Winter Garden (27 page)

Although she knew it would hurt him deeply, she sat erect and squared her shoulders defiantly, adding tersely, “I believe you are infatuated with me, Thomas, not in love. Lots of men have felt the same way before you, and there will probably be others to follow, before I become old and undesirable to all of them. It is an illusion, and illusions are easy to put aside when they are honestly faced. This is what you will do when I leave.”

For an endless moment all that could be heard was the pattering of rain on the roof above and his slow, steady breathing as he sat only a foot away, eyes hard as glass, jaw rigidly set, his body like stone. Then when she thought her pounding heart might explode through her chest, he slowly looked away and stood, walking tensely to the door.

Pausing with his hand on the knob, and without a glance in her direction, he said brusquely, “I don't see how expressing my feelings is relevant when you've obviously decided they don't matter.”

He left the bedroom, slamming the door behind him for good measure.

M
adeleine bathed at the inn for a final time, plaited her clean, wet hair and set it in two hoops around her ears. She then dressed in her plum silk day gown, bundled herself into her mantle and muff, hood over her head to avoid the chill, and walked swiftly back to the cottage.

Her heart was breaking, she supposed, and yet her mind was firmly set. She would not give in to irrational feelings or harsh persuasion or the sight of Thomas looking at her as if he were losing his greatest friend. She hadn't seen him since their row this morning, and that was probably for the best. He had left the cottage, and alone she had cleaned the breakfast dishes, tidied up, dressed, and packed some of her things for her return trip which would likely be a day or two from now. She'd visited with Mrs. Mossley and Lady Isadora for the last time, extending her good wishes and promis
ing to write, explaining that her work with the scholar was almost finished.

She hadn't cried in years, and didn't intend to at her departure from Winter Garden. It was a necessary parting, and she would make the best of the sadness to follow. The snowfall had been magical three nights ago, as had her and Thomas's feelings for each other when they'd made love beside the fire. Since then a gray bleakness had fallen on the village, and reality on them.

She would get over the pain of her departure, and she would not cry.

She would not cry.

Madeleine strode briskly onto the porch and opened the door to the cottage, her heart dancing nervously because she knew Thomas would be back by now. She didn't want to argue, but she wasn't sure she could resist him if he tried to make love to her, and she was fairly certain he would try. Giving in to him would be disastrous, for the act would only unmask how she felt deep within her, exposing the lie she'd so emphatically proclaimed just a few hours ago.

But Sir Riley was due to arrive at four, and it was already half past three. Hopefully the time would keep her safe from revealing what was in her heart.

She heard deep male voices as she entered the foyer, however, coming from the front room, and she quickly realized that the Londoner had arrived early. Her agitation increased with every step as she walked into the parlor. She should have been here to welcome him at his arrival, as Sir Riley was her employer, and all that she did was under scrutiny while in his company. Even now she must look and act her best, her most confident self, and that would be a terribly difficult thing to do
with Thomas standing only a few feet away, watching her, thinking about the intimate conversation they'd shared where they'd separated so hastily and on such uncertain terms.

She noticed him first, dressed rather formally in a charcoal-gray suit, black and gray diagonally striped waistcoat, white silk shirt, and black cravat. His hair was combed away from his face and he had recently shaved. Her stomach clenched again at just the sight of him, for as usual, he was impressive to behold, his handsome, commanding presence pervading the room.

Sir Riley, the younger man by two or three years, was just as imposing as Thomas, and almost as tall and firmly built. He had raven hair and hazel eyes that absorbed detail rather than looked it over, and the intelligence to match the finest scholar. He also possessed a keen sense of truth that gave him the natural ability to discern either a flagrant lie or the slightest prevarication, from the common individual to the well-bred. This made him the perfect man for his position in national security, and Madeleine admired him tremendously for his talents. He maintained a shrewd bearing, but his personality was altogether charming. Also an extremely handsome man, he was someone she might have taken an interest in at another place, in another circumstance. Now such thoughts seemed irrelevant, even laughably adulterous.

Both men noticed her at the same time—Thomas standing squarely in front of the mantelpiece, a small fire burning in the grate behind his legs, Sir Riley leaning against the north windowsill, gazing out to the gray stillness of the midafternoon. They became silent
immediately and turned her way when they heard the clicking of her heels on the foyer floor.

Thomas's eyes grazed her figure once, thoroughly, his expression neutral, and at that moment she would have given her life savings to know exactly what he was thinking, what he thought of her, how he felt. That sudden realization staggered her with an incredulity so great she nearly began to cry on the spot. She refused to stay in England because of the life she'd created for herself in France; and yet it was amazingly clear to her now that her future meant very little if Thomas couldn't be happy.
She
could make him happy, and there was no one alive who deserved it more—

“My dear, Madeleine!” Sir Riley fairly bellowed, breaking into her troubled thoughts. “How lovely to see you again, and under such engaging circumstances.” He moved toward her, his gait formal, but a smile of unaffected pleasure lighting his face.

She blinked quickly to recover herself, yanking her mind back to the present situation, planting an enchanting grin on her lips and extending her hand. “It is always a pleasure, Sir Riley, and how well you look. Was your trip to Winter Garden satisfactory?”

“Thank you, it was, quite,” he replied, drawing her knuckles to his lips then swiftly releasing them. “A frigid ride on the train as I forgot a hot-water bottle, and there wasn't one available. But at least the snow had melted, and the roads were once again passable by coach when I journeyed into the village.” He shook his head, brows drawn in consideration. “Rather unusual for this part of England to see such snowfall.”

“So I've been told,” she acknowledged politely.

He stood back on his heels, hands clasped together behind him. “I took a room at the inn upon my immediate arrival. It seems to be warm and comfortable enough for my needs. I intend to get a good night's rest before the events of tomorrow unfold.”

She glanced to Thomas, who stood unyielding in front of the small fire, head bowed, gaze down, arms to his sides, though he nervously tapped his fingers against his thumbs.

“Perhaps it would be best, Sir Riley, if we all sit so that you can explain what is to take place,” she submitted warmly. “Or have you two already been discussing it?”

His eyes widened as if he couldn't imagine that. “Oh, no, not really,” he insisted. “Our conversation has centered mostly around the unusual weather and everyone's health, of course. That sort of thing. And I'm very glad to know you've both managed to escape the nasty influenza that's so recently struck. But, no, we were waiting for you before we began an in-depth discussion, Madeleine.”

Madeleine suppressed a laugh of delight. The man was highly charming in an extremely adorable way, reminding her of a favorite stuffed doll a child might cuddle with and carry by the throat.

No, not a doll. A large, stuffed bear.

“Would you care for tea?” she asked sweetly, wondering why Thomas hadn't offered it.

“Oh, no. Thank you, no,” he declined with a wave of his hand. “I'm saving my appetite for stew and ale at the inn very shortly. I won't be here long, as I'm sure you and”—he shot a quick glance to Thomas—“and Mr. Blackwood have much to discuss.”

That statement struck her forcibly, though she wasn't exactly sure why.

How much does he know?

“Of course, Sir Riley,” she said as expected, refusing to give her discomfiture away as she ushered him to the sofa with her palm. “Please be seated.”

Thomas had yet to say a word upon her entering. She tried not to let that bother her as she walked around the tea table, her skirts sweeping across his booted legs even when she tried to avoid them, seating herself at the farthest end of the sofa, away from his chair should he choose to occupy it.

He didn't appear to even notice her, remaining transfixed on the rug at his feet, his hands behind his back now, the slightest of frowns crossing his complex face.

Sir Riley sat beside her, one leg crossed over the knee of the other, maintaining a relaxed demeanor as he cleared his throat to begin.

“Well,” he started, attempting to chip away the ice, “let's get down to the business at hand, shall we? I…um…think I have a plan in mind that will entrap the baron and expose his unlawful doings as he carries out another illicit theft.”

Madeleine's eyes widened in surprise, and pride. English pride. How clever this man was. “You're going to set him up to be caught in the act,” she whispered aloud. “How marvelous. I cannot wait to see the shock in his eyes when he is arrested. What an arrogant man.”

Thomas looked at her for the first time, betraying nothing. “It's the only way to be sure we can convict him,” he remarked evenly. A small smile tugged at the left corner of his mouth, momentarily hiding his scar, though she wasn't certain if it was a smile of genuine
or sarcastic pleasure. “Desdemona, although a magnificent witness, could turn on us and decide not to testify at the last minute.” He lowered his voice to a meaningful murmur, “We need proof, and she is, after all, a fanciful young lady.”

The hidden significance of that did not go unnoticed, and Madeleine squirmed on the sofa, turning her attention to Sir Riley. “I'd like to be involved, then. He wants to take me through the tunnels, and with a note to him, I'm sure it would be easy for me to gain access. Perhaps I can…
accidentally
discover something, catch him in the act of lying. Maybe unnerving him is enough.” She shrugged. “Then again, maybe I can see the opium and witness the rest of his operation.”

Sir Riley became immediately uncomfortable, his gaze shifting from Thomas to her and back again. He shuffled his feet by changing their positions, his hands rubbed his trousers over his thighs, and with that, Madeleine got the first real hint that things were not as they appeared.

“Is there something you're not telling me?” she asked cordially, her pulse beginning to speed beneath her calm, professional manner.

Sir Riley adjusted his posture and studied the tea table. Thomas, as he had since she'd arrived, appeared composed, and very definitely in charge.

“I think, Madeleine,” Sir Riley admitted at last, “we've developed a plan that would allow the Baron of Rothebury to be taken without force.”

We? Who is we?
“You
think
so?” she repeated as respectfully as the situation allowed.

Sir Riley tapped his fingers together in his lap. “Three nights ago our operatives allowed two crates
of opium to be stolen from a ship that docked at Portsmouth. During the week before this theft, we had men working the dock, spreading the word quietly that the opium would be arriving.” He beamed and lowered his voice. “Tonight, or tomorrow night, if his schedule remains the same, the crates should be delivered to the baron, and he'll be taking them through the tunnel. We plan to have several men awaiting him inside it when he arrives.”

She blinked. “Inside the tunnel?”

“Yes,” he returned. “Inside and out, and additional men interspersed among the trees so there can be no escape. If we catch him in the act, along with Mrs. Winsett's testimony, there can be a firm conviction.”

Madeleine shook her head, puzzled. “I don't understand. How can you position yourselves if you don't know where the tunnel is precisely? Even Thomas and I couldn't find the entrance in the forest.”

“I spoke with Desdemona,” Thomas revealed without a shred of pomposity.

That stunned her, and she turned her head sharply to stare at him. “When?”

“This afternoon. We had a rather long conversation, and she gave me very specific information about its location, some of which I've already passed on to Sir Riley. She's a very expressive and opinionated lady when engaged in direct conversation,” he drawled with a wry lift of his lips, his eyes challenging.

Madeleine refused to be baited by the innuendo and forced herself to ignore it, looking back to Sir Riley. “Why use the additional resources when I can enter the tunnel for you? I've all but been given permission to do so by the man himself.”

“Because I don't want you in the tunnel, Madeleine,” Thomas stated flatly.

Her confusion slowly turned to offense, then outright anger, though she refused to let it show.

“I don't think that's for you to decide,” she argued just as articulately.

Sir Riley cleared his throat again. “I think, Madeleine, that what Mr. Blackwood is saying is that it's not necessary for you to put your life in danger by entering the tunnel unguarded and alone.”

“Because I am a woman,” she maintained with little inflection.

“Precisely,” Sir Riley agreed with a satisfied grin. “We have others who can enter quickly now that we know where it is, and we think we've developed an excellent plan that will put no one in peril, least of all you.”

One of the most disappointing moments of her life was happening right now as Madeleine realized that Sir Riley, possibly the man she admired most in the world, was lying to her. To
her
, his most dedicated, trustworthy subordinate on the Continent. And she knew this suddenly because her gender had never before been an issue in her assignments. Never. She and everybody else involved knew the risks one took in this kind of work, and it was accepted unconditionally if one wanted to continue in the field. She had previously, without question, been given responsibilities that put her life in danger. Indeed, she was the only woman she knew of who worked in her capacity, and for the last six years she'd been under the extreme scrutiny of others to perform as a man would, bravely and confidently, because she was expected to fail. She hadn't, and that's why she was so
admired. Nobody had ever doubted her strength before now, especially Sir Riley.

No, her arguments for entering the tunnel herself were sound and created the least risk for the baron discovering their intentions. Thomas and Sir Riley knew this, which meant conclusively that something here, in this room, was very definitely wrong.