Nicholas gave William a dry, sidelong glance. “Now you are quoting poetry at a ball?”
Alex bristled, his Scottish pride showing. “There is never a wrong time to quote Robert Burns.”
James regarded each of them in turn. “When one of you manages to win a woman’s hand, then you may offer up your advice, but since everyone here is a determined bachelor, I believe I will trust my own judgment.” He raised an eyebrow, and no one pressed him further. Their talk turned to Hugh’s accident, each wondering how their friend could have been injured while riding. The musicians finished their current piece with a flourish. It was time for the supper dance.
“Gentlemen, if you will excuse me.” He gave them a mock bow. “A lady awaits, and I have delayed long enough.” He turned, refusing to acknowledge Nicholas’s parting jests. Kate was at her mother’s side, and he was pleased to find her watching for him as he crossed the room. Was she dwelling on their shared moments in the library as well?
Though he doubted he would recognize the muted voices from the library, he scanned the crowd anyway, searching for a face that would match the hurried French whispers. At the thought of Kate in danger, a cold unease ran through him. He hoped that was the first—and last—time she ever came that close to it.
He reached her, struck again by her graceful beauty but now recognizing the glint of mischief in her eyes.
“I believe the supper set belongs to me, my lady.”
Kate accepted his offered arm, her touch light as silk yet powerful enough to claim his full attention as they walked toward the floor to take their positions.
“Are you recovered from earlier?” James asked.
“Quite, my lord, though I confess the entire affair is curious. My escape in search of fresh air certainly did not unfold the way I had planned.”
They faced each other as the orchestra struck the first chord. “You did anticipate adventure tonight, Lady Katherine,” he said as they moved in time with the music. Her answering look held more spark than regret, and James began to suspect the true danger to his peace of mind was standing opposite him on the ballroom floor.
Chapter 8
Kate
Dim light filtered through the partially opened curtains. Kate rolled over in protest. She had barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she was back in the library. The whisper of danger. James holding her against him.
She felt unmoored, her thoughts scattering like leaves caught in a sudden wind. Nothing about James fit neatly where she had placed him. He had acted without hesitation in the library. She would never have expected a carefree bachelor to be so quick on his feet. He had been confident, deliberate, and purposeful. All of it at odds with the reputation society assigned him.
The rest of the ball was a blur . . . the music, the laughter, the countless moments when she avoided meeting James’s eyes. She would have thought the whole night a dream were it not for the paper she had hidden. She lifted the pillow and retrieved the small scrap. It was torn along one edge, but its ink was still legible. Had James noticed when she slipped it into her reticule under the guise of clumsiness? She did not believe so. Otherwise, he would have questioned her.
The paper had not been on the floor before she and James hid behind the curtains. One of the men must have dropped it. She studied it carefully, searching for a pattern hidden in the seemingly random letters and numbers.
A faint mark on the corner caught her attention.Could it be . . . ?
Anticipation made the simple act of lighting the candle feel suddenly precarious. She raised the scrap to the flame, careful to keep it far enough away that it could not catch fire. Heat warmed her fingers as the smell of ink rose from the page. The flame flickered behind the paper as an image slowly emerged in the bottom corner.
She gasped.
Before her, a serpent’s body coiled around an oak leaf in elegant loops, its tongue flicking toward the leaf’s tip, as though whispering a warning. The pairing of the two images was striking: the oak leaf suggested honor; the serpent, cunning and deceit. Kate withdrew the paper from the candle’s flame and knelt on the bed. She traced the outline with her fingertip, the symbol unsettling her more than the words in the newspaper ever had.
In all the time she had spent decoding messages for Westmarch’s spies, Kate had never seen a series like the oak and serpent ones. The first message in the newspaper’s poetrysection, “The serpent waits beneath the oak’s proud shade,”had barely caught her notice. Then another had appeared. And another. Each one with the same language, each growing darker, more insistent than the last, until she could no longer dismiss them as coincidence. The latest one, “The oak’s shadow thins. The serpent will strike soon,”carried an unmistakable warning.
She had written to Westmarch after the third message appeared, taking pains to mention only that an unusual pattern of messages had surfaced among the newspaper’s poetry submissions. He had directed her to continue watching and report on future developments, but before she had anything more substantial to share, she had received a letter from him informing her that he would be absent from London for a time. He had not given her a way to reach him, and now she had no one she could trust with the truth.
If only she knew how to contact the Fox. He was one of Westmarch’s most active agents, judging by the volume of messages she had decoded for him over the years. But all of their correspondence passed through Westmarch, who was fiercely protective of her identity.
Kate studied the torn paper more carefully, this time concentrating on the jumble of letters and numbers. They were smudged, and she had to squint to see them clearly.
The numbers suggested a transposition, the sort of cipher that would yield only to patience and precision. Her mind immediately began sorting through the possibilities. Based on what she had overheard in the library, she was nearly certain that once decoded, this cipher would reveal the location of the meeting the men had spoken of.
The meeting that would take place tomorrow night.
It was hard to believe that the men in the library, this haunting symbol, and the trail of messages that had drawn her to London were all linked. Only the note in Hugh’s saddlebags had allowed her to see the connection.
The realization struck hard enough that the paper slipped onto her lap. Hugh was entangled in this, though she could not begin to guess how. She suspected he had no true understanding of what he had stumbled into, and he was in far more danger than he knew. She could not tell him the whole truth of things, but she needed to know what his part was in this affair.
Kate slipped off the bed, her feet protesting at the chilled floor as she walked to her writing desk. Carefully opening the drawer and removing the lining of the secret compartment, she placed the scrap of paper inside with all the others. She would have to finish decoding the meeting place later. After closing thedrawer, she pulled the bell for Tess. She needed to talk to her brother.
