From what he’d told her of his past, he’d been sickly as a child. Bullied by the neighboring lads and swaddled by his mama, he hadn’t been sent to school or allowed to do the activities enjoyed by young boys. He’d grown up in relative isolation on the family’s remote Devonshire estate. While he’d eventually outgrown his weak lungs, perhaps something of his past lingered: the need to prove himself, to show the world that he could do whatever he set his mind to.
“What else can you tell me?” Charlie asked.
“If your husband was indeed involved in the foreign branch, it would have made sense for him to be in France and Greece during the time you specified. There were rumors of a highly secretive anarchist group at play—a phantom organization whose members lived in various nations with a single purpose in mind: creating chaos and bringing down the establishment at any cost. They’d cloaked themselves so well that their existence had never been proved, but it was believed that they were behind assassinations, violent mobs, and acts of terror across the Continent. France, being a hotbed of revolution, was believed to be the headquarters of this group, with sects located in Germany, Italy, and Greece.”
Charlie let the chilling information sink in. “And there was a group working to counter these anarchists?”
Hawksmoor propped his elbows on the arms of his chair, his hands steepled. “No official group. But I have heard—purely rumors, you understand—that there was a select team of agents from different countries collaborating to fight the anarchists. They, too, were ‘ghosts.’ No country would officially acknowledge their existence or sanction their purpose, despite the speculation that this group has prevented multiple attacks on the public.”
Pieces of a puzzle fell into place: Sebastian’s absences and lies, his nebulous past, the shadows and secrets in his eyes. It ought to have been shocking to discover that one’s former spouse was, most likely, part of an elite espionage team, but what Charlie felt was…relief.
Silly, irrational, overwhelming relief.
At least now she understood that Sebastian’s betrayal had been for a greater purpose and not just because he’d had an itch for some voluptuous taverna owner. She didn’t have all the answers yet, but she had sufficient knowledge to decide that she wanted to know more. Even if she couldn’t forgive Sebastian for abandoning her, she needed to know why he’d done it. Needed to know the man she’d married—who he’d been then…
And who he is now.
Recognition tremored through her. She’d felt more last night with Sebastian than she had in twelve dashed years. It hadn’t been just physical: their emotional connection had somehow survived the wreckage of their parting. Before and after Sebastian, she hadn’t met a man who could match her in tenacity, passion, and wit, and that hadn’t changed. They were two sides of the same hot-blooded coin. Beneath her fury and hurt, another feeling crept into her awareness.
Gladness. She was glad that the man she’d once loved with her whole being wasn’t dead.
Even if at times he made her want to resort to bloody murder.
“Do you know anything else about this ghost team, my lord?” she asked.
Hawksmoor shook his head. “As I said, anything I’ve heard is a rumor. This team is mythical amongst espionage circles: a legend that proves even a small group can change the world for good.”
“We Angels believe that as well,” Fiona put in. “Don’t we, Charlie?”
“You and the others have proved it,” Charlie said with pride. “Your dedication to our clients and each other has demonstrated the true power of sisterhood.”
Fi tilted her head. “You are part of the sisterhood, too.”
Too late, Charlie recognized the trap. Fi’s charm was like a candy coating over her keen intellect.
“The business with the Marquess of Fayne is not entirely in the past, is it?” Fi studied her with earnest blue eyes. “Won’t you bring us into your confidence, Charlie? You can trust me and the other Angels to help.”
Charlie didn’t want to hurt Fi’s feelings, but she recognized now that Amara’s predicament was about more than infidelity. Sebastian had tried to warn Charlie that Gilbert was involved in something dangerous…but what, exactly? The blacksmith was a monarchist; he and Amara had named their child in honor of Her Majesty the Queen. Charlie could not imagine him involved in a radical organization.
Miss Loveday was a different story. She was unpredictable and ingenious; there was no telling the kind of mischief she was capable of, and Sebastian had obviously been tracking her for a reason. What was going on between her and Amara’s husband? Did she have him in her sexual thrall…or was her hold on him a different sort altogether?
Until I have the answers to these questions, I must honor my promise to Amara. I must solve her case with discretion…and deal with my own problems after.
“It is not about trust but timing, my dear.” Charlie patted Fi’s arm. “I have things in hand for the time being. If I need assistance, however, you and the Angels will be the first to know.”
“Promise?”
“You have my word. Now I must be off.” She stood. “Thank you for the information, my lord.”
Rising, Hawksmoor bowed. “It was little enough, my lady.”
“I will see you out,” Fi said.
As they exited the drawing room, Charlie said, “How is the Snelling case progressing?”
“We are wrapping things up.” Fi’s smile was a bit smug. “As I suspected, the butler did it.”
“Very good. Now I must ask that you and the others keep an eye on the society for a few days.”
