Barrington exhaled. “The Order has threads in places we haven’t even mapped yet. I won’t risk dragging her into that.”
“You already have,” Quinton said.
That gave Barrington pause.
“She saw the symbol.” Quinton stepped closer. “And we both know what that means. She’s involved whether you like it or not.”
Barrington’s voice dropped. “She doesn’t know what it means.”
“Not yet.”
Barrington studied him. “Then let’s keep it that way.”
Quinton didn’t respond. Not immediately. His jaw tensed as he gazed fixed on the window, though the light blurred more than it revealed. He turned back to the window, gazing out at the sea beyond the rise.
“Do I have your word, Captain?”
Quinton’s posture straightened. “You do.”
But his reflection in the glass told a different story: the tightness in his shoulders, the set of his jaw, and the slow clench of his hands.
He’d meant every word until now.
He had given Barrington a promise. But it was Mary-Ann’s trust he feared losing. That was the oath he couldn’t bear to break, because deep down, he knew he had already.
He would protect her. But there would come a moment, a tipping point. He would know when it arrived. And if the truth could no longer be contained, he would be the one to give it to her. Not because Barrington ordered it. But because he owed her that much. Even if it meant protecting her from the lies they told in her name.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Wednesday morning, withthe sea unusually still and every silence laden with unspoken truths, the day began. The mist had not yet burned off the river, and Sommer-by-the-Sea lay quiet beneath its veil, unaware, perhaps, that decisions made far from its cobbled streets were shaping its fate.
The room was quiet, save for the hiss of wax dripping onto stone. No names were spoken. None were needed.
A single candle burned in the center of the long table, its flame reflected in the eyes of four shadowed figures. The scent of damp earth and cold iron clung to the chamber. They had met here before beneath the city, beneath suspicion. Always in darkness.
One leaned forward, gloved fingers steepled. “Glasgow is secure. The warehouse is operational again, and the inquiry has been reassigned to one of our members.”
“And France?”
“The customs delay was arranged through the harbormaster’s clerk in Calais. We were able to gain two weeks, and everything we needed was moved.”
“Spain required more finesse,” another said, his voice low. “A fire took the rest. There’ll be no audit. The building was declared unsalvageable.”
There was a pause as if a collective breath was drawn.
“London is proving less cooperative. Parliament is divided. But progress has been made. Two more have pledged support.”
“And the trading houses?”
A third speaker, older, with a raspy tone, gave a thin smile. “Four are compromised. One is owned outright. Seaton’s influence is waning, and his debts are growing. Wilkinson is being groomed and shows promise.”
“And yet,” said the one seated at the head, “Barrington’s Brigade continues to interfere.”
A hush followed the name.
“They’ve embedded well,” another said. “But the operation involving theRedwakewas not exposed. Our man reported no disruptions. Only a local woman sniffing about.”
“She was identified?”
