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“I am.” An unquenchable fire burned within him. “The opportunity to bring an end to King James, his government, and all those who support their evil works is worth the risk.”

A satisfied smirk appeared on Catsby’s face. “Cecil will be left fumbling in the dark for clues.”

“In the dark and in the rubble,” Guy said. “There will be little left when our work is complete.”

“And the traitor?” Wintour asked. “You would go forward knowing he might warn another?”

“He must be stopped. There can be no reservation about that.” Catsby rubbed his bearded chin. “You truly believe it is Tresham?”

“I have thought on little else since Ward gave me the news,” Wintour said. “My earlier arguments aside, Tresham is in London, whereas most of our men remain in the country.”

“And those who are in the city?” Catsby asked.

“Can all be accounted for last night,” Wintour supplied.

With a muttered oath, Catsby came to his feet. “If Tresham has double-crossed me, he shall pay for it with his life.”

A flicker of excitement warmed Guy’s hardened heart. Action. At last. First, with Tresham, and then with the king. “When and where?” he asked.

Catsby squared his shoulders. “Two o’clock in the afternoon, three days hence, in the Royal Forest of Epping Chase,” he said. “I shall send word to Tresham to meet me at Barnet. We shall enter the forest from there. Fawkes, I would have you join us. What shall begin as a pleasant walk amongst the trees shall become a private inquisition. If he answers false, we shall know it, and he shall lose all.”

“Very well.” Guy stood. “Until then, Catsby.” Turning to Wintour, he touched the brim of his hat. “I would have you inform me directly if you hear anything more regarding Cecil’s response to Monteagle’s note, Wintour.”

Wintour’s expression was grim, but he inclined his head in agreement. “As you wish.”

It was obvious that Catsby wished for answers and revenge. Wintour may be troubled by what had transpired, but he would not abandon their cause. Satisfied that he need say or do no more at this meeting, Guy made for the door. He had an undercroft to watch.

Chapter 17

Outside the Maidstones’ townhouse, a distant church bell rang to mark the two o’clock hour. It was time. Isla smoothed a minute wrinkle off her gown. Her nervousness was ridiculous. She had ridden with Simon almost every morning for weeks at Copfield Hall. But no matter how often she repeated that thought, her heart refused to listen. For some reason, riding with Simon through London this afternoon felt different. The most logical explanation to her inner turmoil was that seventeenth-century protocols were finally rubbing off on her. To be seen accompanying a gentleman in the city was a big deal. Then again, it could also be that Simon had held her hand at least half the way home the evening before and had seemed as reluctant as she had been to part when the carriage journey had ended.

She reached for the cloak Martha had loaned her and set it around her shoulders. Her fingers fumbled with the clasp, and she groaned. She needed to get a grip on her emotions. Simon was becoming far too adept at reading them. This outing was merely an educational trip to see sites of historic significance—nothing more. That must be her focus. Not the gentleman riding at her side.

She took one last look in the mirror hanging on the wall of her bedchamber. The cloak covered most of her pale-blue gown, which was probably a good thing since she had dispensed with the all-important farthingale for the ride. As far as she was concerned, horses and farthingales did not belong together. If she and Simon happened to pass any of his acquaintances, she would have to hope that none would notice that she was missing such a vital part of a Jacobean lady’s wardrobe.

Slipping out of the bedchamber, she hurried to the top of the stairs. Male voices reached her from below, and despite her best efforts to remain calm, her pulse tripped. Simon was here. She started down and had almost reached the narrow entry when the servant who must have answered the door to Simon stepped aside, and Simon looked up to see her there. The worry on his face dissolved, and he smiled. Isla’s heart responded immediately. What on earth was wrong with her? Just because he looked dashingly handsome, it didn’t mean she had to become completely unglued. She tightened her grip on the banister.

“Good afternoon, Simon,” she said.

“Good afternoon.” He stepped closer. “I am glad to see you. Grantham was just telling me that Maidstone and Martha are away. He was unclear about your whereabouts.”

“Lord Maidstone had business to attend to,” she said. “And Martha had an appointment with her haberdasher.”

“I see.” He ran his hand across the back of his neck, and Isla received the distinct impression that something was not quite right.

“Did you need to speak to one of them?”

“No, not at all.” He smiled again, but it did not quite reach his eyes. “Are you ready for our outing?”

“I am. Were you able to find a docile mount for me?”

“So docile, she barely puts one hoof before another.” He offered her his arm. “Come. My manservant, Anson, is waiting outside with all three horses.”

A servant and an extra horse. It was a timely reminder that they would be chaperoned on this trip. Isla wasn’t sure how closely Simon’s servant would follow them, but if they were to have a private conversation, now might be their best opportunity.

She placed her hand on his arm, but instead of moving toward the door, she looked up at him. “Is something wrong?”

“Why would you ask that?” His voice hinted at surprise, but his troubled eyes confirmed her suspicions.