Page 69

“It’s still raining.” He hung up his coat and hat, ignoring the drips of water falling from them. A puddle had already collected under the umbrella leaning beside the door. With a gusty sigh, he pulled off his boots, stained dark from the rain, and trudged up the stairs. Angelique hurried ahead of him to stir the fire in his room. The whole day had been dark and chilly. Within minutes it was blazing, and Nate gratefully held out his hands to it.

“Did you have any trouble?” she asked.

Nate shook his head, sending droplets of water flying from his hair. “None. I collected a large trunk full of personal effects, and some diaries and a ledger—there—that will hopefully prove illuminating.”

She looked around, spotting a flat bundle wrapped in oilskin on the table. “Have you looked at them yet?”

“Briefly. Our Mr. Dixon thinks very highly of himself, judging from what I read so far. He was clever enough to secrete the jewels somewhere outside his hotel, though, and not write the whereabouts in his journal.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “I don’t suppose Wallace had anything helpful to say?”

She came to stand beside him, even though the fire was too hot. After a day alone with her thoughts, she craved his presence. As if he knew all that, Nate turned his back to the hearth and drew her into his arms, sheltering her from the heat. He laid his cheek against her temple, his skin cool and clammy against hers.

“Not much,” she replied to his question, leaning into him. Angelique had never wanted a man’s presence so physically before. Just being in Nate’s embrace eased some of her worries and fears, and made her feel stronger and steadier. Nothing had changed except her, she realized. Always before she had worked essentially alone, even with other people around her. She had been the leader, responsible for the safety of others and she had acted with commensurate reserve and cold-eyed calculation. With Nate, it was different. She wasn’t alone, and they were very much equals.

“Ian says someone is driving Stafford to finish this,” she went on, “someone highly placed, although he could not learn who. Stafford is sufficiently moved by this person’s concerns that he sent Ian to speed me along, though he would not tell Ian any details of what is to be done.”

“That’s not terribly reassuring.” Nate’s voice was muffled against her hair.

“It is bad,” she agreed. “But still does not answer the vital question.”

He was stroking her back, drawing soothing circles right over that tight, anxious spot between her shoulders. “It may be impossible to know for certain,” he said, echoing what she’d said the other night.

“I am believing in damning circumstances more and more,” she replied.

“If any circumstances deserved to be damned, it would be these.”

She sighed and closed her eyes. She could feel the damp of his clothing soaking into hers, a creeping, insidious chill. He should get out of those wet clothes at once. “Ian asked what I will do if Dixon’s story is a lie.”

For a moment Nate didn’t respond. “I suppose that’s what he believes.”

“I do not know,” she said. “But it is a valid question.”

“Of course it is.” He released her and turned back to the fire. Without his body pressed to hers, Angelique felt abruptly cold and wet. “And it neatly avoids facing the question of Stafford, which must be uncomfortable for both of you.”

“If Dixon is lying, it does not matter why Stafford acted as he did.”

“Yes, because then I’d be the only one disappointed.” Nate stripped off his jacket and dropped it on the hearth with a wet plop. “I have no doubt Wallace would prefer that outcome above all others.”

“You are wrong about Ian.”

He gave her a wry look. “Of course I am. He believes I’m in good faith. That’s why he won’t say a damned word in front of me and looks as though he’d like to pummel my face.”

Angelique’s temper, already strained by the secrecy and unease that had weighed on her for several days, began to fray. “You put a knife to his neck.”

“I put a knife to his neck because he was hiding in your room and drew a blade on you.” He was fumbling at the buttons of his waistcoat, his fingers stiff and clumsy, probably from the cold.

“I can take care of myself,” she said evenly. “I am not your property to defend.”

A dull flush rose in his face. “Then there was no cause for concern, when one of Stafford’s men showed up unexpectedly, alarming even you, and snuck into your room to lie in wait for you.”

He was right, of course, but somehow she seemed unable to calm down and admit it. “There was no danger from Ian,” she said before she could stop herself.

Nate cursed under his breath and ripped the waistcoat open, sending a pair of buttons bouncing along the floor. He peeled off the garment and tossed it aside, and Angelique saw that he was soaked right down to his skin; the white linen of his shirt clung to his arms and chest. “Forgive me if I don’t share your trust in him.” He dropped into the chair facing the fire and sighed, running one hand over his face. “I spent the day worrying that you wouldn’t be here when I got home.”

She jerked. “Why?”

He threw out his hands. “Because Wallace was here, most likely doing his best to persuade you not to trust me, perhaps with some new directive from Stafford—and you clearly value Wallace’s opinion and trust him a great deal⁠—”

“So you thought I would just leave?”