“Privy?” he supplied for her, feeling a bit guilty. He really
had
been acting the brute. Of course she would want to attend to her personal needs. “Certainly, my love, take your time. And don't worry about your mother. I'll handle her, if need be.”
She gave him a grateful smile then hurried from the room, murmuring that she would return in a few minutes. He listened to her soft footsteps patter down the hall, the sound fading into silence. He waited for several more seconds, but all remained still.
It was too good a chance to miss.
Will opened Beaumont's office door wide, letting the light from the parlor spill across the desk. He made a quick search of the desk drawers and cubbyholes, keeping one ear open for Evie. As far as he could tell, paperwork and ledgers he quickly glanced through detailed the legitimate business of the Hibernian Benevolent Association. He'd need more time to follow any money trails that surfaced, but if he found what he thought he was likely to find, that sort of work could wait for later.
His search revealed only the one drawer that locked. He paused, straining his ears again for Evie's footfall. Surely she would take at least five minutes to conduct her feminine business, which meant that he still had a little time.
He dug into his waistcoat pocket, extracting the small picklock he always carried, and went to work on the lock. It yielded almost instantly. If Beaumont really was trying to hide something of significance in his desk, he wasn't doing much of a job.
A small packet of lettersâfour in allâfilled the small drawer. Three carried postmarks from Dublin and the other from Ulster. The Dublin letters were from O'Connell, and the Ulster letter was from a man whose name Will didn't recognize. That last missive contained a short list of names, along with a brief explanation that the men listed could not return to Londonderry given their
unfortunate history
, but were
well suited for the work already detailed
in previous letters. Terence O'Shay's name was on the list.
As far as Will was concerned, combined with the reference to past troubles, that made investigation of the names on the list an imperative.
He refolded the list and shoved it into the inside pocket of his coat, then opened the first letter from O'Connell. A quick perusal indicated that the Irishman was thanking Beaumont for his support in the
business with Peel,
which Will assumed was a reference to the aborted duel between O'Connell and the chief secretary. O'Connell also thanked Beaumont for his generous donation of time and money to
the cause which we both so ardently support
, despite whatever
hardships might befall them in the course of seeking justice
.
Will breathed out a soft curse. The letter wasn't decisive by any means, but it certainly pointed in an unpleasant direction for Beaumont. Logic dictated that he take the missives with him to show Aden. If Beaumont was guilty, as Will was beginning to suspect, he could hardly raise the alarm when he discovered the theft of his letters. In fact, his response one way or another could be instructive.
A quick footfall in the parlor brought his head up with a jerk. “Will, where are you?”
A moment later, as he finished relocking the drawer, Evie appeared in the doorway. A bewildered frown marked her features. “What are you doing?” Her gaze jumped to the surface of the desk, and the envelopes lying upon it.
Will had to bite back an entire string of foul curses as horrified understanding dawned on her face.
“You were searching Michael's desk.” Her flat voice left no room for denial. Whatever Banbury tale he came up with, there was no room for pretending he hadn't been doing exactly what it looked like.
Her gaze snapped up to meet his, disbelief and the first hints of betrayed trust darkening the blue depths. It was the look that had haunted him for years, and it made him sick at heart to see it again.
“Why were you doing that?” Her voice rose to a thin, high note.
He took a step toward her, but she scuttled back, her elbow banging into the doorframe. She let out a muffled exclamation of pain but held up her other hand to hold him back.
“No, don't touch me.” She sounded like something was strangling her. “Tell me why you were searching his desk.” Her gaze darted to the small pile of letters on the desktop. “Is that Michael's correspondence? Will, you have no right to touch that!”
She made a move forward, trying to scurry around him, but he whipped out a hand to grasp her forearm.
“Evie, stop for a minute and listen,” he said. “There's a reasonable explanation, but let me take you home first before your mother discovers you missing. We can talk about it there, I promise.”
She wrenched her arm free. “Hang my mother. I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what you were doing.”
He let out a frustrated sigh. “I would rather explain this to you later, once you've had a chance to recover from the, er, activities and emotions of the evening.” And once he came up with a halfway reasonable explanation for what he'd done.
She stared at him like he'd lost his mind, then her mouth sagged open. “Is this about my relationship with Michael? Are you looking for letters between us that you think might prove embarrassing?” A fierce little scowl pulled her eyebrows together. “Because if you are, I assure you that no such correspondence exists. I suppose I should be flattered by such jealousy on your part, but I'm not. I find it indicative of a lack of trust in me that I do
not
deserve.”
Will grabbed the unexpected lifeline. He dredged up what he hoped was both a sheepish and proprietorially male expression. “Guilty as charged, sweetheart. You have every right to give me a thundering scold, and I promise to give you ample opportunity to do soâafter we get you home.”
She peered up at him with a suspicious gaze. “Are you telling me that you
still
don't trust me with Michael? Even after what happened between us tonight?”
Will felt his eyes pop wide. “God, no, nothing like that. It's just that . . .” He trailed off, knowing how idiotic his explanation must sound. “It's just that when it comes to you, I find that emotion seems to overcome my logic.” Some sardonic part of him inwardly laughed at how true that statement was. Loving Evie seemed to blow the rest of his life to smithereens. “I promise it won't happen again.”
He finished off that canard with an apologetic, rueful smile he could only pray would charm her and allay her suspicions. The Evie he'd once known would never have questioned him, instead accepting everything he said as gospel truth. He could only hope that, in that way at least, she hadn't changed.
His hope died when he saw her gaze go flat and cold.
“You're lying,” she said. “Don't lie to me, Will, not after everything we've been through.”
Christ.
Clearly, she was no longer the innocent girl who'd once worshiped the ground he walked on. After tonight, she'd likely never speak to him again.
He swiftly ran through his options, weighing the conflicting loyalties that battered away at him. If he told her even some of the truth, how would she react? Would she warn Beaumont? Given her loyalties to the man, that was certainly a risk.
But what about her loyalty to me?
It was a fair question. Once he apprised her of the facts, might she not understand why he'd done what he did? And since she loved him, should he not expect her to be loyal to him, even if it meant betraying Beaumont?
They stared at each other, frozen in a horrible tableau as the moments ticked by. Evie broke first. Her lips started to tremble and she was suddenly blinking away tears.
“Evie, sweetheart,” he started, feeling desperate.
When she clutched his arm, whatever he'd been about to say died on his tongue.
“Please, Will,” she begged. “Just tell me the truth. You trust me enough to do that, don't you?”
Trust.
That word, that concept, was at the heart of their relationship, as was its oppositeâ
betrayal
. But to whom did he owe his trust first? His country, his father, or Evie? He knew what he
should
do, he knew what his duty was, but the stark plea in her vulnerable eyes made only one choice possible.
He'd betrayed her once, and he wouldn't do it again. “You're not going to like it.”
“I don't care. Just tell me.”
Tersely, he outlined the situation, trying to hold back the depth of the manipulation he'd practiced on her. He'd done it to protect her, of course, but she wouldn't see it that way. For now, he stuck to the basics and hoped that her sense of duty to Englandâand her love for himâwould carry the day.
For a minute or two, she clutched at his arm, her eyes growing wider with every second that passed. When he touched on his father's role in the affair, she flinched. Then, as he explained what he'd been doing tonight, she jerked her hand away, staring up at him with horror.
“You're all insane,” she said in a hoarse voice. “Michael would never do anything like that. He would never betray his country or his king.”
Will ached to take her in his arms and comfort her, but he forced himself to maintain a calm, logical demeanor. There was enough emotion swirling about the room without him adding to it.
Besides, she'd probably box his ears if he dared to touch her.
“I wish that were true, Evie, I sincerely do. But the evidence against Beaumont is unfortunately . . . fairly substantial.” He held up a hand when she started to rip up at him. “I'm not absolutely asserting guilt, and of course he will have the opportunity to state his case. I'm simply explaining why Alec and I took the actions we did.”
She clenched her hands into fists, clutching them against her middle. It was a habit from her youth, an unconscious, protective instinct. “Why didn't you just
ask
Michael? I'm sure he could explain everything to your satisfaction.”
Will hesitated, trying to think of an explanation that wouldn't offend. A moment's thought told him it was impossible. “If he
is
guilty, we would be giving him advance warning. We need to track the conspirators down and stop them, not allow them time to escape.”
Evie had now gone dead white with shock and looked barely able to keep on her feet. She stumbled over to one of the rickety chairs in front of Beaumont's desk and sank into it. Will took a step toward her, every instinct urging him to comfort and care for her.
“Stay back,” she said. “I don't want you touching me.”
He flinched, more at her tone than the words, although they sliced through him like a corsair's blade.
She sucked in a few deep breaths before coming back at him. “Why you, Will? Why did your father ask you to take on this horrid task? You're a soldier, not a spy.”
He grimaced. This was one thing he'd hoped never to be forced to reveal, but he wouldn't lie to her any longer. “That's not entirely accurate. I'm what the army calls an exploring officer, which is for all practical purposes an agent for military intelligence.”
Her expression went blank. “You are a spy,” she said slowly, as if she had trouble processing the information. “Is Captain Gilbride a spy as well?”
“Yes.”
She let out a pathetic thread of a laugh, one that held absolutely no amusement. “I cannot believe this. Did you ever intend to tell me you were a spy?”
“It's not exactly information I'm eager to share,” he said dryly.
She snapped upright from her slumped position. “I'm to be your wife, William Endicott. Did you not think I deserved to know this?”
Well, at least she wasn't speaking of their impending marriage in the past tense. He supposed he should take that as a good sign. “I probably would have told you eventually, but it's not something I ever wanted touching you. Spying is not a gentleman's game. It's ugly and dirty and dangerous, and I wanted none of that coming near you.”
“And yet you had no trouble using me to get to Michael, did you?” Her voice was heavy with disgust.
He gave a resigned shrug. “I had no choice, Evie. I was
given
no choice. Besides, I thought it was the best way to protect you.”
She batted that away with an impatient wave. “I don't need your protection, but that's beside the point. This is really about your father, as I should have deduced. He was the one who assigned you this task, was he not?”
Will simply nodded. There was no point in lying about that, although he wouldn't go into details. Still, his father would probably toss him into the Tower and throw away the key if he ever found out how much Will had already revealed to her.
“And I know how very important it is for you to please the duke,” she said.
He blinked at the arrogant sneer in her voice. Her mother couldn't have done any better.
“I'm doing it because it's my duty,” he said in a voice as haughty as anything she might produce. After all, he might be a by-blow, but he
was
the son of a prince. “There's going to be an assassination attempt on a member of government, or possibly even one of the royals. Or don't you care about that?”
When she shrank back, Will was immediately swamped with guilt. None of this was Evie's fault, and it was all a terrible shock to her. He needed to remember that.
“I'm sorry, my love,” he said in a quiet voice. “I had no cause to speak to you in so rude a manner.”
“I suppose I understand,” she said in a colorless voice. “And if you had come to me at the very first and explained to me what you needed, I would have done everything I could to help you.”