Page 41

Chapter Eleven

Parkhill Hall-Edinburgh

Late afternoon

23 March 1721

The next day, his temper simmering and frustration boiling, Camden was shown into the green parlor once more. He’d noticed three trunks and a valise in the entryway, no doubt Bethea’s things.

He’d stopped at his lodgings long enough to pack his few belongings, which easily fit into a small valise. He never packed much when on a mission, for he needed to be able to move at a moment’s notice. His bag sat in the foyer beside Bethea’s.

Camden had also penned a letter to Bryston, asking him to investigate a growing suspicion. One that infuriated and worried him. If Camden was correct, about Makepeace’s treachery, His Majesty King George I should be informed at once. The unsealed missive lay tucked inside his coat pocket to give to Keane.

Keane had returned to the house yesterday afternoon. Immediately upon discovering someone had tipped Montieth off, and the traitor had fled the city sometime in the early morning hours.

Camden only needed one guess to know who’d prospered most from the situation.

They’d been idiots to ever use the mercenaries, but Sir Walter had insisted. Which, in truth, was a departure from his tendency to reject anything and anyone who wasn’t strictly appropriate. Highly suspicious and worth investigating.

Camden had spent the last four-and-twenty hours scouring every place Montieth might’ve scuttled to hide, to no avail. Infuriated, or so he’d acted, Sir Walter had returned to London with instructions for Camden to lay low and await word from him.

Marjorie bustled in, carrying a full tray herself, rather than having a servant do so. “You must be starving, Camden. Sit down and eat. I doubt you’ve had a bite since yesterday.”

It was true. He’d gulped down a bowl of porridge and a piece of black bread at The Boar and Brew Inn yesterday morning.

Bethea had only nibbled an oatcake and sipped tea.

He regretted having to bundle her back into a coach for a longer journey today, but if the tracks weren’t overly muddy, they’d only have to stay one night at an inn. Under false identities, naturally.

It made him nervous as hell that Montieth was on the loose and likely knew Bethea had revealed everything she’d heard about him. It came as no surprise that the compartment in the earl’s study was as empty as a beggar’s purse.

What he wouldn’t give to know what the contents had been.

“How is Bethea?” he asked, sinking into a chair and gratefully accepting the plate of food Marjorie shoved toward him.

Repeatedly, the past few hours, his mind had returned to Bethea. It was a distraction an agent of the Crown couldn’t afford, which was why so few were married. Already, he pondered if he would continue as an operative. Quelling another rising had been his primary concern, and now that goal had been achieved.

His empty stomach growled loudly, and Marjorie arched a sardonic brow. “Eat. She’ll be down shortly.” Her expression softened. “And she’s fine, Camden. Bethea’s no wilting flower. She a strong woman.”

Aye, he’d seen her strength. Her intelligence and calm reasoning, too.

Not many women would’ve endured what she had and not dissolved into tears or histrionics. Throughout her ordeal, she’d shown courage and temperance that he couldn’t help but admire.

It was when a person was under the most stress their true character emerged, and what he’d discovered about Bethea impressed him all the more. She was a woman a man would be proud and privileged to call his wife.

And she was his wife.

A stroke of luck or fate?

He’d just set his fork aside when Bethea entered, wearing a dark green traveling costume and carrying a heavy velvet cloak. “I’m ready to depart whenever ye are,” she said, drawing on a black kid glove. A slight crease between her eyebrows, she roved her gaze over him. “Ye look exhausted.”

Camden shrugged as he cut a piece of sirloin. “’Tis no’ the first time I’ve gone without sleep.”

From the fine lines bracketing her mouth, Camden would wager Keane had told her about Montieth’s escape. She needed to know. It was her right.

There was no reason to suppose Montieth would exact revenge on her, and yet, Camden couldn’t dispel his unease. From what Etherington had revealed, as well as Camden’s observations, the earl’s obsession with Bethea bordered on unhinged.

Keane strode into the salon at that precise moment and offered an austere upward sweep of his mouth.