Suzanne Robinson (28 page)

“Why put his buttons in a place of such concealment?” she asked.

Derry shook his head. He sank to his knees and emptied the contents of the box on the floor. Oriel knelt beside him and helped sort the buttons. There were some of silk, others of velvet, and still others of pearl and gold. There were a few aglets and gold clasps for doublets and cloaks, and five ornate gold buttons larger than all the rest. They were so large they were almost brooches. Of red gold, their bases were octagonal and supported intricately filigreed gold tops in the form of curling serpents.

She picked up one of these. It was heavy and the top seemed to be loose. Twisting the top, she found that it slid back to reveal a hollow. Derry dropped the pearl he’d been inspecting as a tightly rolled piece of paper fell from the button.

They stared at it in silence as she picked it up and unrolled it. At the top was a drawing of a griffin. There was writing on the paper, but it was gibberish.

“I know Latin, Greek, French, and Italian, and this is none of them,” she said.

“It’s a cipher, mistress.”

She glanced up at him to find he was staring at her with eyes of brilliant gentian blue. “Can you read it?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Such work needs an artist in the craft.”

He began to open the other octagonal buttons. Each held a roll of paper similar to the first.

“Each bears a drawing at the top,” Oriel said. “These are mythical creatures used in armorial bearings. Look, a unicorn, and a griffin, but what may this be?”

She pointed to a black, leopardlike creature.

“That is an ounce, according to heraldry,” Derry said, “and this is the wyvern—a two-legged, winged dragon—and this merman blowing a shell trumpet is called a triton.”

“A unicorn, a griffin, an ounce, a wyvern, and a triton,” she said. “Think you these symbolize the persons for whom the messages are intended?”

“You would make a good intelligencer, mistress. The difficulty lies in the identity of each. The meaning behind the symbol will not be one easily surmised by anyone.”

Oriel began rolling up the papers and restoring them to their compartments in the gold buttons. “I must take these when I go to London.”

“God’s breath, mistress, you can’t go.”

“Why not?”

“I will take the ciphers to London.”

Spilling the buttons back into their container, she said, “And me as well.”

“I cannot. You’re a lady, and I can’t endanger you.”

“Then I’ll go myself.”

“No, mistress, I shall tell your Aunt Livia to keep you here.”

She clutched the box in her lap and gave him an unsmiling stare. “Then I shall tell my cousin George everything, and you’ll have the entire family at your heels, including my dragon aunts.”

“I think I need a physic,” Derry said on a groan.

“Content you, my lord. All I wish to do is seek out my cousin. No doubt by the time we reach the city he’ll be captured. I would plead with the queen for leniency so that he is put to death mercifully. What ails you, my lord?”

Derry had helped her rise and had lowered his bright gaze to the floor. He sighed and looked at her.

“Lady, I fear you don’t know Fitzstephen’s reputation. If your cousin resists, he’s not likely to live through a minute’s swordplay with him. That’s why he’s called Blade.”

“Then I will bring the body home.” She headed out of the room, but hesitated as she passed Derry. “I have a duty to my family, such as they are, and to Uncle Thomas, who gave his life protecting his secrets.”

A little over a week later Oriel was in London. With Derry’s help, she had stolen away from Richmond Hall before dawn the morning after Leslie had tried to kill her and she had learned the truth about Blade. On the journey, to her relief, she discovered she wasn’t with child. To carry one without Blade at her side was something she could not imagine.

Once in London, she insisted that they ride immediately to Blade’s town house near the Strand, taking an escort of Derry’s liveried men with them. The thought of seeing Blade again made Oriel’s stomach curdle, but she’d be damned if she would allow him to think her so destroyed by his charms that she couldn’t face him.

Blade wasn’t at home. The steward, intimidated by Derry’s aristocratic bearing and his claim of an invitation from Blade, allowed them inside. The man reported that his master was indeed in the city, but he knew not where. Blade had sent for clothing through his man René, but hadn’t appeared himself. Establishing Oriel in a guest chamber, Derry sent messages by several of his own men and retired to bathe and change his clothing.
She was downstairs in a small dining chamber, picking at an assortment of dried fish and breads and staring at the button box, when Derry joined her.

“I’ve sent men to William Cecil’s house and to several ordinaries and taverns,” he said. “We should find him quickly.”

She shoved her plate away, left the table, and dropped into a chair where she wouldn’t smell the fish. Rubbing her fingers over the smooth wood of the box in her hands, she pursed her lips.

“He hurt you badly,” Derry said.

“What folly.”

“God’s breath, Oriel, you’re turning into a shade. You’re shrinking before my eyes, and your hands are shaking.”

She looked at her hands, then hid them under her skirt.

“Come,” he said. “We’ve grown to be friends. You even remember my name now. I beseech you to allow me to give comfort.”

“There’s nothing you can say that will comfort me. He cozened me, and I was a lackwitted arse, and I hate him, and I wish I could wipe his memory from my mind. If I thought it would help, I’d blind myself so that I wouldn’t have to see him again. But then, I would also have to make myself deaf, for even now I still hear his voice, his sparkling, brilliant voice. Oh, God. Look what you’ve done.” She dashed a tear from her cheek and squeezed her eyes shut to stop others from falling.

They were quiet for a while. She stared at her box, while he rested his hip on the dining table and poked holes in a fish with an eating knife.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“What?”

“This man who cares so little for you that he spurns you callously … this same man sent me to protect you from harm. He risked his life to save you when he could have done nothing. He knew Jack Midnight
wouldn’t harm him, yet he fought those thieves to save you.”

“Out of duty, no doubt.”

“All I know is that the last time I saw him, he looked at me with the same torment in his eyes that I see in yours, and I cannot believe that anguish was on account of Leslie Richmond.”

“You make no sense,” she said. “You’re trying to say that he—he loves me. Why then, my lord, would he hurt me so grievously?”

Derry stuck his knife in the roasted fish. “I know not. I know only that he was in hell. If you care to, you could discover for yourself why he would cast you aside when it so obviously cost him his very soul.”

“What is this talk of souls?”

Oriel jumped, and the button box fell to the floor. Derry turned and smiled at Blade.

“Well met, Fitzstephen. We’ve brought you a present.”

She bent to retrieve the box, thus giving herself a few moments to recover from the way her heart froze in her breast at his sudden appearance. He walked into the chamber, his eyes a flat metal grey.

“Give me a reason not to kill you for bringing her near to danger,” Blade said to Derry.

“She threatened to bring her whole family down on us, including those aunts.”

He turned to her, and she took refuge in her chair again.

“Why?” he asked.

She worked her mouth, but no sound came out. Instead, she shoved the box at him. He opened it and inspected the buttons, then lifted a questioning gaze to her. She took one of the buttons and opened it to reveal the cipher. In silence he picked up the roll of paper and examined it.

“Another puzzle of your uncle’s?”

“They’re Leslie’s,” she said.

“I have a clerk who can decipher these.”

He replaced the paper and held the button out to her.

She plucked it from his hand, taking care not to touch him. “I—I wish to be there when Leslie is taken.”

“That is not possible,” he said.

Derry shrugged. “I told you.”

Unsmiling, she went on. “He’s my cousin.”

“He’s a murdering traitor,” Blade said, “and I’ll not have you near him.”

He turned his back on her to address Derry, and she felt her face redden.

“The bastard is hiding in his town house. He’s—”

“Leslie doesn’t have a town house,” she said.

He didn’t look at her.

“He’s in a town house nearby,” he said. “He’s been there for days, and hasn’t stirred except to go to a tavern and gamble. He’s waiting for someone, and it’s not the French ambassador, or he would have seen him by now. I’m waiting to see who he gives Percy’s deathbed confession to, and then I’ll take him.”

Derry rubbed his chin and asked, “There’s danger in waiting.”

“Richmond’s a tool,” Blade said. “I must find out who the wielder of that tool is. And now you will take Mistress Oriel to the house of her cousin George.”

She was tired of being ignored. Scowling she marched around Blade to stand beside Derry.

“I’ll not be sent away like a troublesome child. I’ve had a hand in solving this mystery, I’ll see it through to its conclusion.”

“You will not,” Blade said.

“I will.”

“Will not.”

Derry’s chuckle interrupted this exchange. “By my faith, I’ve never seen two such quarrelsome lovers.”

Gasping, she rounded on him. “We’re not lovers.”

Derry lifted both brows and glanced from her to
Blade, She noticed that Blade had said nothing and looked at him as well. What little color he’d had in his face drained from it.

Oriel took a step toward him and reached out to touch his arm. “Blade?”

He glanced down at her hand and then met her gaze with one that held the iciness of a sword encased in snow.
“Dieu
, seldom have I met so unrelenting and importunate a mistress. Will you make me repeat my wish to be quit of our dealings together in the presence of Lord Derry?”

She removed her hand. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, and she closed them. She felt him leave her and heard a barely whispered curse. Something in that one word caused her eyes to fly open. He was leaving the room, walking away from her with that careless yet graceful walk.

“Why, you foul, dissembling, imperious liar,” she said.

He would hang Derry by his toes for bringing her to London. He stopped in midstride as Oriel spoke.

“Vile dissembler,” she said as she rounded the dining table. “You lied.”

“Marry, lady, I’m a spy. Lies are my currency.”

She fixed him with a challenging stare. He looked down at her, frowning. Her defiance invited a contest for mastery, a contest in which he had no intention of indulging.

“You said you didn’t love me,” she went on, “that your wooing was but a pretense, a disguising by which you gained residence at the Hall.”

“I did.”

“Very well,” she said as she paused and folded her arms over her chest. “Say it again.”

“I know not what you mean.”

“Repeat your avowal that you but cozened me and don’t love me.”

“It is as you say.”

“Repeat the words, my lord.”

He opened his mouth, and nothing issued forth. A coldness invaded his arms and legs as he watched her eyes grow larger and her whole face soften. If he couldn’t summon his wits, she would undo him simply by looking at him.

“I—I came to Richmond Hall to—to—
Sacré Dieu C’est impossible.”

Fortunately the door opened at that moment and René entered.

“Mon seigneur
, a party of French arrived, but Richmond has gone to a tavern. Quickly, my lord.”

“Thank God,” he said and turned to Derry. “Come. You may explain yourself as we ride. René, guard my lady.”