To Wed a Scandalous Spy (32 page)

He left the room, feeling quite a bit lightened by the fact that in the entire world there was one less person who hated him.

Then again, tonight's fire was evidence that there were still some who did.

Willa stood in the doorway of her bedchamber, shocked at the state of the room.

Nathaniel came up behind her. "Your linens will be too smoky to sleep on. I have someone bringing fresh ones from the—"

He stopped, obviously as appalled as she was.

The room was a shambles. Her things were everywhere, tossed about in complete abandon. Books lay open on the floor, pages aflutter. Her lovely new clothing was strewn and trampled. Willa went to one side of the bed and knelt to pick up the shattered remains of Dick's squirrel carving. The vindictiveness in that single bit of destruction made her feel sick to her stomach.

Nathaniel moved swiftly through the room, checking any possible hiding places. Cradling the splinters of wood in her hands, Willa stood to gaze at the mess around her. "Something isn't right," she murmured.

Nathaniel began to gather some of the books from the floor. Lily came in with a fresh stack of bed linens, gasped at the madness, then swiftly began to salvage Willa's new clothes. Willa stood very still, thinking. Nathaniel examined a book he'd taken from the floor. "Why do you have Jeremy Cunnington's
Mathematical Concepts
?"

"I liked what he said about the golden mean," Willa said absently. Then she looked down at him. "Are the books ruined?"

Nathaniel looked around him. "I don't think so. A few small tears, possibly, but nothing irreparable."

Willa turned to Lily. "Are my clothes ruined?"

Lily wrinkled her nose. "Well, I don't think I'll ever get the smoke smell out of Mrs. Knight's Court gown… but no, they're mostly just thrown about."

"Searched," Nathaniel corrected. "They look like they were searched."

"Precisely," Willa said, nodding. "If the intruder was simply looking for something, then why this?" She held out the remains of the carving.

"Willa," Nathaniel said sternly. "I think the more important question is… what were they looking for in
your
room and no one else's?" He folded his arms and stared at her as if he'd never seen her before. "Is there something I should know?"

Willa looked up at him in confusion. "I—I don't know why… I don't even know what they were after!"

"No?" He stepped aside. "Why don't you go through your possessions and tell me if there is anything unaccounted for."

It didn't take long. "No," she said finally. "Nothing has been stolen. The carving is the only thing I lost."

"Are you sure?" His question was curt and detached.

"Nathaniel, I have very few possessions in the world. It isn't very hard to keep track." She looked around her at her tidied room. "Nothing is missing."

Nathaniel forced himself to relax. Willa didn't seem to be lying. There may have been something she had possession of without realizing it was important, but if nothing had been stolen, it was hard to imagine the intruder had found what they were looking for.

Lily made up the fresh sheets and Willa climbed wearily into bed. It had been a very long day. "Was it only this morning that I was presented at Court?" she asked lily.

"Aye, my lady. And only this evening that His Lordship's stepfather passed on."

"It seems like forever," Willa said sleepily.

Nathaniel stood just outside Willa's slightly open door, listening. He hated that he had to suspect Willa like this, but there was something going on that he was strongly beginning to suspect was connected with her.

Upon arriving in England, Foster had ridden hell-bent for leather, straight to Derryton. Then after spending the night in the inn—

"Bad enough that Dan here mucked up her packing. Made a right mess, he did."

"
No, mum! Her room was already
—"

"
Nonsense
," Moira scolded. "
Shame on you, blamin' Willie, and her bein' as neat as a pin! "

Willa's room had been a mess before her guardian's son had packed her things. Willa's room in the inn—where Foster was staying.

Apparently Foster had not found what he wanted, for he'd then turned toward London and taken no care to cover his trail. And now Willa's room in Reardon House had been ransacked as well.

It seemed he'd attracted Foster's attention after all.

There was a public house on the docks, a place too rough for anyone not already guilty of a few major crimes. The floor was not really made of dirt. It only looked that way because of the decades of grime that carpeted it. The trestle tables had been broken in brawl after brawl until patrons had to be careful where they put their elbows, so as not to get splinters.

The ale was foul, the tavern maids fouler.

This establishment went by the unlikely name of The Red Squirrel.

Sir Foster had finally made contact, just not in the way Nathaniel had expected. Nevertheless, the message had been unmistakable. Too bad about Willa's carving.

Nathaniel swaggered into the tavern and took a seat at one of the rough tables. His manner was crude and grim, his clothing rough and dirty. He'd fouled his long hair and let it string down over his eyes.

He still looked far better than most of the clientele. After all, he still had both his eyes.

Nathaniel curled his fist, watching the way his fingers wrapped around his nearly empty tankard. He wasn't drinking so much as splashing the stuff into his face and letting it run down his stubble, then ostentatiously wiping his mouth on his arm.

He tossed his empty tankard onto the floor as was the custom here. The ale maids kept the tankards running in fast circulation. The next one he got had dirt on the rim.

Of course. Washing the tankards would have a deleterious effect on the patrons' drinking speed.

Tonight, it suited him to be in the roughest, most anonymous place one could find. Unfortunately, it was a very quiet night in this den of iniquity. Most of the patrons sat sullenly drinking and watching the barmaids bustle past.

The woman nearest Nathaniel smiled at him, and he nodded politely, although he wasn't interested. He'd sooner sleep with Blunt. He'd much sooner sleep with Willa.

He was working. There was no place in his work for thoughts of Willa. He needed to be the Cobra. Focused. Committed. Obsessed.

Someone stumbled into his bench, and Nathaniel gave him a halfhearted shove before he sent the last of Nathaniel's ale to the floor. It hadn't been much of a push, but the fellow turned and shoved another patron, who sprawled across the laps of several other patrons, knocking at least one barmaid off someone's knee.

Someone took offense at the interruption of his negotiations, someone else took offense at his offense, and the brawl was on.

Now, there was a thought. A good fight would take the edge off the burning in Nathaniel's gut. Still, it wasn't right to make someone else pay for his troubles. It still lacked a few hours until dawn, but Nathaniel didn't think Foster was going to show.

Nathaniel stood, moving just in time to keep from being smashed by the body that was flung down onto his splintery table.

"What's the matter?" the man cried up at Nathaniel through the crimson flood from his broken nose. "Get up and fight, ye bloody
coward
!"

That tore it. With great satisfaction, Nathaniel grabbed the man by the collar and gave him a thudding blow to the belly.

"Aye, that's the way," wheezed the man. And landed a beauty of a right to Nathaniel's jaw.

As he landed blow after blow, and took a few as well, Nathaniel threw himself fully into the fray. Yes, indeed, a good fight really fit the bill.

Until one wiry bearded individual pulled a knife on him.

"There now!" Nathaniel raised both hands. "There's no need for that, good sir!"

The man said nothing, only turned his back to the brawl behind them and focused his attentions on Nathaniel. He took a hard swipe with the knife. Nathaniel sucked in his belly just enough that the blade only snagged a button off his rough workingman's jacket that he'd worn to blend in.

The next swipe caught the wool of the jacket itself. Damn! This bloke was entirely serious!

Nathaniel became serious, too. He didn't want to kill the man but would if he had to. He tried one more time to placate the fellow. "I've got some coin. You could take it all and good travels—"

The knife cut through his rough wool weskit like it was bread. He even felt a scratch on his skin. "Oh, now that is simply too much!"

Reaching behind him, he grabbed a sturdy chair and swung it at his opponent.

The fellow went down like a hammered bull. The now-unconscious man's cap was knocked off and his distinctly bald head revealed. Nathaniel blinked.
Foster
.

«
^
»

Nathaniel still had not come home. His room was waiting for his return. The fire crackled, the bed was turned back, his dressing gown was laid out, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Willa had waited in her room for hours; then she had come in here. Trailing her fingers along the mattress of the bed, she touched the dark green silk dressing gown laid across the foot of it. Picking it up, she let the silk slip through her hands until she held the lapels, then she brought it to her face.

It smelled of him, of tobacco and a hint of sandalwood, and Nathaniel. He had done no shopping for himself when they had arrived. This must be from before.

She would have liked to have known him before. Had he laughed more easily then? she wondered. Had he captivated every woman he met the way he had captivated her?

She slid the dressing gown over her nightgown, pulling the lapels up to her face again. It engulfed her, the sleeves hanging off her hands and the hem trailing on the floor, but she wore it anyway. She wanted to feel as close to him as possible.

Restless, she left his room and wandered the hall. She ended up near Ren's room and decided to check on his fever.

Ren could not sleep. It was very late, he knew, for he could hear the chiming of a clock in some other room. His head was aching most seriously.

He had stubbornly refused a dose of laudanum before the footman who was seeing to him had retired for the night. The man had shrugged and set the bottle on a chest across the room. It might as well have been across the Channel, for all the good it did Ren.

At least, he had remembered to ask the man for a shave, and he had been surprised afterward to see in the mirror he had been given that it made him look much more civilized.

He shifted again, and the pain sent bright points of light before his vision. He held very still, not even breathing, until the pounding faded and his sight cleared. Then he blinked.

An angel stood before him. It was Willa, with only the light of a candle to illuminate her beauty. He lost his breath entirely at the vision in front of him.

Her hair was down, falling shining past her shoulders. She was fully covered by a wrapper, but simply seeing her in her nightclothes seemed exquisitely intimate.

After she had left this morning, Ren had come to the sobering realization that he didn't care if she was married. He would take whatever crumbs of herself she was willing to toss him, if only she would come to him again.

He smiled at her uncertainly and made the heedless mistake of trying to sit up the better to see her.

The pain took him by the neck and slammed him down again, making his stomach churn and his teeth clench until he thought they would shatter.

The room took a trip around his brain until the shapes blended and smeared. He shut his eyes tightly and simply tried to bear the ride until he was allowed off again.

When the world ceased spinning and his stomach ceased churning, he was able to define the cool, soothing pressure on his brow as Willa's palm. She was speaking softly to him, calming nonsense words that one would speak to a wounded wild creature.

He opened his eyes and saw what he had longed to see all the endless day just past. She was inches above him, her sable hair falling from her shoulder to caress his cheek.

"Your fever is high," she whispered, and her breath was a gentle summer breeze across his lips.

Willa was worried. He was flushed and seemed very dazed. What should she do? He seemed to be in a great deal of pain. She glanced quickly around the room and spotted the bottle the doctor had left. Some fool had put it far out of Ren's reach.

Quickly she took it up, and the spoon beside it, and poured a bit for him. "I don't know how much to give you, but we can start with a spoonful and see if it will help you."

He swallowed it gratefully, his eyes closing.

Gently, she raised his shoulders to plump the pillows behind him. Lying flat was not helping his breathing.

The laudanum was working as well, making him float above the pain, aware of it but not affected by it.

He opened his eyes and smiled at her. "Incredible."

She smiled back. "You are feeling better?"

"No. Yes. I meant, you are incredible."

She really smiled then, a full, sweet smile that took his breath away.

"I—" He stopped himself in horror.

Good God, he'd almost said he loved her. The laudanum was taking over his mind. He barely knew her, had scarcely spoken to her, and had spent most of that occasion being an ass.

But she was so incredible. And she was here with him again.

"Out of pity." He realized he had spoken the words out loud.

She looked at him for a moment, then shook her head. "I don't pity you. You are admirable, and intelligent, and somewhat arrogant, but you are not pitiful."

Admirable? "I tried to kill your husband."

"But you didn't. You came here to act on your convictions, even though you are mistaken. That I admire."

"I am a monster. A wreck of a man."

She tilted her head, considering his scars with disconcerting frankness. He did not turn away. Let her see what he had become.

"You do look much improved tonight. If you're more comfortable, I should probably go."