“If his valet takes care of them properly, I daresay he wouldn’t need more than two,” Percy returned, setting the crate aside and selecting another.
“There are at least five pairs in here.” She tugged at the loose thread, and the seam came apart, leaving a gaping hole along the trunk’s side. “Bugger it. His valet’s going to know someone interfered with this one; I’ve gone and?—”
She paused, staring at the opening.
Percy snorted, but turned to look at her when she went silent. “What is it?”
“I think this seam wasmeantto open. This looks like it was a false stitch.”
Pulse fluttering with hope and exhilaration, Heather slid her hand into the narrow hole. Her fingers probed, stretching out in search of…anything.
Her breath caught in her throat. Something crinkled beneath her touch.There!
Using the tips of her index and middle fingers, she pinched the pieces of parchment and pulled. A squeak of delight escaped her as she held them out.
“What do they say?” Percy asked.
Heather placed the folded pieces of parchment on her lap and opened one.
She gave the document a quick scan, and dread washed over her.
“Holy hell,” she breathed.
Her skin grew cold, her limbs trembling.
“Jesus, what is it, Heather?” Percy asked, concern lining his features.
“This says that despite the Royal Marriages Act of 1772, the Prince Regent’s marriage to Maria Fitzherbert was legitimate—that theydid, in fact, garner consent from the reigning monarch, and that it was declared in council.”
Percy cursed under his breath.
Her heart in her throat, Heather set the parchment aside and picked up another. Then gasped. “This is the certificate of birth of ason, born to Maria Fitzherbert on?—”
“It’s a forgery,” Percy interjected. “It has to be.”
Heather’s gaze darted to his. At some point, he’d retrieved the parchment she’d just set aside and examined it.
“Are you certain?” she asked.
He notched his chin toward her lap. “Read the next.”
And she did.
“This is a letter from ‘G’ to ‘H’—who I shall presume is Hanley.” She gasped, then choked and gave a spluttered cough.
“Hell, Heather, are you all right?” Percy leaned forward to put a hand to her shoulder, and another jolt of heat raced through her.
“Fine,” she wheezed, handing the parchment to him.
He tilted the parchment toward the candlelight, and his eyes fairly bulged as he read. “Sodding hell, Heather!” he hissed. “This contains plans to overthrow the Crown. It asks if the recipient has properly hidden the forgeries”—he waves the other documents in his free hand—“mentions this author’s intent to support ‘H’ in parliament upon his return to England, and explains what they’ve done to provide passage upon a Royal Navy frigate. It then explicitly demands that ‘H’ destroy this letter upon reading.”
“Sodding hell, indeed,” Heather breathed, fisting her frigid, trembling hands against her chest. Her pulse raced, and an overwhelming swell of conflicting emotions rushed through her, namely triumph…and a healthy amount of panic.
Percy’s wide gaze met hers through the flickering candlelight, his chest rising and falling with his rapid breaths. “This document implicates these two people for high treason.”
“He must have kept the letter—instead of destroying it, as demanded—in order to extort something from ‘G.’”
Percy nodded in thought. “You don’t imagine ‘G’ is the Prince Regent, do you?”
