth the effort, she decided. She knew from experience that bottling up emotions often led to unpleasant results, like lashing out in anger. If he wouldn’t talk, she would, forcing him to contradict her assessments.
“The worst part must have been...” She searched for the right word, reluctant to seemingly pass judgment on what he’d done. “It must have been difficult to...eliminate someone.”
“I was a spy, not an assassin.”
She wanted to smile at finally provoking an utterance from him but held herself in check, noting the insulted tone of his voice. “I didn’t mean to offend you,” she said, running a finger along a pleat in her skirt. “Obviously I have no idea of the scope of your duties.”
“I wasn’t ever given orders to...eliminate someone, but every now and then things went wrong, and I had no choice.”
“How did you feel about that?”
He sighed as if persecuted. “Did I mention yet how persistent you are?”
“Yes, you have,” she replied, “and I appreciate the compliment.”
“Perhaps it is not meant as such,” he said. However, she noted the contradictory twinkle in his eye and laughed.
James leaned back, bracing himself with his hands flat against the stone upon which he sat. A twinge of pain flashed across his face, and she remembered the burn he’d suffered to his back. She’d known about it three years ago, but they had not discussed what happened.
She tucked her skirt more tightly under her legs and turned to ask. “Will you tell me how you came to be burned?”
He did not admonish her for tactlessness. Instead, he closed his eyes, sighed, and raised his face to the sun as if there were nothing to be done but succumb to Amelia’s intrusiveness. “My first mission went badly. I’m surprised the intelligence service didn’t dismiss me with a note that said, ‘Thanks, but no.’”
Pushing himself upright, he reached over and plucked a lady’s smock from its stem. As he pulled off one pale pink petal he continued, “I was taken captive, a huge blunder. I’d been pretending to be French and willing to share my country’s secrets.” He yanked off another petal. “I was afraid, but I had asked for the mission. I’d wanted to do something more active then translating. I was caught, though, and when I wouldn’t give them any information, they tortured me. Finally, when the place where they held me was surrounded, they set it afire. With me inside. When I was saved by Peyton, I vowed then and there I wasn’t ever going to be so weak or ineffectual again. But then I wasn’t able to save you. I could have given up but instead I chose to improve myself until I was worthy. I don’t think I’m there yet.”
It was practically the longest speech she’d ever heard out of James, and as he lapsed into silence Amelia’s only response was to whisper his name. The sheer horror of what he’d said, what he’d endured, left her speechless.
He ducked his head and ripped off another petal. “I am sorry for speaking of such things. I shouldn’t—”
“Yes, you should.” She reached over and squeezed his arm. “I’m glad you survived.”
“I learned two things that night.” His lips turned up in a mocking smile. “I learned a person always pays for his mistakes, and I learned that I never wanted to hurt people. Not even for the benefit of my country.”
Amelia said nothing, silently hoping he had made a mistake in suspecting Kensworth.
For once, he spoke into the lull. “Unfortunately, I do sometimes make mistakes, and I have occasionally had to hurt people. But I always try to make certain I’m correct, and I’ve become adept at finding alternative solutions to violence, perhaps convincing the person to come over to our side or making arrangements so they cease what they’re doing.”
“I am relieved to know you won’t be aiming a pistol at Kensworth,” she said lightly.
Her teasing tone had no effect, and James’s next words were deadly serious. “If Kensworth is guilty, I will have no choice but to uphold the law. This is not about some petty crime but a treasonable matter.”
“I know what your duties are in that regard, which is why I am grateful Kensworth is innocent.” Seeing they were headed back to their endless argument, Amelia smiled and added, “I am grateful, too, that you won’t have to arrest your friend.”
“He’s not my—”
“He will be,” she declared. “After this nonsense is over and you’ve found the real culprit, Kensworth and you will be friends. Real friends.” She smiled again, hoping he would do likewise. He was never so handsome and youthful-looking as when he smiled.
He looked as grave as ever. “I will be returning to the Continent once I am finished here.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
The words had slipped out, more reflective of her heart than her mind. His eyes darkened, and her pulse beat faster. She’d never wanted anyone as she’d always wanted James. Her skin became gooseflesh at the promise in his hot gaze.
Suddenly he levered himself up, and Amelia’s mouth went dry at the sight of his muscled thigh flexing in front of her. It took her a moment to realize he held out his hand, but she let him pull her up and planted her feet on the flat stone instead of the ground, thus bringing her that much closer to his lips. Without releasing his left hand, she snaked her other hand up around his shoulder and pulled him toward her.
His lips, so warm, so smooth, tasted of apples and cinnamon. She let herself fall against his chest, eager to touch him everywhere, eager to have his arms around her.
He grasped her shoulders and pushed away, breaking the kiss. After steadying her on the rock, he stepped back, stopping to pick up the napkin that had wrapped the tarts.
“We should return now,” he said, his voice firm, almost admonishing, as if she were a child who had misbehaved.
It probably made no difference in her appearance, but the passionate flush of her cheeks gave way to the heat of embarrassment. She nodded stiffly and shuffled toward her mare. Could she not have waited one more day, until she had broken off with Stephen? But, no. She loved James. She’d been falling that way since the day she’d met him. She could fight it no longer.
Amelia turned to find him right behind her, ready to assist in mounting her horse. She had no choice but to let him, and his touch branded her skin. Soon settled in the saddle but completely unsettled, she fumbled about for something to say. Anything. What had they just spoken of? Stephen. Parliament...
“Kensworth is always looking for allies in the House of Commons. I know he would help you, if you truly wish it.” The words stumbled out of her mouth, one right after the other. He must think her not only vulgarly forward but also idiotic. But she was so completely undone she could barely breathe let alone think. “Your mother and brothers would love for you to stay, not to mention Harriet.”
He stared at her horse’s hindquarters, his jaw tight, his eyes unseeing. “No.”
Her heart seized at the certainty with which he imbued that one syllable. He’d closed the window into his soul once again, so was he really determined to keep spying, unwilling to settle down? She raised her chin and stared out at the budding trees. Tears stung the corner of her eyes.
“I never fit into Society,” he said, “and that hasn’t changed. There is still work to be done on the Continent. Just because there is no war does not mean England lacks enemies. I—” He cut himself off, but Amelia refused to look at him. His next words forced her attention, however. “Kensworth told me he would be locked in his study with his estate manager all morning.”
She turned her horse to see where James looked. Far across the clearing, beyond the next stand of trees, a rider on a dun horse ambled in the general direction of the house. Though almost a quarter mile away, the man certainly looked like Stephen and there was no doubting the dun was his.
She knew what James was thinking: Stephen was up to no good, plotting against the government or something equally traitorous. Could he be? Could Stephen harbor such ugly, ruinous thoughts without her knowledge?
“Perhaps the estate manager wanted to show him something,” she replied, completely ignoring that Stephen was alone.
“Let’s go.” James swung into his saddle and turned toward the path without looking at her.
They rode back in miserable silence.