Elizabeth Boyle (77 page)

Paris was no longer safe for any of them.

With Lucien warned, they’d left Alex’s and raced to Henri’s country estate where they’d skirted Fouché’s hired thugs, found the secluded hunting lodge, and gathered up Celeste and the Costards. They’d traveled nearly without pause toward the coast, stopping only to change the horses and grab quick meals. In the crowded carriage there had been little privacy, and when they did stop, Lily avoided him as best she could, staying close to Mme. Costard and Celeste.

Thusly, they arrived back in London a little past midnight, an astounding six days after the fateful explosion on the
Rue du Nicaise
.

He’d dropped her off at her aunt’s house well past midnight, and he’d told her he’d be by early the next morning to escort her to his father’s office for their report. Then Webb had left the report he’d drafted during their crossing on his father’s desk at the Foreign Office, knowing full well his father would find it bright and early in the morning, before their interview.

Eventually he’d sought his own bed and drifted in and out of a restless sleep.

Much to his surprise, the next morning when he called at Lady Dearsley’s house at quarter past nine, he found Lily waiting for him. He’d half expected her to have fled the city.

And him.

Now as they rode along in Webb’s carriage, Lily still avoided his glance and said almost nothing in response to his questions and inquiries.

“The Foreign Office is coming up,” he offered, hoping to extract some response from her.

She only nodded.

The carriage slowed in front of the expansive building near the Thames, the smell of the river filling the carriage with its rank odor. When it stopped, Webb got out and then helped Lily and Celeste down.

Lily had insisted that Celeste accompany them. For modesty’s sake, she’d claimed. But he had a feeling that it was because she didn’t want to be alone with him.

“I don’t know about you, but I find that smell offensive,” he commented. “I can’t wait until we are finished reporting to my father, and then we’ll be off on our honeymoon and out of this wretched city.”

“We aren’t married, Webb.”

He looked directly into her green eyes. What emotion was there, she quickly hid, glancing away and refusing to look him in the eye. “Perhaps not. I suppose I should thank you for not acknowledging our marriage. Then I’ll be able to find a bride who isn’t so obstinate and prone to telling lies.”

Celeste made a rude noise in the back of her throat, and Lily shot her maid an angry glance.

Webb didn’t have time to comment further, as his father’s secretary, Cecil, awaited them at the front entrance and ushered them through the warren of busy offices.

Calling Lily a liar had brought out the desired result. Her face now shone a rosy pink.

With Celeste settled on a bench outside the door to his father’s spacious den, Webb and Lily were announced.

“I have just finished reading your report, Webb,” Lord Dryden said, rising from his desk and inclining his head toward Lily. He waved his hand toward a chair for her.

Once she was seated, Webb and his father followed suit, taking their respective chairs.

His father, never one for formalities, launched into a series of questions he had regarding their work and observations. Webb answered most of the questions, but occasionally his father would direct an inquiry toward Lily, and she would give him a straightforward answer, sparing no more words than necessary.

Finally, their interview began to draw to a close. His father sat back in his chair, removed his glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

It struck Webb for the first time that his father was aging. The lines around his eyes seemed more pronounced and he had a tired air about him that was unusual for his always alert sire.

“I must apologize, Lily,” Lord Dryden said. “For sending you on this fool’s errand. I can only tell you that it was quite necessary to validate our information and assure everyone that Henri de Chevenoy did not keep a record of his activities.” He paused and glanced back down at the report before him. “Why if they had existed and any of that information got into the hands of the French, or even the Dutch or those pesky upstarts across the Atlantic, begging your pardon, why, I can’t think of how long it would take to repair the damage.”

Lily sat primly in her seat, her hands folded in her lap. “I am only glad that I was able to assist you in your time of need. You have been quite generous to my family, and I am pleased that I could, in my own small way, repay some of that debt.”

“Nonsense, my dear,” Lord Dryden said with a wave of his hand. “Your family’s service to this country has been a tremendous help to British interests and welfare. It is I who should be thanking you from the bottom of my heart and on behalf of the King.”

“Is that all?” she said, rising from her seat. “If it is all the same to you, I would like to return to my aunt’s house so I can make my arrangements to rejoin Sophia before her happy event.”

Lord Dryden nodded. “Yes, yes. Your sister and her delicate condition. I can understand your haste, but if you have just one moment further, I thought you might like to be here for a bit of news I have to impart to my son.”

Lily sat, this time on the edge of her seat, as if she were ready to leap for the door the moment she was released from this meeting.

“My dear boy,” his father began, “it is with great pride that I share with you this happy news. In light of your years of service to your King and country, His Majesty has decided to reward you with the title of Viscount Weston, along with all the lands and grants that this title holds.”

“But Weston Hall is …”

“Just south of Dryden Manor. Yes, I know. The old viscount died last year without an heir and it reverted back to the Crown. In light of your service, His Majesty decided to bestow it upon you, since your brother James will inherit my titles.”

“And it is all decided?” Webb wasn’t too sure he wanted the honor. He had thought to retire simply as Mr. Dryden, and fade from the limelight of society.

“Yes, it was decided just after you left. You are now Lord Weston. Congratulations.” He reached across the desk to shake Webb’s hand. “Now all you need is a Lady Weston to help you fill that nursery.” His father laughed, and then shot a pointed glance toward Lily.

Webb did his best to ignore him.

“What say you, Lily. My boy a viscount with a large house and ample lands. You’ll have to come see it for yourself.”

She smiled, though her lips barely moved. “I doubt that will be possible.” She turned to Webb. “Congratulations, my lord. I am sure you will fill the title quite admirably.” She rose again. “Now I really must be going. I promised my aunt I would breakfast with her, and she should be arising within the hour.”

“Not so fast, Lily,” his father said. “There is one more bit of news I wish to ask your opinion on.”

Webb watched her stop, her shoulders rising and falling as she took a deep breath.

“It is about Mr. Saint-Jean.” His father shuffled through the mountain of papers on his desk until he found a stack tied with a black ribbon. He sorted through these papers, setting aside several and then retying the stack.

“Adam?” she asked. “I planned on calling on him and his mother this afternoon before I leave for Bath. Is there something you wish for me to ask him?”

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, my dear,” Lord Dryden said, folding his hands. “Especially considering your
tendre
for him. But I doubt you will be calling on him this afternoon. Or any other afternoon for that matter.”

For the first time in days, Webb saw Lily finally react to something. She paled slightly, but for the most part held her composure.

A small part of him felt a pang of jealousy. She had said her engagement to Adam Saint-Jean was false, but was that another of her lies?

“Is Mr. Saint-Jean ill?” she asked, an almost frantic note to her voice.

“I don’t know how to say this or prepare you for it, but I suppose the truth is best just blurted out,” Lord Dryden said. “Mr. Saint-Jean was arrested for spying. Your man of business, and shall we say, former betrothed, is an American agent. Apparently he’s the head of a ring of spies that have infiltrated the Customs and Shipping Office. There are even rumors of contact within the Admiralty.” Lord Dryden shook his head at the sorry business.

“There must be some mistake,” she whispered.

“I am sincerely sorry, Lily, but Mr. Saint-Jean has been tried and convicted of treason. The man will be executed on the morrow.”

Lily sat perfectly still as she listened to Lord Dryden’s dire edict.

Adam arrested? Executed for treason?
She struggled to think of something more to say, of how to respond.

“I find it amazing how truly devious Mr. Saint-Jean was in his deception. He quite fooled all of us, including his mother,” Lord Dryden was saying.

“Mrs. Saint-Jean?”

“Yes.” Lord Dryden shuddered. “Though I respect in some part your loyalty to the Saint-Jeans, that woman is the worst sort of harridan. We finally placed her under house arrest, for her own well being, you understand.”

“They aren’t going to execute her?” Lily realized she had practically knotted the strings of her reticule. She smoothed them out and tried to settle her jangled nerves.

“Oh, heavens no,” Lord Dryden said. “It was obvious from the start we had our man when we caught Mr. Saint-Jean. His mother will merely be sent back to the Colonies as a warning that England will not tolerate such high-handed tactics.”

She could hardly tell Lord Dryden he’d captured the wrong man. That the man they sought was actually a woman.

The very woman seated before him.

Leave it to Adam to try to finish her work. Always the gallant, trying to protect her from the world.

Lily pulled her handkerchief out of her reticule and dabbed the lacy bit of linen at her tearless eyes.

She needed to come up with a plan. “Can I see him? Surely there is some mistake. Perhaps if I were to speak to him and …”

Lord Dryden shook his head emphatically. “I can’t see that there is anything you can do at this point, my dear.”

Mercy and Mary, how ever had this happened?
Well, with Adam anything was possible, she realized.

“You didn’t know about any of this, did you, Lily?” Webb asked.

She’d almost forgotten he was in the room—almost, that is. The suspicious tone in his voice carried a line of tension encircling her in its power.

All she could do was shake her head. He was so close to the truth, so close to discovering who she truly was.

Now you see why I can’t marry you?
she wanted to shout.
I’m an American spy. A traitor to your country.

A traitor to your heart. And mine.

Webb asked her another question, but she was so lost in her own scattered thoughts that she could only ask, “What did you say?”

Webb leaned forward. “Are you sure you didn’t know about Mr. Saint-Jean’s involvement with the American government?”

She shook her head. “Adam isn’t the head of any spy ring. I know this is all a mistake,” she said quite truthfully.

Why had she let Adam talk her into allowing him to travel with her? Though she’d needed a man to handle the transfers of gold and holdings in London, since it would have been frowned upon or outright forbidden for a woman to do it, she could have used one of the more experienced agents already stationed in London.

And now she’d let him talk himself right into a date with the hangman.

“Are you sure you never noticed anything unusual in Mr. Saint-Jean’s business or the people with whom he associated.”

Just me
, she thought to herself. Feeling the weight of their critical gazes on her, she tried hard to force a few tears from her eyes by stabbing her fingernails into the palms of her hands.

Giving up, she finally resorted to quiet sobbing.

“This is all so distressing,” she told them, biting her lip and bringing the handkerchief back up to her eyes.

“Yes, well, it is a sad bit of business. Not suitable for the gentle ears of our society. My apologies for bringing it up, my lady,” Lord Dryden said, reverting back to his usual gruff, formal manners. “But considering your former association with the man in question, I thought it best to inform you straight away.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Lily said. “I fear this news has left me quite fatigued.”

“Yes, it must have come as quite a shock,” Webb said. “Father, if you have nothing of immediate importance to discuss, I think I should escort Lily back to her aunt’s house. She appears quite distraught by all of this.”

He caught her by the elbow, not in the comforting touch of a concerned friend, but with the viselike grip of a man holding his anger barely in check.

While he all but dragged her from his father’s office, Lily’s mind whirled with explanations, denials, bluffs.

“What is this big hurry?” Celeste complained as she followed in their wake through the hallways of the Foreign Office.

“Adam was—” she started to say, but Webb gave her a rough shake.

“We will
not
discuss it here.”

She glanced back at Celeste, whose eyes were wide with alarm.

He knows? the question behind the woman’s upraised black eyebrows seemed to say.

Lily shook her head only slightly.
Not yet.

She heard Celeste’s breathy sigh and hoped the woman, for once, would not start telling their fortunes or predicting the dire consequences of the situation.

Lily could see the future quite clearly in the angry set of Webb’s mouth and the determined length of his stride.

And it didn’t look very promising.

They literally flew down the stairs to Webb’s awaiting carriage. He all but tossed her in, though he was a little more gracious with Celeste.

She heard him give the driver curt instructions to take them to Lady Dearsley’s town house, and before she could think of a way to escape, Webb bounded in and took the seat opposite her. The door was shut with a definite shudder, and the carriage was off and away.