“No. It could have been Shadymere. They spoke in hushed voices.”
“Shadowmere?”
“Yes, that may be it.” She frowned, the name stirring a faint unease. “The other man called it a place of ill repute, and said it would be the only time he was expected to participate.”
Mr Daventry’s dark gaze shifted to Gabriel. “It makes sense they’d use Hawke’s licentious gatherings to pass information, the noise and chaos would mask any exchange. But you know what this means.”
“Yes. The spies hold positions in society.” There was something in Gabriel’s tone, a quiet thrill, as if he would enjoy holding them to account. “Faces I may even remember from my parents’ wild parties.”
“We’ll visit Dominic Hawke once we’ve gathered more information.” Mr Daventry gave a mocking snort. “Before we march into Shadowmere, we’d better be certain of the facts.”
A knock on the door announced the cheerful housekeeper, Mrs Gunning, balancing a laden tea tray, the smell of freshly baked lemon cake filling the room.
“I thought you might fancy a little something to keep the hunger pangs at bay,” she said, smiling as she set down the tray. She poured the tea, bobbed a curtsy, and retreated as swiftly as she came.
Olivia’s gaze slid to Gabriel. The remark had been innocent, yet lemon cake would not satisfy the hunger that had taken root inside her.
Gabriel reached for a slice and took a bite, licking a fewcrumbs from the corner of his mouth. “You mentioned two things,” he said. “One you were more certain of.”
“Yes.” She paused, considering whether she could trust these men, and decided she must. “I was told to take a note to a carriage waiting a mile down the lane and give it to the coachman. At the time, it felt like an errand, but now I believe I’m implicated in an event that happened a month later.”
She remembered the fear in her father’s eyes. How he’d hesitated before handing her the lantern. How his voice caught as he told her to be quick, to keep to the edge of the road.
“You read the note?” Gabriel asked.
“It wasn’t sealed. I believe that was deliberate.”
“Do you recall what it said?”
“Almost word for word. I have a memory for these things.” She took a sip of tea and set down her cup, the clatter of china belying her nerves.
Gather in St Giles, dusk, 7thMay.
Signal: three lanterns in window of The Mason’s Arms.
Target the polling booths at Westminster and Guildhall.
Wheels and barrels for barricade at Holborn.
Burn goods at Shadwell if pursuit begins.
Pay ringleaders five shillings apiece.
Gabriel’s expression darkened as she finished. A brief silence followed while he and Mr Daventry exchanged a guarded glance.
“That sounds like instructions for the planned riot during the Days of May,” Mr Daventry said.
“When the country teetered on the edge of revolution,” Gabriel murmured. “One spark, and London might have burned.”
Mr Daventry sighed. “Then perhaps we’re not dealing with spies at all, but revolutionaries.”
“And the coachman could testify that I was the one who delivered the rioters’ instructions.” She wore the weight of her actions like iron shackles. “I could be hanged for treason.”
A shadow crossed Gabriel’s face, as if he’d glimpsed a premonition. A vision of the tragic end that awaited them both. “They’ll have to kill me first.”
He spoke in earnest. He never said anything he didn’t mean. He could have bought her a gilded carriage, a team of muscled Arabians, or a palace grander than Versailles, and it still wouldn’t have touched her as deeply as that fierce declaration.
Sweet mercy. If he meant for her to fall slowly in love with him, he was going about it the right way.
