Clandestine (35 page)

And then he had languidly tugged her to him, kissing her long and hard just to emphasize his point.

Each day wedged another chink into her do-not-abandon-Daniel armor.

She felt so utterly trapped between the two men. Waiting for word from her brother. Wondering what Marc planned to do. Trying to decide where she wanted to be. The tension of simple waiting wore on both of them.

So much so, that Kit insisted Marc go hunting with Arthur and Jedediah one afternoon. Giving Kit a break and a chance to spend time with Marianne and tiny Isabel in the drawing room.

Baby Isabel was darling, small and petite with her mother’s dark hair. Obviously smitten with her daughter, Marianne loved nothing more than watching others fawn over the baby too. Though barely three months old, Isabel could already hold up her head and reached for Kit’s fingers. She smiled and cooed at everyone, eager to talk.

Kit had very little experience with infants, having only held friends’ babies a handful of times over the years, but cradling Isabel in her arms caused a curious pang deep in her chest.

Probably just her biological clock ticking—a not-so-subtle reminder she had recently turned thirty.

Though Kit knew it was more than that. She couldn’t stop herself from imagining holding a similar baby—a boy possibly—with dark curling hair, green eyes and a mischievous smile. Because why not? It was her fantasy.

The image lanced through her heart. The longing welled painfully, blurring her vision.

She could almost smell that baby. Could feel Marc’s arms around her, loving her and their child. She could see them all together, riding in a car, playing at the beach, laughing at a playground. The dream ached.

But . . . in the middle of her daydream, the child shifted, becoming a different little boy. One whose hair wasn’t quite as dark, whose eyes were more blue than green.

She saw that same boy sitting in a hallway, watching their mother walk out the door. Never to look back.

That’s when the tears actually fell.

She couldn’t have a twenty-first century future with Marc without leaving Daniel behind.

And how could she
ever
abandon Daniel the way their mother had?

Swallowing hard, Kit calmly passed Isabel back to Marianne, who quietly handed her a handkerchief in return.

Marianne Knight truly had a kind heart.

Kit expected to remain a “watering pot,” as Marianne fondly called her, but Linwood’s arrival soon after stemmed that.

His black eye had settled into an eye-catching shade of yellow-green. Watching the stiff viscount tentatively hold his cooing niece as if the baby offended him by being, well . . . a baby, made up for the rest of the day’s woes.

It was anyone’s guess as to why Linwood visited so often. He probably just wanted to keep a closer eye on Marc. He usually sat silently, casting judgmental looks and stiffly interacting with tiny Isabel. Making everything awkwardly uncomfortable.

Not exactly Kit’s idea of a relaxing afternoon.

But until she heard from Daniel, Kit wasn’t sure she could relax anyway.

The next day, Kit and Marc were tucked away in the library. Linwood had come to call again, and neither she nor Marc wanted to deal with the viscount. So they were essentially hiding, pretending not to have been notified of his arrival.

The morning light filtered through the paned windows. They were nestled into the window seat, facing each other, her feet drawn under her. Marc’s legs stretched out beside her.

“What will you do?” he asked.

She understood what he meant. Was she going to stay with Daniel?

Finally
broaching the topic himself, despite being ‘neutral territory.’

“I don’t know.” It was the truthful answer.

He said nothing. Just turned his head and stared out the window. The sun shone weakly through the clouds, dappling light across his face.

“Would you stay?” she asked.

He swallowed and continued staring out the window.

And then finally, after a nearly painful silence, turned back to her.

Eyes sad . . . lost.

“No.”

It was little more than a whisper. More the motion of his mouth than any sound.

But she felt it like a hammer to her chest. Hard. Jarring.

She was instantly breathless. Wanting to plead with him. Beg. Find a way.

“Even . . . even with the journal from this Garvis fellow and his association with a man named W? The journal could be a sign you’re supposed to stay . . .”

Marc’s entire body slumped, sagging beneath the weight of her words. He swallowed. Shook his head.

“Kit . . . the portal let us through . . . Fate brought us together.” He fixed her with that same haunted look. “But we both still have free will . . . I care so deeply for you, but . . . though it would be hard, returning to your life in 2014 without your brother would not force you to rebuild everything. But with this—” He gestured toward her, indicating the question she had just asked. “—I would give up not only my family—my sister, my mother, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends—but also my livelihood. My passions, my interests. I would give up my entire world. Start over with nothing.”

Something hot and tight lodged in Kit’s chest.

“But you would have . . .
me
,” she whispered, licking a tear from her lip.

“Oh . . .
Kit.
” His eyes met hers, emotions flickering through them.

Pain, sorrow, regret. And then the last one . . . resignation.

She
hated
resignation.

The air between them stretched taut. Marc opened his mouth, intent on continuing the conversation—

Someone cleared their throat. Loudly.

They both swiveled to see a footman standing in the doorway with a silver salver.

“This just arrived for you, Lord Vader.” The man extended the tray where a small letter lay folded.

Shooting Kit a quick glance, Marc stood and took the letter from the tray. The footman bowed and exited.

Kit was instantly at his side, hands trembling as Marc opened the note. He tilted the paper, allowing her to read with him:

Luke Skywalker belongs to the Dark Side. Padme is a mole for the rebels. Thanks for the taser. It came in handy.

Please tell my sister I will await her with ‘golden roses’ on Tuesday hence, should she wish to join me. I love her so.

DA

“Jedediah!” Marc shoved the paper into her hands. “And Lady Ruby!”

“Daniel!” Kit sucked in a sharp breath. “The Golden Rose Inn!”

“How kind of your brother to provide me with an excuse to beat Mr. Jed I. Knight senseless.” Marc turned toward the door, leaving Kit stunned in the middle of the room.

Daniel’s words echoing through her mind:
I love her so.

He did care! He really did.

Of course Daniel cares,
Wicked Angel said.

Hope bloomed in her chest. And he would be at the Golden Rose Inn on Tuesday waiting for her. Did she want to stay—

But all thought fled as a horrifying cry rose from great hall:

“Fire!”

Chapter 22

I
ntent on tracking down Jedediah, Marc didn’t pay attention to the cries at first. But the acrid smell of smoke washed over him just as the repeated shrieks of “Fire.
Fire!
Everyone out!” sank in.

Damn.

He had known this—that a fire destroyed Haldon Manor at some point. But he had never expected to experience it himself.

The smell of smoke filtered through the great hall. No sign of actual fire in the room.

Yet.

It seemed too much of a coincidence to think this wasn’t
the
fire. The one which destroyed the old house.

Marc’s mind reeled from the revelations of the last five minutes. Jedediah was the spy. Ruby was the missing agent for the Crown.

And if so, what did she know about her son’s activities?

Marc dashed across the great hall to see panicked maids grabbing paintings and hangings from the walls, the butler directing them. Marianne ran out the front door, little Isabel in her arms, the baby’s nurse at her heels. A glance outside showed Linwood rallying the male servants into a bucket brigade.

The housekeeper hurried toward the entryway, several priceless vases teetering recklessly in her arms. Kit rushed past Marc to help the woman, snatching a falling vase just in time.

“You stay out of trouble,” he said, catching her arm.

“You too.” She slid her hand into his, giving it a quick squeeze. And then followed the housekeeper out the front door.

Arthur dashed up, eyes wide but otherwise self-composed. Not one for idle panic, Arthur Knight.

“Everyone is accounted for but Lady Ruby and Jedediah,” Arthur said. “They are definitely still inside the house.”

Of course.

Which reminded him.

Marc grabbed Arthur’s arm and leaned in, speaking lowly. “Jedediah is the spy Linwood seeks. He could be dangerous. Ruby is the missing agent for the Crown.”

Arthur hissed a breath through his teeth. “I’ll look after Miss Ashton,” he said jerking a chin toward the door where Kit had just disappeared.

Marc nodded his head. “Thank you. I’ll go find Ruby and Jedediah.”

“Ruby was in her bedroom, last I heard.” Arthur indicated the stairs to the family wing.

Marc nodded again, turning to cross the great hall.

“Oh and Marc,” Arthur called after him. “Please be careful.”

The smoke was instantly worse as Marc neared the top of the family stairs.

He retreated down to the landing, wrenching off his neckcloth and wetting the fabric in a vase of flowers. Wrapping it around his face, he tentatively took the stone steps again, staying low under the worst of the smoke.

Nearing the top of the stairs, he could hear the fire now. The pop of wood, the rising heat. Smoke poured from the upper hallway to his left.

Out of the smoke, a figure emerged, commando crawling along the floor.

Ruby. Her face bloodied and soot-streaked. Purple muslin mobcap askew and her purple muslin dress torn in places.

And then suddenly, a larger figure loomed from behind her. Crouching. A long sword in his hand.

Jedediah.

Intent only on his fleeing mother, murder glinting in his eyes. The medieval broadsword—most likely borrowed from one of the suits of armor—raised over his head, ready for a killing blow.

“Look out!” Marc yelled, just as Jedediah swung downward toward Ruby’s head.

Hearing his warning, Ruby rolled sideways at the last second, the sword embedding itself into the wood floor precisely where her head had been just a moment before.

Jedediah pulled on the stuck blade, unable to free it. And then, instead, grabbed Ruby’s ankle before she could get away.

By that point, Marc was on him.

Crawling along the floor, Marc balanced on both hands and swiveled his body, landing a powerful dual kick to Jedediah’s chest, sending the smaller man flying backwards into the smoke. Disappearing from view.

Refusing to chase Jedediah into the smoke filled house, Marc backed up and grabbed Ruby’s hands, pulling her toward the stairs.

“Jed—” she croaked.

“Leave him,” Marc coughed. “He’s not worth either of our lives.”

The smoke thickened by the moment, stinging Marc’s eyes, causing him to hack uncontrollably.

He needed to get both of them out. Now.

Reaching the steps, he took the first three and then turned to slide Ruby onto his back.

But at that exact second, all the hairs on Marc’s neck stood on end. Years of training and muscle memory registered the hiss of a sword through the air, aimed at his head.

Marc twisted his neck away just in time to hear the loud zing as the sword glanced off the stone step.

“Jed, no!” Ruby cried, rolling away from her crazed son.

Crouching above Marc, Jedediah ignored his mother and instead swung the sword again, intent on embedding it into Marc’s skull.

Go figure. The foppish Jedediah
did
know something about fighting.

With a grunt, Marc stopped Jedediah’s arm mid-swing, wrapping his hands around Jedediah’s forearm, bending it back at an awkward angle, forcing him to drop the sword down the stairs with a clatter.

“I know you were involved with that other fellow. What did you do with those plans, Vader? The real ones!” Jedediah hissed. “My superiors are not stupid men. It may have taken a few days, but they realized the plans given them were fakes. I need the real ones. I’m a dead man without them!”

Jedediah launched himself forward, fingers intent on Marc’s throat.

Marc rolled with Jedediah’s hands, using the smaller man’s downward momentum to toss Jedediah over his shoulder and down the stairs.

Smoke filled the stairwell, choking, blinding. Coughing, Marc turned again to Ruby, only to feel a sharp pain in his left arm as Jedediah came at him again, bending his wrist back painfully.

“What did you do with the plans?” Jedediah screamed.

Furious and desperate to get Ruby out of the burning house, Marc whirled on Jedediah, kicking him in the stomach with one leg while hooking his knee with the other. The combined moves wrenched Jedediah off-balance, sending him windmilling back. Marc staggered to his feet, finishing off with a glancing right jab to Jedediah’s jaw as the man fell.