Clandestine (23 page)

Marc had not, in fact, known that. Surprise surely showed on his face.

No sense hiding this fact from Linwood.

Did that make Daniel an agent for the French then?

If so, it explained why Kit was so desperate to find her brother.

High treason was an ugly crime, as Arthur had mentioned. It thoroughly tainted every family member it touched. No wonder Kit wanted her brother found and returned home before he was captured.

But what about Marc’s interaction with Daniel in Duir Cottage? Was Daniel somehow planning on using information from the future to alter the course of the Napoleonic wars?

Just the thought sent a chill of foreboding down Marc’s spine.

“What is your game, Vader?”

Marc blinked. Drat. No matter how careful, Linwood was determined to expose Marc. “I have no
game
, as you put it, Linwood. The button belongs to someone who robbed me. That is all.”

A pause.

“And your sister, Miss Emry?”

Back to
that
, were they? Arthur was not going to be happy about this.

“As I have said, Linwood, you have the wrong man.”

Linwood drummed his fingers against his thigh, obviously not buying Marc’s story. Whatever. It was just nice to see that the viscount had a nervous tick. He wasn’t quite as impervious as it would seem.

“Ah. But I believe that I do have the right man,” Linwood said after a moment. “My sources point quite squarely to a missing British agent being involved in this. Did I mention that the missing agent is in fact a woman?”

Marc stilled.
That
piece of information was impossibly interesting. And yet . . . explained so very, very much.

Visions of Kit danced through his head. Insisting her brother
had
to come home or all would be lost.

He suddenly had a
lot
more questions he wanted to ask her.

Marc forced his face into a calm mask. Movie-serene.

“And you think Miss Emry is your missing agent?”

Linwood tugged on the bottom of his waistcoat. Fixed Marc with his icy gaze.

“If the cap fits . . .” was all he said.

“Didn’t this Miss Emry
die
in the carriage accident with James Knight?”

“So we have all been told. But though there is a grave for James, I have been unable to locate a similar grave for Miss Emry. Tell me why that is, Vader?”

Uhmm, because Arthur neglected to make a fake one for her too?

“You have poor eyesight?” Marc shrugged. “I mean, you do have trouble seeing you are a smart ars—”

“Or the lady is not as dead as some would have us believe.” Linwood cut him off. “I do not suffer fools. There is obviously more afoot here. The timing of your presence here goes far beyond mere coincidence.”

“And yet, on that point, I can assure you, my presence here is entirely happenstance. I am sorry something of importance to you was stolen. If I hear or see anything that seems related, I will
consider
telling you.”

Linwood narrowed his eyes. And then he pocketed the button and straightened his coat sleeves. Never once taking his eyes off of Marc’s.

“I will be watching you, Vader. Do not consider this conversation finished.”

Chapter 14

The stables

Kinningsley

March 1, 1814

K
it quietly tightened the harness on Arthur’s gig, squinting in the dim light.

Sunrise had yet to arrive, but nighttime had begun to recede, leaving the sky more gray than inky-black.

After overhearing the tense conversation between Marc and Linwood, Kit realized her blasted brother truly was in over his head. A sickening knot in her stomach twisted and coiled, tightening her breathing.

Gah! Daniel was
such
an idiot. How was she ever going to straighten all this out? She just prayed it wasn’t too late to prevent far reaching consequences . . .

She had lain awake for most of the night, her brain cranking on the problem. Kit didn’t know what she would do, but she was done with doing
nothing
.

And then sometime before dawn, she had hit upon a course of action. She actually
did
have a faint idea as to where Daniel may be. The more she thought about it, the more likely it all seemed.

It was
her
turn to be an idiot. How could she not have thought of this before now?

Which is how she found herself in the barn quietly hitching a horse to the gig.

You should
not
be doing this. You will be caught,
Virtuous Angel chided.
And then Arthur will have you jailed for horse theft, too.

Stop being defeatist. We aren’t stealing the horse and gig. Just borrowing it for a short while,
Wicked Angel replied.

“Going somewhere, Miss Ashton?”

Kit jumped as Marc’s voice sounded loudly in her ear, though he hardly spoke above a whisper.

Drat!

She whirled around to see him outlined in the barely-there light, dressed in a long caped great coat, boots and a beaver top hat, tapping gloves against his leg. He cocked a confident eyebrow and stuffed the gloves into a pocket. Challenging her to explain what she was doing.

Though
that
should be fairly obvious.

With a grunt, Kit turned her back on him and tightened the strap she was working on. Driving the gig so much in recent weeks had made her quite adept at the entire process.

But the buckle stuck and she struggled to pull it taut. Suddenly, a warm hand covered hers.

“Here. Allow me,” Marc said softly into her ear, arms around her. Shoulders broad and just begging to be confided in. As if she could.

He tugged on the strap and easily finished buckling it.

Stupid man with his even stupider big muscles.

When finished, he turned to regard her with a slow shake of his head.

“Let me help, Kit.” His whispered words carried in the faint light. “I want to find Daniel, too. Do you even know where you’re going?”

Kit stilled. Debating.

The tension in Marc’s body clearly communicated his frustration.

“Please, trust me, Kit. Let me help. I know you are capable and have been through so much—”

That
was an understatement.

“—but running off as a woman alone . . . It’s just not a wise idea.”

He did have a valid point there but . . . Kit bit her lip.

“And running off with a man alone
is
a good idea?” she countered, cocking her head toward him.

“I promise to behave myself.” Marc crossed his heart.

Kit snorted softly. “You’re missing the point. If it’s known I have run off with you, which it will be when we both disappear—”

“You’re leaving. By yourself. How is that any better?” He
would
point that out. “Your reputation is at risk the second you ride out of here in that gig, with or without me. At least with me at your side, you will be safe from things worse than a ruined reputation.”

I cannot believe you are even debating this. I mean, we could be traveling with
him
. All those muscles up close to you in the gig . . .
Wicked Angel sighed dreamily.

Pardon me?
Virtuous Angel chimed in.
You do have a reputation to consider. If you run off with him, you may not be able to return to Haldon Manor—

Yes, but if we find Daniel, then we can go home and leave all this behind us,
Wicked Angel countered.
Any reputation you happen to acquire here won’t follow you home. Nothing will ever connect you between here and there. And he is right. You do need protection.

Kit sighed. The world out there was not a kind place to women. Having Marc along would solve so many problems.

“Besides, I have this.” Marc patted a pocket in his coat which jingled comfortingly. Money. “Arthur has extended me some, shall we say . . . credit.”

Her shoulder’s sagged. She really did need his help. And the money would be useful.

As long as Daniel doesn’t steal that too,
Virtuous Angel grumbled.

Noting her indecision, Marc stepped close. So close that the smell of leather and wood smoke and
him
surrounded her. He raised a hand and cupped her cheek. His warm palm burned against her cold skin.

“Please, Kit. I won’t betray you. I may be a scoundrel, but in this, you can trust me. I will do everything I can to keep both you and Daniel safe.”

Kit closed her eyes to force back the tears which pricked. Almost unconsciously, she leaned into his hand, wanting somehow to scoop his strength into her.

Why did he have to be such a
good
man? And why did she feel like she was stringing him along?

Uh, because you are . . .
Virtuous Angel muttered.

Marc thought he knew her. And to a certain degree, he did. He knew the person she was inside.

But he didn’t understand the enormous gulf that separated them. And she was in no position to enlighten him.

“It’s all right to be my friend, Kit.” His voice so close. His thumb stroked her cheek, causing an ache to swell in her chest.

Unbidden with eyes still closed, she turned her face into his hand, almost unconsciously planting a kiss into his palm. His skin firm and warm under her lips.

Marc inhaled sharply—a shocked hiss between his teeth.

His other hand snaked around her waist and he tugged her to him, wrapped her against his body, moving his hand from her cheek to cup the back of her neck.

Dawn filtered weakly into the barn. Kit fluttered her eyes open to see him staring at her, dark and intense. His eyes flitted down to her mouth. She knew she should pull back. Kissing him would only make everything so much harder.

But . . .

What would it be like to kiss him? A man of action who was possibly a spy?

A memory to top all others, really, when she thought about it. Something to take with her. A small souvenir from this odd-interlude.

And so instead of pulling back, she leaned in.

It was all the encouragement he needed.

His lips brushed hers. Feather light, gentle. Testing.

She relaxed her mouth, deliberately making her lips pillowy plush.

He probably assumed she had little experience with kissing. That her life had always been as simple and placid as it currently seemed.

Both Virtuous and Wicked Angel giggled at
that
thought.

Marc clearly sensed this. He kissed her again. This time more emphatically. More determined. Gathering her even closer. Turning Kit’s brain to mush.

He kissed like he did everything else, with wild abandon, all in. Like jumping onto the back of a galloping horse, no hesitation.

With a soft sigh, Kit wrapped her arms around his head, returning as good as he gave.

Drat! The man
would
be an excellent kisser. He had definitely acquired experience with all his worldwide ramblings.

How could
this
man, of all men, feel so right? How could being in his arms feel like home?

Kit’s knees nearly buckled from it.

The horse nickered loudly, startling them apart. Reminding them where they were. Who they were.

Marc’s face likely looked as surprised as hers. He was certainly breathing just as hard.

“Well . . .” His voice hoarse, cracking. Cleared his throat. Tried again. “That was certainly . . . illustrative.”

He looked dazed, befuddled. Rattled.

She had
rattled
him.

She smiled, slow and mysterious. A bewitched kind of smile.

Before this moment, she would have considered him unrattle-able. An impenetrable Fortress of Meringue. But somehow, she had carved through his walls.

The thought shot through her with a jolt. Burning and exultant.

She
mattered
to him.

And right on its heels, another pounding blow.

He can
never
be yours.

The sinking pit in her stomach opened wide.

He saw the change in her eyes. Nodded his recognition.

“In another time . . . another place . . .” she started, her voice trailing off.

He sighed. Placed his hands on his hips. Regarded her with those cat-green eyes, vivid against his tan skin. Dark hair mussed from her fingers. His gaze tender and kind. Focused.

Lethally beautiful, on every level.

“I know.” Regret laced his words.

Part of her howled in protest. How could he agree so readily? How could he not fight for her? For them?

Not that fighting would do any good. Who was she fooling?

But still. She was greedy enough to want his effort.

He took a deep breath, as if gathering himself back together. Tucking away whatever raw thing that kiss had jarred loose.

He stepped around her and took hold of the harness, intent on leading the horse from the barn.

Kit placed a hand on his arm, stopping him.

“It’s not your job to save me,” she said as he turned to her.

“I know,” he repeated.