Viridian (The Hundred-Days Series Book 2) (35 page)

Closing her eyes, Olivia exhaled
again, looking entirely peaceful. “He'll be back. He always comes back, on one
side or the other. I can wait.” She met his eyes, her own clouded. “I can
wait.”

He reached into his pocket next to
the unfulfilled warrant, pinching at a small square of vellum. “Fouche left this
for you. I am delivering it against my better judgment, but I trust you will
know what to make of it.” He held out the note.

For a moment she stared, only
blinking. Finally, she claimed it, touching as little of the paper as possible.
Tracing the long, neat letters with a finger, she whispered the word:
Olivie
.
She unfolded its crease.

He watched her eyes trace the line
of words he'd read earlier and was surprised when she smiled.

The spy is inherently a traitor.

Sofie claimed the note, depositing
it like rubbish beside the teapot. “Ignore it, Olivia. He wants only to get in
one final blow. Don't give him the satisfaction.”

She was right, in his opinion, and
it amused him that a man known for understanding his opponents, a man who had
the least excuse for
misunderstanding
Olivia, had so painfully
underestimated her.

“
Final
blow? No. No, no.”
Olivia relaxed against the blue sofa. “We are a long way from finished.”

“Done for now, I'm afraid.” Ethan
hooked a finger behind his head at the mantle, claiming the bottle of port
Olivia had abused earlier, and poured some into a teacup while Sofie scowled.
“I have dismissed you and Major Burrell. Paris is now hostile territory. Until
the coalition army has established itself, it isn't wise or safe for you to
operate here.”

“But Fouche
will
be back. We
can still stop him,” she argued.

“Not before Napoleon retakes the
city, Olivia. We’ve no time for more than packing.”

Olivia’s arms shot up. “He's
betrayed us, again! He's changed sides.
Again
. Napoleon never kept him reined
in like the Allies did. Surveillance, documentation, detention. The Terror will
begin anew.” Her words were heated, passionate in the way that only someone
who’d lived during the time she described could be.

“Leave Fouche to his new master. He
will be Bonaparte's problem until we can get our sea legs, regroup and snare
him.”

“The people's problem!” She
scoffed, pounding a fist into her palm. “It’s unthinkable.
Unacceptable
.”

He understood her frustration and
felt every bit of it himself. He had fought Napoleon in the army as a code
breaker, then later a spy master. At every turn, the man reappeared, stronger
than before, seemingly unbeatable. It wasn't easy to retreat, and it was doubly
hard asking it of someone else. “For now we
must
accept this. Those are
our marching orders, direct from the War Ministry. And as much as you or I
might hate to admit it, they make sense for now.”

Olivia stood up, shoulders rising
and falling with measured breaths. There was a time when he'd known her well
enough to understand how to control her. How to discipline the wild urchin
rifling men's pockets at coach stops. The woman before him now...

She wasn't wild or undisciplined
anymore. Nor was she hysterical or even irrational. Perhaps she was a little
too rational, considering. She was calculating and fiercely intelligent.
Bloodthirsty in the depths of her eyes. She would give no quarter, offer no
diplomacy, only striving for vengeance. Trying to penetrate her obstinance,
Ethan repeated himself. “That is our directive from
Whitehall
.”

“I do not answer to Whitehall. You
have dismissed me.”

He pursed his lips. “From
Paris.
I haven’t dismissed you from Whitehall’s service. We're all leaving before
Wednesday.”

Olivia opened her mouth, but Sofie
stood up between them. “Ethan, look at her. This is a discussion for another
time.”

Ever the ambassador, like her
father. She was right, of course. He’d gain no traction with Olivia, not right
now. Her hair was a wild mess, her clothes were dirty, and her face resembled
the loser’s in a boxing match. The last thing she could bear to hear right now
was that they'd been beaten. Retreating a little, he nodded. “We can conclude
our business another time, Miss Fletcher.”

Something occurred to him as Sofie
was showing Olivia out. “Olivia? Major Burrell spoke with me about the matter
of your being recalled. I need to know, do you take issue working with him,
specifically?”

A softening of Olivia's features, a
frightened lift to her eyebrows confirmed what he already suspected. “Did he
tell you that? That I do not wish to work with him?”

Employing a tried and true tactic,
he answered her question with a question. “Was La Porte the problem, or has
something happened to cause a division between you and the major?”

She paused a long time, her eyes far
away. “No.” The word was barely a whisper, Olivia's head shaking almost
imperceptibly. “No, I wouldn't say so.”

“Good. Fraternizing is expressly
forbidden between agents. Were I to become aware of it, I would be required to
dismiss you both immediately.” He let the meaning hang between them.

Olivia cocked her head. “Were you
to become aware?”

“Were I to become aware,” he
repeated.

Olivia nodded. “I understand. Thank
you.”

Satisfied that she understood, he
ushered her toward the door. “My carriage will see you home. I will come 'round
to check on you. If you need anything at all, I expect you to let me know.”

Suddenly, she looked young and
fragile. Sad. He would have hugged her, if he believed for a moment she would
allow it. Tears pooled along her bottom lashes, and Olivia nodded. “Thank you,”
she repeated, communicating a much deeper meaning.

Sofie closed the door on Olivia's
departure and returned to the couch, falling onto its cushions with an
exhausted lack of grace. “Sometimes I believe things cannot get any worse for
her. And then I am surprised.”

“She’s too stubborn for me to do a
damned thing with.”

She smirked. “You are the expert on
stubborn women, my lord.”

He laughed for the first time in
days, and prodded Sofie's calf with his boot. “I cannot fault her entirely, in
this case. Major Burrell is doing his part, as well.”

“They need each other now. What a
ridiculous time to entrench.”

He refilled the port in his cup,
then drained it back to porcelain. “I doubt either of them knows what to make
of this new Olivia. I don't. Do you?”

“No,” Sofie admitted, picking at a
thread on the cushion.

“I'm afraid of her.” He hadn't
fully realized how much until now. The measured depths of Olivia's rage, and
her determination to end Fouche. “Whatever she does when I leave Paris could be
interpreted as sanctioned by Whitehall, even if we openly disavow her actions.
Treaties, negotiations...they could all be jeopardized.” He pinched at the
bridge of his nose.

“Olivia does not need our
interference.” Sofie leaned forward and took his hand. “Leave the treaties and
negotiations to my father, and leave Joseph Fouche to his fate.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Olivia tucked the last of her
clothes into a straining chest, its lid protesting with every shove until she
got it latched. She was done, all her belongings packed and ready for her
flight from Paris. The task had occupied her every waking moment for three
days, keeping her mind from all that had happened, from everything except
missing Ty. With nothing left to occupy her, she wondered at the wisdom of
being alone with her thoughts. There were books left in the parlor, and some
writing paper, things that she didn’t need or that didn’t belong to her.
Leaving her baggage haphazardly around the room, Olivia decided she preferred
boring activity to dangerous silence.

A rapping at the door snapped her
from her book. She paused, waiting for the door to open, then recalled that
there was no one left to get it. She’d given the household staff leave to quit
Paris in advance of Napoleon's arrival. She would have to answer it herself.

A cool evening breeze, damp and
heavy, painted her cheeks as she swung the door open. Ty, looking smart as ever
in a dove gray coat the color of lifting clouds, filled the doorway. He raised
his hat slowly, as if afraid she might ask him to go.

They stood that way for a long
moment, taking each other’s measure. Olivia with no idea what to say. They'd
been through so much together over the last few months and even more the last
few days. Their mission was over, and she realized that she was looking at him
for the first time not as a partner, but as... What?

Finally, Ty bowed and broke the
silence. “Miss Fletcher.”

She smiled, charmed by his formal
address. “Major Burrell.”

He waved a hand lamely in her direction.
“I was hoping that you might be at home for visitors.”

“I am. Very much so.” She shook her
head at an equally lame reply.

Ty pressed the brim of his hat to
his chest, swallowing as though the weight of the world bore him down. “There
are some things I would like to say to you.”

Nodding, Olivia realized she had
been holding her breath, and suddenly noticed the last sprinkling of rain
beading on Ty's shoulders. “Oh! Oh my goodness ... come in. Would you like to
come in?” She should just stop speaking; it was only getting worse. She sounded
ridiculous.

To her relief, he smiled. “Yes,
please.”

Stepping aside, she let him pass
into the hall and took more time than necessary in closing and locking the
door. Why was it so hard to face him? She fumbled for anything to do, a way to
keep busy. “Give me your hat.” She grasped the damp brim without waiting,
shaking off the water and setting it on a table at the foot of stairs. “Coat?”

“Thank you.” He turned, shrugging
out of the sleeves, letting her pull it down. Her heart skipped, fingers buried
between his collar and the warm, damp linen at his back. “Goodness, you're
soaked to the bone! Did you walk here?”

He faced her, blue eyes fixed
unblinking on her own. “I did. I needed a quiet stretch, to think.”

She poked a finger toward the
kitchen stairs. “You must be frozen. Can I make you some tea or –”

“Gin. Gin will do.”

Olivia ignored the tightness of her
laughter. “In that case, we'll go directly to the parlor.”

It was her favorite room in the
house and was the one decorated most closely to her own tastes. White walls
stood out with beautiful plaster work and molding rather than the bright paint
or gilt frames most common these days. A large assortment of books crowded the
shelves on either side of the white marble fireplace, and there was little
enough furniture that she could decline guests without being rude.

At least the room was warm. She'd
kept the fire burning for days, not letting it go out, and she took some
pleasure in its glow on Ty's behalf. Rubbing his hands together, he moved to
stand in front of the firebox while she pried a giant red leather encyclopedia
from the book shelf. Poking a hand into the space it left, her fingers reached
the smooth glass decanter and pulled it out.

“Anxious housekeeper?” he asked,
watching her take out a glass.

“No. I just prefer my gin without
the taste of poison. Old habits.” She poured, redoubling the effort at a
clearing of his throat each time she slowed.

He took the glass without a word.
If she had to guess, he was bolstering his courage, and her heart tightened.
There were so many things he might have to say. She dreaded and anticipated
each in turn.

While she settled on her blue
velveteen sofa, Ty perched on a leather wing back chair opposite her. She had
expected him to slouch, settle in. Instead he hung on the edge, unmoving except
for the occasional lift of an arm to raise the tumbler to his lips, or to
rotate it between his palms. He drained it with impressive speed, then clanked
it atop the white marble hearth and sat forward.

After long moments, he seemed to
compress, a bellows releasing a mighty breath. His eyes raised, fastening on
hers. “Olivia, I have to return to the army. Tomorrow.”

She pressed a hand to her chest,
his news hitting like a physical blow. Of course he had to return; in the chaos
of their mission, she hadn’t realized it would come so soon. “How long?”

Ty's words were long in coming,
drawn up from some deep well. “Indefinitely. General Webb has been recalled to
the division. Fighting is close and my regiment is still a mess owing to
Commander Braddock.”

Her throat closed, eyes beading
with unshed tears. Desperate, she said, “Just a little longer, Tyler. Even a
few days. We're so close.” That was not the true reason she begged, and
considering the way things had ended a few days before, he must suspect as
much.

Ty looked as miserable as she felt.
“The officers have thought me on leave all this time. Webb, too. I cannot
postpone any longer.”

She stared at her hands, folded on
her lap, no idea what else to say. Disappointment crushed down even idle
conversation.

“Olivia.” He spoke her name with
the weight of a touch. “There is something...” He slipped from the chair onto
his knees, laying a warm, wide hand over hers. “I'm not certain I've earned the
right to say to you what I am about to say. My bravery is nowhere equal to
yours, in an age where a man is expected always to be the hero. I'm not ashamed
of it, but, by God Olivia, I think you're worth more than my meager currency.”
He paused and pressed his eyes shut for a breath, and Olivia trembled “I wish I
could pledge that it was my design all along to stumble into you, but it’s
impossible that a man could engineer any scheme resulting in the feelings I
have for you. It must be the design of Fate or some other wonderful thing. My
heart found you by accident and I realize now that, no matter what I was before
you, I was less than whole.” He sighed and rested fingers over his heart. “You
didn't pull me from my course, you are the compass which has set me on it.”

She dabbed a sleeve to each eye,
afraid to trust what she was hearing. “Tyler.” His name shuddered from her lips
in a nervous question, and he nodded.

“I want us to belong to each other,
Olivia. Until we’re dust and bones.”

Her heart ached, pounding with a
rhythm so quick she couldn’t distinguish one beat from the next. She opened her
mouth, but everything fought to come out at once. The harder she worked at
speaking, the more tears pricked her eyes. One of his fingers caught her under
the chin and pressed her gaping mouth shut. “When?” she managed at last with
less than a whisper, strangling his hand with both of her own.

“The first possible moment. When
you come to Belgium. I would do it now, if it could be managed.” His eyes held
hers, bright and eager.

It couldn’t be so easy, after all
her aching for him. Her mind was stuck while her heart throbbed ahead. “Don't
you need permission from your general?” she asked lamely.

“I don't bloody well need anyone's
permission, Olivia. None besides yours. No one else can stop me. No one else
will
stop me.”

She enjoyed thrill at his
forcefulness, the possibility growing on her by the second. “You could face
court martial.” Recalling Ethan's warning, she squeezed his hand. “Whitehall
would dismiss us both. It would
have
to be a secret.”

“I know. And I do not relish the
idea, but I can tolerate it.” There was no doubt in his voice, no hesitation.

So much of her life had been lived
in some form of secret or another. She was hardly daunted by one more.

Ty must have mistaken her silence
for hesitation. He claimed her hand and pressed it over his heart. “My sky was
dark before you,
mon etoile
.”
My star
. “I can stand the weeks
away from you until we’re married. I could bear worse. For you.”

Olivia could only nod, a tightness
in her throat stemming words and tears. Before he'd appeared at her door
tonight, she'd walked for days through her house in a fog, her hopes and dreams
and assignment in pieces. And now the sun had come out. She smiled. “How can I
say no to that?”

He swallowed hard, as serious as
she’d ever seen him. “Rather easily, in fact, but I am hoping you won't.”

Cradling his face, Olivia pressed
her lips to his forehead. “Do you understand now why I couldn't leave you
behind in the forest?”

He pulled away, nearly toppling her
from the chair. “Why
couldn't
you leave me behind?”

She joined him on the floor.
“Because I love you, my fox, and I think you are saying that you love –”

His lips caught the last of her
sentence, pressing her words between their kiss. They'd kissed many times
before, each encounter charged with sexual tension, each time under the shadow
of their work. This was time was completely different, no acting, no roles to
play. Gin filled her mouth, crisp orange and the bite of juniper berries on his
tongue. Hands circled her arms, drawing her in. His movements were rounded and
smooth, like the gin; sweet, with a hint of passion.

When they parted, it was like
losing a part of herself as his head fell to her shoulder. He panted, damp heat
working through the fabric of her dress. “A few weeks, that's all. We can risk
it then.”

“That sounds like eternity.” Her
life with Ty couldn’t begin soon enough.

Nodding, he stood abruptly, tugging
her behind. “You’ll have a letter; the very moment I am settled.”

Olivia twined her arm with his,
walking him out to the hall, eager for every last drop of physical contact.

He released her, moving to claim
his coat. In a moment he would put it on, excuse himself, and take his first
step away from her and toward Belgium. Toward war, and perhaps worse.

She darted for his hand, holding
fast. “Don't go.”

His face creased into sad lines. “I
have orders, Olivia. If I could –”

“Tonight. I meant tonight.” She
laced her fingers with his. “I want you to stay.”

There was a war on Ty's face, and
his chest rose faster. He hesitated, and she knew she had won.

She pulled him toward the stairs.

Ty closed the door behind them,
turning the key slowly. Her heart thundered against her ribs at a simple act
filled with so much intent. He faced the door without moving, and Olivia
studied his back while he seemed to wrestle with some question. Then he turned
and pressed his back to the door.

“Olivia.” His voice was an ardent
murmur, eyes fixing her in the darkness. “How many times have we been here
before?”

She felt strange comfort that his
thoughts had followed hers, that he too had appreciated a new sensation in
familiar territory. Nerves tied her tongue; rather than answer with words she
reached back and pulled the tortoise shell comb from her hair, sliding it atop
the vanity.

Ty pushed away from the door.
Stopping in front of her, he slipped a hand on each side of her waist, pressing
until she turned around. His fingers danced over the buttons of her gown one by
one until it whispered over her petticoats and pooled at her feet. Her stays
came next, their cord singing through the grommets with each gentle tug. He
slipped them over her head, sending them to land atop her bureau with an easy
toss. Her petticoats came last, tumbling to join her dress. All that remained
was her shift.

“Olivia.” There was a smoky note to
her name on his lips, and like a magic spell, it turned her slowly to face him.

He stared at her a long time,
taking her in, as if he were waiting for something. Finally, he took her hand,
resting it on his shirt where it disappeared into the waistband of his
breeches.

Eager to return the favor, she
tugged fistfuls of the crisp linen tail until it hung free, and Ty moved his
hand to the knot of his cravat. She reached out, stopping him, and shook her
head.

She slid her hands slowly up his
chest, close as a whisper, until they rested on the ends of the cravat. She
tugged firmly, and the knot slipped free. Retracing her path downward, she took
the tails of his shirt again and lifted. It all came off together, joining her
clothes at their feet.

She rested a hand at his breast,
barely pressing the flesh there. Why did she feel so timid? “You're still
freezing.”

“I hadn't noticed,” he murmured. He
turned back the quilt, waiting beside the bed.

Take a step
, a voice
whispered. Why was it so difficult? They had been in bed together a hundred
times. But not like this; this was very, very different.

She settled on the mattress,
scooting to the middle and stretching. Ty turned down the lamp until it winked
out, leaving them as nothing but silhouettes, framed by light through the
window that glistened off the rain-soaked street.

One thump, then another.
His
boots
. He had to be drawing this out to torment her. Certain her
anticipation was stretched to snapping, she was proved wrong again and again.