The Beauty and the Spy (20 page)

She covered her face with trembling hands. “That was too close.”

“But exciting,” Nick said.

At the laughter in his voice, she frowned at him, and with dismay she watched as his gaze traveled down her bodice.

He loomed over her, his thigh riding hers. “All this talk of marriage makes me think of the fun part of having a wife.”

“It's all just a game to you,” she whispered, holding back her tears of disappointment.

“Sometimes it has to be,” he said slowly, sitting back, “or I'd never be able to function.”

“This—this thing between us, it's not a game to me.” When he would have spoken, she held up a hand, wanting to get everything out in the open. “I know our relationship can be nothing more than it is. I've appreciated your candor. I thought it would be acceptable to me…but it's not.” She bit her lip and sighed heavily.

“So what are you saying?” he asked slowly, impassively.

“I can't lie with you anymore. It hurts too much, because it makes me think there's a future for us. You don't want that—”

“Charlotte—”

“No, it's all right. But you must understand that the longer we're intimate, the more I'll risk falling in love with you.” It was too late; she already had, but she couldn't tell him that. She thought of the children he'd just pretended they had, and she wanted to sob.

He took her hand and she allowed it, trying to pretend that her heart wasn't breaking. She would have to go back to that false society life, knowing that there could have been so much more.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he murmured, drawing her hand up to kiss it.

“I know. But it's happening, so I have to protect myself. I was never able to do so before. You've given me the courage for that.”

“You had it inside you all along.”

He sat back, and she watched painfully as his expression closed off, distancing himself—protecting himself. He was good at that.

“I can't leave to take you to your father's,” he said.

Her gaze flew to his in surprise. “I wouldn't ask that of you! I'm a part of this, and I need to see it through to the end.”

He nodded. “But you'll do exactly as I say.”

“Of course.”

He turned to look out his window, and she turned to look out hers. She didn't see the countryside; she was blinking furiously, trying to rid herself of tears. It was over.

Had there been a hidden, optimistic part of her that thought he'd protest? It only proved she was even more a fool.

 

They reached Leeds by the dinner hour, staying ahead of Julia and Sam. Charlotte watched Nick, who must surely feel some satisfaction that Julia was where he wanted her. Nick continued looking out the window, betraying neither worry nor triumph. She wondered if the fact that she'd ended their intimate relationship even bothered him at all.

Because keeping up a normal front was agony for her. She was already grieving for him. She had had no idea how strong her love for him was, how difficult it was going to be to leave him. Her departure was close now, and she almost thought it would be better not to see him anymore.

Because now she found herself staring at him when he wouldn't notice, memorizing the lines of his face, the cocky way he smiled. She watched his hands, so large, so gentle. She would never know their touch again. She so desperately wanted to cry, but now was not the time. Instead she fought the stinging of her eyes and tried to seem interested in Leeds.

The town was bustling with carriages and wagons, surely the largest town they'd visited since they left London. Factory chimneys belched smoke over medieval churches and poor children begged for pennies, the sad part of civilization. She sat back on the bench with a sigh. The reality of life in a town was terrible for many people.

The carriage rolled through street after street, twisting and turning. A man could easily get lost here.

Julia's man Edwin Hume had once tried, but now he was counting on the government—Nick—to protect him from the result of his crimes. And Nick would do it, too, for the chance to put Julia in jail.

“Does Mr. Cox know where he's going?” Charlotte asked, when it seemed as if she'd seen the same church twice.

Nick glanced at her, one side of his mouth turned up in a smile.

“Go ahead, roll your eyes,” she said huffily, crossing her arms over her chest. “I'm sorry I spoke.”

“Don't be sorry. I just need to think.”

“To concentrate?”

He nodded. “That, too. Now Char—Charlotte, you know you aren't coming with us.”

“What are you going to do—tie me up on this city street?” Oops, a little too close to the insecurities. She'd been thrown when he'd used his intimate name for her.

“Tempting—but no. Sam knows this town well, and he tells me that there is a genteel tavern frequented by the well-to-do across the street from Hume's. For a servant, Hume has good taste in property.”

“Good taste in…ah, you mean he makes more money than he should.”

“Very good. You will wait in this tavern. You may sit in the front window and watch the house and all that transpires, but you may not leave the establishment until one of us comes for you. Is that understood?”

“I can't wait at Hume's house? Perhaps in a bedroom?”

Nick was looking out the window, already forgetting about her. “No. Bullets travel through wood quite easily.”

“You don't want me to die?” she asked.

Startled, he looked down at her. “Hasn't that been what this whole journey has been about?”

Charlotte nodded and bit her lip, turning to look out the window. It was good to be reminded that he had not brought her willingly, had wanted only to save her life and preserve the secrecy of his mission.

But it still hurt so much.

The carriage turned down a quiet, tree-lined street, traveling slowly. She sensed Mr. Cox was looking for the right house. When she saw an elegant eating establishment on her side, she immediately leaned across Nick and looked out.

“Yes, that's it,” he said, nodding toward a small house built of limestone with a gravel path leading up between landscaped gardens.

He pushed her away from the window and pointed across her body toward the tavern. “And you'll wait there. Do I have your word?”

She nodded reluctantly.

“Good. We'll get you settled, and then I'll go introduce myself to Hume. He owes me some correspondence.”

When the carriage pulled over near the pavement, Charlotte put a hand on Nick's chest to stop him from rising. “I don't need to be settled, like a child waiting for Mama. I'll have dinner. I'll be fine.”

Time seemed to stop as he searched her eyes. She tried not to show her heartache, her yearning.

Then he looked away. “Here's a book in case you're bored,” he said stiffly, reaching into the bag at his feet.

“I've read it already. And I don't plan to be bored. Surely Julia will arrive any time.”

He frowned thoughtfully at Hume's house.

She sighed and stepped out of the carriage. She didn't think he even noticed her leaving. But that was as it should be. He would never forgive himself—or her—if this mission came to naught because of his preoccupation with her. She hoped ending their intimacy now had not been a poorly timed decision on her part.

Without looking back she went inside the tiny
tavern, inhaling the aroma of fresh bread and hot coffee. There was a small table directly in front of the window, and she asked to be seated there, to “feel the last of the sun on my face.”

That wouldn't be long, but it was a good enough excuse for the serving maid, who allowed her to pick out her own table. Charlotte slowly perused the menu, all the while keeping an eye on Mr. Hume's home. It was a rather grand place to be hiding out in, she thought skeptically.

She never saw Nick enter the house, of course. The carriage had continued on after she'd gotten out, and turned down a side street she couldn't see.

 

Nick sat alone in the carriage and tried to tell himself that he was relieved about Charlotte's decision not to sleep with him again. He hadn't wanted to hurt her, and in his selfish need to ease himself with her willing body, he might have just kept going, not knowing what their relationship was costing her.

But that would have been a lie, because he damn well knew what a gentle, caring woman like her expected from a man: marriage, a settled life, children—trust.

His heart twisted with regret.

He had to stop thinking about it—thinking about her. Julia would be here any time. The mission was almost finished.

He told himself he'd fill his empty life with the
next assignment. Why didn't that make him feel better?

Nick entered the back of Hume's home through a narrow cellar window overlooking the alley, making sure his pistol was still in his waist. He kept as quiet as possible, not wanting to frighten Hume into thinking Julia had come for him. Surely the man must have been holed up in here for weeks, dreading every sound on the front steps. Hume was counting on Nick to protect him, but Hume had to know that Julia might be intelligent enough to elude her pursuers.

He made his way up to the ground level of the house, step by step, hearing nothing. Not the creak of a floorboard, not the clink of tableware as someone had dinner.

Silently he pushed open a door that led into the kitchens. Here was the first indication that a desperate man lived alone. Every surface was littered with filth, and the smell of rotting food put him in mind of some of the worst hellholes in Afghanistan.

Or was this the home of a man already dead and rotting away himself?

He brought out his pistol, pulled back the hammer, and held it at the ready as he left the kitchen and went through the dining room. Dirty plates were pushed to the center of the table so more could be added. In the front parlor, empty liquor bottles littered the floor, and water rings from glasses spotted the wood tables.

But there was no sign of Edwin Hume.

Nick cautiously made his way upstairs, and although a bed had obviously been slept in, no one was there.

Where the hell was Hume? Wasn't he claiming to be in fear of his life?

And where was the code letter, the last piece of evidence needed to convict Julia?

Nick began a slow and careful search.

C
harlotte was biting into a succulent peach tart when she raised her eyes and saw that a carriage had pulled up in front of Mr. Hume's house.

She froze, waiting, and then remembered to put down the tart and wipe her mouth. Though she couldn't see the door to the carriage from where she was sitting, soon she saw a woman's brisk figure start up the pathway. The woman carried a small carpetbag. When she tilted her head up to look at the second floor of the house, the last of the sunset touched her pale blond hair.

Julia. She'd arrived at her destination at last.

And part of Charlotte was sad. Had she wanted Nick to be wrong? Surely she didn't want to see him humiliated. But it was difficult to think of Julia as a traitor when the woman seemed so…nice.

And what was in that carpetbag? A pistol?

Charlotte leaned forward, watching across the street as Julia reached for the door knocker and let it bang against the door.

Would Nick open the door and grab Julia? Charlotte had never thought to ask what the exact plan was.

Or would Julia go inside and the door would shut, leaving Charlotte to just wait and wonder.

But none of that happened. Julia knocked again, but minutes went by and no one answered.

Where was Hume? And where was Nick?

Julia turned away from the door and looked about, as if she expected to see Mr. Hume working in the garden. She put her hands on her hips, then her gaze settled across the street.

On the tavern where Charlotte was letting her food get cold.

Julia walked back down the path, called up to her coachman, who only nodded and continued to sit there. Weren't they leaving?

Then Julia marched across the street directly toward Charlotte, who sank back in her chair and tried to disappear. But as her frantic gaze raced around the room, she saw only a steady
crowd of customers, some eating at tables, others standing shoulder to shoulder waiting for drinks at the bar. Was there an exit through the kitchen?

Before she could even stand up, Julia was walking through the door. Once again, an eating establishment was bringing them together.

Charlotte immediately turned away to look out the window. Though she pretended to look at passersby, she was frantically searching for Nick or Sam or Mr. Cox. But she would have to rescue herself from this one.

“Mrs. Cox?”

Oh heavens, it was Julia.

Charlotte took a deep breath, schooled her features into worry—which wasn't difficult—and looked up.

“Miss Reed,” she breathed, letting her expression show amazement.

Though Julia smiled, there was concern in her gaze. “Mrs. Cox, though I was coming here for dinner, surely our meeting can be no coincidence. Have you been following me?”

Charlotte opened her mouth, then pursed her lips together and frantically dug through her reticule for a handkerchief. She dabbed it into the corner of her eyes and finally nodded.

Julia sat down and reached across the table for Charlotte's hand. “And where is your husband?”

“I don't know,” she whispered dramatically. “I—I told him the truth, everything and he—he—”
She quietly cried, the handkerchief pressed to her face. She spared a quick glance at Julia's face.

“Did he leave you?” Julia asked.

Thank goodness all Charlotte had to do was wait for Julia to create the story for her. Charlotte nodded again and blew her nose loudly.

“Then you're alone?”

Her voice was full of sympathy, and Charlotte almost squirmed with discomfort at the guilt she still felt for lying.

“Then I'm glad you followed me,” Julia said briskly. “You should have come to me sooner.”

“I—I couldn't. You were in that fancy house outside Misterton—”

“That is not my home, but my brother's. You would have been welcomed. Tell me you didn't sleep outdoors.”

“No, no, I have some money. I just…I just don't know what to
do
.”

“I told you that you could leave that to me.”

Julia looked about, as if looking for the serving maid. But then her gaze alighted on something that made her look sad, then resolved.

“There's someone here I must speak to before we leave,” she said.

Oh heavens, were Nick and Sam here, risking themselves and the mission for her? But she stole a cautious glance around the room and saw no one she knew.

“I just knocked on his door,” Julia continued, “but he wasn't at home.” Her expression grew
distasteful. “And by the look of him, he must have needed his drink badly.”

Charlotte looked toward the man she indicated. It could only be Hume. And Nick wasn't here to see their meeting, to catch Julia in the act. Would she pretend she needed to speak to Hume in private, then lure him outside to kill him? Then there would be no witness to her crimes, no code letter.

Charlotte got to her feet so quickly, the table loudly skidded several inches. Julia, who had taken only a few steps, looked back, the threatening carpetbag hanging at her side.

“Oh Miss Reed,” Charlotte said tearfully. “I've been alone so long. Do allow me to stay with you.”

Instead of protesting, Julia nodded calmly. “I understand. You're welcome to come. I promise I won't be long, and then I'll take you home with me.”

Charlotte stayed right at Julia's side as she crossed to the bar and the various men gathered there. Some slumped over their drinks, others leaned toward their neighbors laughing loudly. But one man sat alone, looking down at his full glass as if seeing heaven itself. He lifted it reverently to his lips, and Charlotte noticed that his hands trembled, and that he couldn't be more than thirty years of age.

“Mr. Hume?” Julia said.

He dropped the glass, and it shattered against
the edge of the bar. He stood quickly and turned toward them, while flecks of blood welled up on his arm from the broken glass. He had the red-rimmed eyes of an old man.

He stared at them as if he expected Julia to kill him right in front of witnesses.

Julia pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and handed it to him. “I'm so sorry we startled you,” she said, motioning to his arm when he seemed to take no notice. “You're bleeding, Mr. Hume.”

Absently he put her lacy handkerchief across his wound, and spots of blood welled through it. The barkeep shook his head and came around to clean up the glass.

“Do you recognize me, Mr. Hume?” Julia asked with a smile. “We haven't seen each other since I was a girl. I'm Miss Julia Reed.”

Charlotte was fascinated. Neither of them could admit they knew each other in front of this crowd. So what new story would Julia come up with?

Mr. Hume tipped his head nervously. “It's good to see you, Miss Reed.”

Julia glanced at Charlotte with a smile. “Mr. Hume's mother was my governess until my parents died. Even after I went to India to live with my brother, Mrs. Hume remained with our estate.”

Mr. Hume glanced between Julia and Char
lotte nervously, then motioned to the barkeep for another pint of beer. “Have you seen my mother since you came back, Miss Reed?”

Was this how they were connected? Charlotte thought. They'd met as children and she'd lured him into her employ?

Julia sighed deeply and lifted up her carpetbag. Charlotte stiffened.

“My dear Edwin—do you mind if I call you that?” Julia asked. “We used to be very informal with one another.”

“Of course,” Mr. Hume said.

“Well Edwin, your mother is the reason I'm here. I regret to tell you that she died in her sleep two weeks ago.”

Mr. Hume's face went chalk white, and Charlotte was amazed that a criminal could still love his mother. Or was he a man forced into crime, and was now doing his best to repent?

When he didn't speak, Julia said gently, “I've brought some personal possessions of hers that I thought you'd like.”

As Julia reached into her carpetbag, Charlotte took a step back, yet noticed that Mr. Hume did not. He simply looked nervously around him.

“Take your hand out of the bag, Julia,” said a deep voice just behind Charlotte.

Charlotte whirled around and saw Nick standing close. Sam stepped up to the bar at Mr. Hume's back, and Mr. Cox appeared just behind
Julia. Charlotte's relief left her trembling. Nick took her arm and pulled her behind him, but she stayed nearby where she could see what happened.

Julia looked confused for a moment. “Nick?” she finally whispered. “What are you doing here?”

He took the carpetbag out of her hand and gave it to Sam. “We can't talk here. Let's calmly cross the street and discuss things.”

Julia looked at the three men now grouped all around her. “Has something happened?” she asked, her voice rising. “Is my brother all right?”

“This has nothing to do with your brother,” Nick said. “Please come with us peacefully. I don't want to have to drag you out of here.”

Julia's eyes went wide. “But Nick—why are you threatening me?”

He gripped her elbow. “Let's go.”

When Mr. Hume hung back, Sam steered him toward the front door. Charlotte fumbled in her reticule for money to pay for dinner, then caught up with the group outside. The sun had now set, but the gloom of twilight allowed her to see the frantic way Julia looked at the men around her. Julia was doing a good acting job, because Charlotte wanted to pity her.

Together they all walked up the path to Mr. Hume's house. As Charlotte came up last, she almost expected Sam, who held the door open, to refuse her entrance. But he gave her half a smile and gestured for her to go inside.

Though he told himself not to, Nick watched Charlotte enter the room, saw her grimace when she took in the condition of the parlor. He could not believe that once again, regardless of how he tried to keep her out of trouble, she'd managed to meet up with Julia. When he'd seen the two women through the tavern window, pain had clenched his stomach, had made him feel short of breath. Now he might need to use Charlotte's testimony, because he'd missed the beginning of Julia's conversation with Hume. He couldn't stand the thought of having Charlotte appear in court, subjecting her to the dangers of retribution from an unknown faction of Julia's. Maybe Julia would just do them all the favor of confessing.

But his prisoner stood alone in the center of the room, her face pale but her expression proud. She didn't speak, just gripped her hands together at her waist and gave him a wounded look.

He was unaffected. “Hume, I'm here and you're safe. Now where is the letter?” When Hume started toward the stairs to the upper floor, Nick added, “Cox, go with him.”

Julia finally spoke. “When are you going to tell me what this is about, Nick?”

She glanced at Charlotte but said nothing to her. Julia was no fool; surely she had to realize that Charlotte's story was now suspect.

Nick studied Julia, tried to forget the good memories they'd once shared, and reminded himself that she had aided in the murder of sixteen
thousand men, women, and children. The fact that she was a woman would not matter in his prosecution.

He waited until Hume came down with the letter. He noticed how Hume's hands shook, saw his reddened nose and bloodshot eyes. Hume had obviously taken to the bottle as he waited for protection from Julia. He'd have to be sobered up before the trial.

Nick looked at the letter in his hands. It resembled the one in his possession, except it was dated one day later, and covered different stories Julia had wanted to tell her friend in India. Whereas the first letter had many of the handwritten loops filled in, this one had tiny dots scattered through the text. When you compared this with the first letter, the dots would show which filled-in loop helped form the coded alphabet. Though it would take time, he would finally be able to read the message, with the help of the second code letter.

He held up the letter, out of Julia's reach, but enough that she could see it. “Do you recognize this?”

“Of course,” she said angrily. “I wrote it. Doesn't every woman you know write letters to her friends?”

“This was written while you were in Afghanistan.”

“I can't see the date from here, but I'll take your word on it,” she said with sarcasm. “Why has my letter been stolen from the person to
whom it was intended? And why is it any of your business?”

She was good, he thought. His first instinct would have been to deny that he'd written the letter, claim it was a forgery. But clear as day she'd said it was hers. How did she think she would get away with this?