My Lady, My Spy (Secrets and Seduction Book 4) (25 page)

Daniel peered at her closely. He seemed to know her words held a deeper import. “I’ll let him know you delivered his supplies for the poultice,” Daniel said as she swept toward the door.

“Do that. And tell him I said goodbye.” Her stomach clenched as she turned and fled the room.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Frederick arrived home a half hour after he left Lord Cary. Landon, grim-faced as usual, met him at the front door and took his hat and cloak.

Landon cleared his throat. “Lord Wentworth and Miss Winter are in the study. They asked that you join them the moment you arrived.”

A knot of trepidation curled within Frederick. “They’re here? Robert’s meeting with Queen Victoria must have been brief. How long ago did they arrive?”

“Nearly an hour ago.”

Frederick’s knot of trepidation shifted and became a band of panic that tightened around his chest. Something had gone terribly wrong.

He rushed down the hallway and into the study. The moment he stepped through the door, he sensed the tension in the room. He tamped down his fears and presented them with a calm demeanor. “You’re back early. Did everything go well with Queen Victoria?”

“We never saw her.” Robert’s voice seemed filled with sharp edges. “We never even reached Buckingham Palace. The Russians waylaid us right on the streets of London. The book is gone. Stolen. It’s probably in the Russian embassy by now. Out of our reach.”

“No!” This couldn’t be happening. He stared at his brother blankly. He could hardly believe their carefully made plans had come tumbling down like a house of cards.

“We can recover the church register. I’m certain of it,” Antonia insisted. “I know how we can sneak inside the embassy.” She shot Robert a quelling glare. Apparently, they’d been arguing this point for a while. “If we go in tonight, we’ll steal it from them before they arrange for a courier to take it out of the country.”

“Your plan won’t work,” Robert said, obviously not for the first time. “It’s ridiculous for us to climb up the side of the embassy on a rope and slip in through a window.”

She stepped closer to Robert. “If we can gain access to the roof some other way, we won’t need to climb up the side of the embassy. We could jump from roof to roof. The buildings are pressed close together in that area.”

“Close, as in four to five feet?” Robert glowered at her. “That’s hardly a simple jump.”

Hope fluttered in Frederick’s chest. Antonia might have the beginnings of a good plan. “I’m acquainted with the man who owns the house next door to the embassy. I’m certain he’ll let us have access to his roof. Once we’re up there, we’d only need to cross from his building to the embassy.”

Robert shook his head and glared at Frederick. “We’d still need to lower ourselves to the upper windows of the embassy. That means you can’t be one of the people on the roof.” He glanced at Frederick’s bandaged hand and then turned his glower on Antonia.

Frederick suddenly realized why his brother was so angry. “Antonia wants to be one of the people to break in?” He looked at her in stunned surprise.

“I’ve climbed many ropes before this in performances on stage. I’m quite good at it. I’d originally planned to steal the church register using this same plan, but then I decided to slip in during the Koliada Ball. It was much simpler.”

Robert turned to face her. “Just because you’ve climbed ropes in a theater doesn’t mean you’ll be able to do so four stories above the street. In the winter. With your hands in heavy gloves.”

“Actually, heavy leather gloves should make things easier,” Frederick said.

“You’re not allowed to offer your opinion here,” Robert snapped. “She’s not going.”

Frederick pushed between the pair and glared at his brother. “When you asked, I gave you leeway with Miss Winter. I didn’t turn her in for treason, and I relied upon you both to deliver the book to the Queen. That should count for something. If you can come up with a better plan, then by all means, do so, but I don’t see one. It will be dark in an hour. You and Antonia can break into the building under cover of night. Accept it, Robert. This is our best alternative. We can’t risk letting that book leave the country in some diplomatic courier’s bag.”

§

Frederick, Robert, and Antonia took the carriage to the house adjacent to the Russian embassy. Turner joined them on horseback so he could guard the roof entrance of the neighbor’s house. That footman was becoming more and more indispensable with each passing day.

Their plans were precise. Turner would secure the escape route and provide them with an alternative route if needed. Frederick would remain with the carriage and gather the supplies Robert would drop from the roof once he was finished with them, and Robert and Antonia would sneak into the embassy and steal the book.

It wasn’t a foolproof plan, but Frederick couldn’t think of a better one. He loathed having to impose on his brother again, but he had no other choice. It galled him that he couldn’t steal the book himself, but if he became spymaster, this would be the first of many similar experiences he’d have. He’d need to become comfortable with orchestrating missions rather than conducting them.

“Good luck,” Frederick said as the other two exited the carriage and joined him on the street.

With Turner’s help, Robert lowered a long board from the roof of the carriage. Turner gathered some lengths of rope. He looped his arm through the center of each coil and placed them on his shoulder.

Frederick turned and caught sight of Antonia for the first time in her disguise as a young man. She’d already been in the carriage when he’d entered it, so he hadn’t appreciated her full effect when dressed in men’s garb. The transformation was startling.

She grinned at his bemused expression, tugged at her hat, and said in a cockney accent, “Thanks, gov’nor!”

Frederick shook his head at his own surprise. “You look completely convincing. I apologize for staring.”

She just gave him a saucy grin and strutted toward the door of the house.

As the butler ushered Robert and Antonia through the entrance, Frederick climbed back into the carriage. The driver pulled around the corner to wait.

This was the worst part, but if he wanted to be spymaster, he’d need to grow used to waiting. His tension grew as the minutes ticked away with an agonizing sluggishness.

After an excruciating half hour, when the board Robert and Antonia had used to cross between the two buildings came clattering down to the street, along with a coiled rope, the noise made Frederick jump. He hit his head against the interior of the carriage, but he grinned broadly. He scrambled out, and in an instant, he and his coachman gathered the objects and stowed them on the roof of the carriage.

The coach took off a moment later. Just as it rocked to a halt in front of the house, Robert, Antonia, and Turner came rushing out the front door. Turner untied his horse from the back of the carriage, and Robert and Antonia scrambled inside with him.

Frederick grinned at the pair expectantly. After the silence dragged on too long, his smile faded as his stomach sank. “Well? Do you have it?”

He closed his eyes, not wanting to hear their answer. He already knew it.

Everything had gone wrong. They’d lost the book.

§

Frederick collapsed onto his bed an hour later.

They’d failed. Well, not entirely. Not exactly. Call this one a Pyrrhic victory. Yes, they’d recovered the book, but at what cost?

His hands still smelled of ash and smoke from handling the church register. The ruined church register. It had fallen into a fireplace and been burned. The book was completely unusable.

No one would ever learn its secrets.

The Queen couldn’t use it to halt the imminent war between England and Russia.

Frederick shook his head. He needed a new plan. It seemed ludicrous to proceed with his original one. Not now. How could he report to Queen Victoria, give her the burned book, and then turn over the forged Great Seal? She’d want his head, and he’d be handing it to her on a platter. Perhaps he should offer her a shiny red apple to put in his mouth as a garnish. He grimaced at the gallows humor.

His plans were in ruins. His future in jeopardy. How could he possibly win Josephine back when he had nothing to offer her? No security. No hope of a stable life together. Just a future as the wife of a spy who was the son of a traitor.

After this debacle, he might not even be a spy any longer.

Frederick flipped open Josephine’s basket of poultice supplies and gazed down at the blue piece of fabric covering the contents. As he tightened his fist around the cloth, he realized the pain in his burns had eased considerably. He wouldn’t need the poultice tonight.

Whiskey would work just as well.

A short glass of the amber stuff sat on a tray on his nightstand. Herbert must have placed it there. The man could always predict Frederick’s moods, which was both astonishing and a bit disquieting.

Frederick dropped the piece of blue cloth on his pillow and snatched up the glass. He downed the liquid in one swallow, grimacing as it burned a path down his throat. He kicked off his low boots and dragged off his pants and shirt, tossing them on a chair.

When Frederick turned back to his bed, he picked up Josephine’s bit of blue fabric and pulled down the covers, sliding between the cool sheets.

The scrap of cloth was soft in his hand. He laid it flat across his bare chest and smoothed it with his palm as he stared up at the ceiling. What would he do about Josephine? The Queen? The Great Seal? They were intertwined. He grabbed the corners of the blue square and draped it over his face. All he could see now was blue. Infinite blue. Josephine’s blue.

He needed to focus. To think. He snatched the cloth from his face and tucked it under his pillow, out of sight.

The warmth of the whiskey wended its way through his body. He’d never had much of a head for the stuff, and even this single glass was ample to put him to sleep. He leaned forward and blew out the lamp next to his bed.

Sleep. A beautiful oblivion. Tomorrow he’d be able to see the solution. He’d step through it like a chess game.

Tomorrow.

§

Frederick flew high above London. He recognized the city below him. Once summer he’d climbed the 334 limestone stairs to the top of St. Stephen’s clock tower to take in this view. The ascent had been a hot one, but well worth it.

Now, the streets below lay empty. The cold winter sky, dark and cloudy. He’d flown like this in his dreams before, but always in the daylight, never at night.

That darkness pressed down on him. Heavy. Dismal.

He dropped lower, hoping to catch sight of someone, anyone, through the many lighted windows below.

As he glided closer, the lights blinked out. Each time he thought he might catch sight of someone through an uncurtained window, the light winked off.

He dropped lower, flying toward the glow of a church. He’d find people there. Light. Solace. Comfort.

But the church doors slammed shut while he was still flying above the building. He circled it, flying lower and lower as he searched for another entrance.

A moment later, he realized he was descending too quickly.

He couldn’t stop.

He crashed. But not
onto
the ground.
Into
it. The earth nearly swallowed him whole... but not quite. He found himself standing in a pit. An empty grave.

He gazed up at the starry sky from inside his deep hole, drawing solace from it, until the damp soil began falling down and filling in the opening he'd made.

He reached up, trying to push aside the dried leaves and soft earth, but the weight of it overwhelmed him.

He was lost to the world.

Buried alive.

His hand flailed, thrashed.

A moment later, a hand grasped his. Soft, but strong. It pulled, and despite the delicacy of its small, gentle tug, it lifted him out of the ground, plucking him from the soil as efficiently as a gardener’s fist pulls forth a carrot.

He didn’t emerge back into the churchyard. Instead, he was in a bedroom.
His
bedroom.

The earth below clung to his feet, trying to drag him back, and he lost his grip on the gentle hand. He grabbed at the solid bedpost, hauling himself up and onto the sheets.

But where was the hand?

He glanced around and caught sight of Josephine slipping from his room.

He called to her, but she didn’t turn back.

She was gone.

Frederick looked down, and the pure white sheets on his bed changed before his eyes, becoming a soft shade of blue— celadon blue. Josephine’s blue.

He moved to follow her, but something prevented him, holding him in place.

He was bound— tied to the bedpost. Tied with long strands of blue ribbon.

“Josephine,” he called, but no one answered.