The Beauty and the Spy (24 page)

“That's what my husband used to say.” Though her stomach clenched, she forced herself to remember.

Nick pulled up short and just stared at her.

“He enjoyed…watching me. But the final, most horrible thing he did to me, I only found out at the end, just days before he died.”

N
ick sat down at her side and took her hand. That's what she loved about him, his willingness to give her support when she needed it. She sent a silent prayer of thanks to Edith for making him the man he was.

She took a deep breath and spoke in a rush. “He so enjoyed watching me that he invited someone else to watch, too.”

It wasn't so bad to finally admit it. The painful lump in her throat eased.

Nick spoke hesitantly. “You had to…disrobe for someone?”

She shook her head. “I never knew his friend
was hiding in the room. Aubrey and I had…relations, and all the time he knew this man was watching us. I only found out when I was lying naked on the bed, relieved it was over, and he—Aubrey's friend—just…walked out from behind the draperies. I—I guess he wanted a closer look,” she added bitterly.

He kept hold of her hand, and then wrapped his arm around her bare shoulders. “Charlotte, your husband was sick.”

“And to think—I had acted the hostess for this man, greeted him as an acquaintance.” Her voice rose higher. “I'll never know how many times he watched us, because Aubrey died before I could work up the courage to ask him.”

He squeezed her hand tighter, but she wasn't seeing him anymore, but the evil smile of that man who'd stared at her nudity.

“I screamed when I saw him. I screamed and screamed, until Aubrey covered my mouth and held me down. I found out that he later explained my behavior to the servants by saying I'd seen a mouse.” She shuddered and let it go, forcing herself to look at Nick, the man who truly cared about her. “I've told you this because I didn't want you to think you needed to hold back from me. I've held nothing back from you.”

“I know,” he whispered, then pulled her tightly against his side. “Can I…hold you like this?”

“Oh please,” she whispered, turning her face into his shoulder and letting out a shuddering breath.

He propped pillows up against the headboard and leaned back against it. Charlotte pressed herself against him, holding him tightly in her arms as if she would never let him go.

And she didn't want to let him go. He was a man who could not treat a woman with anything but respect, even if she was his enemy. His past had made him that man, yet he was trying to get beyond it, to see women as dispassionately as he saw men. He was punishing himself over and over again for Edith's death.

Couldn't he understand that his attempt to see women in a different light was impossible? That these feelings for women made him so beloved in her eyes? But he didn't want love for that reason. He wanted no part of such a soft emotion, because he felt weakened by it. He'd been hurt too many times. He had put Julia in jail today, and tomorrow he would walk out of Charlotte's life.

And she had to let him. He had bared his soul to her tonight, and she would never forget that—or him.

When she was almost asleep, she heard him murmur her name.

“Yes?”

“I can't come back here again.”

Did he know how bleak his voice sounded? But she only said, “I know.”

“Sam will escort you to your father's.”

She nodded and held him tighter. “Nick, have Sam come the day after tomorrow. I want to stay another day, just in case you need Sam—or me,” she added softly. “To prepare for the trial, of course.”

“Charlotte,” he began with resignation.

She lifted herself up against the pillows and looked into his face. “I promise I'm not asking anything of you. But I've been of help where Julia is concerned, haven't I?”

He nodded.

“You might need me again. Give me this last day.”

“All right,” he said.

She took his dear face in her hands, and out tumbled the words she'd never meant to say. “I love you, Nick,” she whispered.

She saw the pain he couldn't conceal.

“No, I don't expect anything else,” she hurried to say. “I just needed you to know that you've given me back my life, my confidence. And even if I never see you again, I will look back on what we've shared with contentment.”

He kissed her softly, gently. “I've enjoyed every moment with you, Charlotte Sinclair.”

A tear trickled down her cheek, but she smiled. “Even when you had to tie me up?”

“Even then.” He hesitated. “I wish—”

She quickly covered his mouth. “No regrets, Nick. Let's promise each other that.”

He nodded and hugged her close.

“Let's sleep,” she whispered into his hair. “And don't wake me when you go. Let this be our good-bye.”

 

When Charlotte awoke in the morning she was alone. She lay on her back, looking at the lacy canopy over her bed without really seeing it. She felt drained, too exhausted to even cry. But she was satisfied with the way she'd handled their parting. She hadn't begged Nick to stay, though she'd wanted to. She'd told him the truth, that she loved him, but hadn't asked him to love her in return.

She could live with that.

But would she live happily?

He didn't come back to her that night. The next morning Sam and Mr. Cox arrived promptly at ten to escort her home. At first they were hesitant with her. They weren't blind—surely they knew what she and Nick had done together.

But their concern warmed her, and she wouldn't let them know how truly lost and alone she felt. She forced herself to be a good traveling companion.

They arrived in the bustling city of York the next day, and Charlotte was relieved to be almost home. That afternoon they reached Ellerton House, the ancient family manor that over the
centuries had been added to wing by wing, giving it a rather disjointed look. But her father loved it, and though he spent little time there now, he still considered it more a home than their town house in London.

Her sister Jane had been terribly upset and hurt when their father had chosen to come here first, instead of visiting them in London after two long years away. But Charlotte understood her father now; there was something about the peace of being home that could heal a person. She only hoped it was the same for her.

Although she wanted to run to Papa's arms, she forced herself to walk sedately at Sam's side to the front door and knock. When the butler opened the door, he seemed surprised to see her.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Sinclair. Your father will be most pleased.”

“Is he in the library, Smythe?” she asked, already heading across the foyer to the door.

“Of course, madam. I shall announce you,” he added, hurrying to catch up while still managing to keep his dignity.

“Not necessary!”

She flung open the double doors and came to a sudden stop as she found her father standing before the globe next to his desk, leaning on a pair of crutches. His right leg was gone below the knee. He straightened and stared at her in surprise.

“Papa,” she whispered, already knowing what this injury must have cost him. She'd read his
journals, after all. Had he come north, then, to spare himself everyone's pity?

“Charlotte, my little sparrow,” he said, a big smile showing beneath his mustache.

She ran and hugged him tightly. He seemed a little more frail than she remembered, but he was still a giant of a figure to her. “Papa, how good to see you! Why didn't you tell us you were injured?”

He kept an arm around her shoulder as he waved his other hand dismissively. “I needed some time to recover, Charlotte. This place is much quieter.” Then he spotted Sam and reached out to shake his hand. “Mr. Sherryngton, how good to see you.”

“You, too, Colonel,” Sam said.

“I'm disappointed in you, sir,” said her father.

Sam actually paled. “Colonel?”

“I expected another of your wonderful disguises. Charlotte, have you seen his abilities? Quite remarkable.”

“I agree, Papa.” Charlotte couldn't help frowning as she studied her father. “You seem to have known I was coming.”

“Not really,” he answered. Waving them toward the sofa, he followed at a slower pace, then settled himself in a wingback chair. “But after hearing Jane's story, I knew you were nearby, and thought you might remember to visit your old father.”

“Jane!” Charlotte cried, clapping her hands in
delighted relief. “She is here? Then she is doing well?”

“Just fine. But I regret to say that her visit was a brief one.” Lord Whittington used his finger to smooth his mustache, and his eyes twinkled. “She and Will were in quite a hurry. They left this morning to get married in Gretna Green.”

Though Charlotte was happy for her sister, there was a terrible sadness inside her. Jane would have marital bliss with the man she loved. But oh, Charlotte was selfish to think about her own situation, when her sister was finally happy.

She noticed that her father was studying her. She almost felt as if she hadn't done her schoolwork again.

“Jane told me something of what's been going on with the traitor Julia Reed,” Lord Whittington said. “Seems you found yourself in the thick of it. Where
is
Nick?”

Charlotte kept a smile on her face by sheer will. “He is busy with establishing the case against Julia, Papa. Sam was kind enough to escort me home.”

“I see,” he said thoughtfully.

Was it there on her face—the love inside her that would never be returned? She looked down and blinked quickly to hide her tears.

“Jane tells me that you found my journals,” her father continued. “Rather took them to heart, didn't you, dear girl?”

She laughed, and it was something of a relief.
“I couldn't quite believe it was you, Papa. What a secret to keep. So tell me how it felt the first time you saw the mountains of Afghanistan.”

It was good to hear him talk, for not only did it distract her, but it reminded her how little she'd really known him. She had so much to make up for. She could see herself spending a lot of time in Yorkshire. Maybe the tranquillity would help her to heal, too.

The three of them spent the hours before dinner talking, then continued right on through the meal. Charlotte excused herself early, claiming exhaustion, and encouraged the two men to continue without her.

She found her room exactly as she remembered it, though a maid had obviously lit candles and turned down the bed. Her clothes had been unpacked, and a steaming bath awaited her. Although there were plenty of nightdresses to choose from, she donned the one Nick had given her, because it still had the ghost of his scent.

She lit the candle on her desk and found paper and pen in the top drawer. She dipped the quill in ink and began a letter to her mother. She should have done this in Leeds, but her thoughts had been too full of Nick. Now she was doing her best to chase all those thoughts away. She told her mother the truth of her adventures, leaving out the very dangerous or the very intimate ones.

But finally the letter had to end, and she was alone with her thoughts again. She knew she'd
become stronger, but right now all she wanted to do was cry. She put on a dressing gown and went down to the library to find a book instead.

Her father was still awake, seated in his favorite chair, a blanket across his lap. He looked tired and disheveled, and she wondered if he was still in pain. But when he saw her, he smiled with understanding.

Before she even knew what she was doing, she collapsed on her knees at his side and began to sob. He held her, rocked her, let her cry until her tears dried up and she was empty.

“There now, my little sparrow,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. “You've had a horrible year, and I'm sure this brush with danger didn't help.”

“But Papa, in a funny way it did,” she said, sitting back on her heels and looking up into his face. She took the handkerchief he offered and blew her nose. “I'm capable of a lot, you know.”

He smiled. “I never doubted it.”

“Well, I did. Jane was always so smart, so interested in the world around her. But I—”

“You were your mother's daughter. You were very good to her when she needed you the most, especially when things between her and me began to…sour.”

She wiped her eyes. “I thought I only wanted what she wanted, and I think I married Aubrey more to please her than to please me.”

Her father hesitated, and she felt the wealth of
his sorrow. “I should have been here for you, Charlotte.”

“You couldn't have known, Papa. And England needed you.”

“And did you find yourself needing Nick?”

She stared at him, stunned, and found her tears flowing again. Nodding, she blew her nose. “But only England can need him,” she whispered sadly. “And I knew that from the beginning—well, as soon as I realized he was working for the government, and not himself.”

“I have always found myself worrying about Nick,” her father said. “He does not let many people know who he truly is.”

She nodded and sighed.

“He has always been very devoted to his duty, but not so to the people in his life. I'm glad you realized that.” He cupped her cheek. “But it is not an easy lesson.”

When would her crying ever end? she thought, sniffling into the handkerchief.

“It will take time, Charlotte.”

She rose to her feet. “I know. But in the meantime I need to read. Do you have something that is bound to make me fall asleep?” She smiled. “And don't suggest your journals, because look what a mess such excitement landed me in!”

 

A week later Charlotte was walking in the garden, picking flowers to arrange for that evening's dinner table. She felt better, stronger, if not
healed. She hoped that would come in time. She wasn't ready to return to London, because that would mean she would be an eligible widow again, and she couldn't imagine looking for a husband. But that would be what her mother wanted her to do. Charlotte would just remain in the country for a while.