Beau whipped back around. “I don’t care if you say his position was under the goddamn queen! You had no right!”
“No,” Drake said simply. “I did not. But it wasn’t my decision to make.”
Beau succumbed to the fury again. Instead of knocking Drake out, this time he put his fist right through the paneling within inches of the Watteau.
That was going to hurt,he thought vaguely.Good.
Pip ran over to him. Drake didn’t move. Beau just stared at the fist-sized hole in the wall as if he didn’t know where it came from. “You can bill me for that,” he said, his voice just as suddenly exhausted.
“Don’t be absurd,” Drake drawled. I’ll bill the Home Office. It is their fault.”
Pip didn’t say a word, just pulled a handkerchief from her reticule and reached for Beau’s bleeding hand. He hoped he hadn’t broken anything, but suspected he’d feel better if he had.
It didn’t mean he should have let her wrap the handkerchief around his knuckles. He couldn’t seem to pull away. Her hands felt so soothing. So warm against his suddenly cold skin. They were almost enough to let loose the tears that choked him, those hands. Good thing he was so disciplined. They merely choked him, acid in his chest, unbearable with her so close.
“What do we do now?” Pip asked, looking up at them both.
“Notwe,”he grated, glaring at her.
How could such a little thing contain such purpose? She looked up at him, and Beau saw implacability and felt the ground slip away.
“Exactly how will you pose as a madwoman, Beau?” she quietly challenged him.
“Not mad,” Drake quietly said. “Just….”
Pip frowned. “Inconvenient?”
Drake shrugged. “Possibly intransigent. Angry. What we could easily label hysterical.”
“Men can label sneezing hysterics if it suits them,” Pip retorted.
Beau glared at them both. “Is no one going to listen to me?”
Pip refused to back down. She put her hand on his arm, this time, which made it worse. “Do you want to know where Theo is?” she asked. “Do you want him back?”
He flinched. He was having such trouble breathing.
“We know where he is,” he snarled. “At least if we can trust Pip’s impression. He’s with the smugglers we’re trying to wipe out. Was that part of the plan or did he decide to improvise?”
Drake dropped his head, rubbing at his temple. “He’s been out of touch for about four weeks now.”
“And you think Miss Schroeder might know where to find him. When she’s been in that place for how long?”
“The wife with the information has only been in about six days.”
Beau knew Pip was facing him. He didn’t have the courage to look her in the eye. He was afraid again. He was so afraid. He didn’t know how much more he could stand.
She squeezed his arm. “We have to do this, Beau.”
“Why can’t I go in?” he asked, not looking at anyone.
Drake walked over to the drinks table. “It is a women’s ward,” he said, splashing brandy into two glasses. “And Lady Drummond knows what Miss Schroeder looks like. We can either send her in as a patient or as staff. I believe she would have more mobility as staff. More reason to poke around.”
“I think I prefer that,” she said. “What do I need to do?”
“Wear a drab dress and look as if this is the best job you will ever get. You’ll be presented as someone new to this who is committed enough to good health that you take a walk every morning so we can contact you if need be.” He approached, handing off her glass. “I don’t suppose you can manage a less refined accent.”
She managed a smile. “Theo and I practiced nonsense like that when we were going to spy for the king. Would you rather I be from Dorset, Hampshire, or Seven Dials?”
