The de Valery Code (20 page)

“But there aren’t any numbers in the book,” she said.

“No, there aren’t.” Mr. Bowen rubbed his hand over his eyes and flinched as his fingers brushed his temple.

“I am quite famished for luncheon,” Nash declared. “Let us take a break and perhaps we’ll come up with something. Mr. Bowen, might I have a word?”

He hadn’t said so, but the question implied he wanted to speak with Mr. Bowen privately. Margery glanced at Mr. Bowen, but his answering look was one of curiosity, as if he didn’t know why the baron wished to speak with him.

“Certainly.” Mr. Bowen stood as Margery got to her feet.

She picked up her book—if they’d hoped to look at it with the numbers without her, they were to be disappointed. Now more than ever, she wasn’t letting the text out of her sight. “I’ll see you shortly for lunch.”

As she left the library, she wondered if the men were colluding to exclude her from the treasure. But why would they do that? Mr. Bowen had already stated his intention to work with her to find it, even after
she’d
tried to exclude him.

Stop being so suspicious. You can work with Mr. Bowen without encouraging something more . . .
intimate.

The problem was that while she could, she was afraid she wouldn’t. The more time she spent with him, the more she enjoyed his intelligence, his wit, his touch. And right now, that seemed far more threatening to her than anything this mysterious Order could do.

After the door closed behind Miss Derrington’s delectable backside, Lord Nash drew Rhys from thinking about her finer attributes—something he really ought to stop doing without assistance.

“I didn’t want to discuss this in front of Miss Derrington, but I think you should leave as soon as possible. These people know you have the cipher glass and the books. I fear they’ll come here, and I’m not . . . prepared to fight them.” Lord Nash’s eyes drooped. “I wish I were younger.”

Rhys clapped the baron on his shoulder in an effort to convey his sympathy. “It’s all right. I understand your position. We’ll leave for Caerwent at once.” He fetched Nash’s cane, which rested against one of the bookshelves and held it out for the man.

Nash put a hand on the cane and held his other out for Rhys to help him up. “Miss Derrington seemed reluctant to talk to Septon.”

Yes, she’d stated such on multiple occasions now. Was there another reason behind her hesitation, or was it simply Septon’s presence at Stratton’s party? He thought it was probably just the latter, but she’d already demonstrated her ability to deceive. He’d do well to remember that.

“We can leave immediately after luncheon.” Rhys eyed the baron, who now leaned on his cane. Would he let them take his book? Though they’d already extracted the numbers from it, Rhys couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t need it again. “Would you allow us to borrow your manuscript?”

Nash surprised him by nodding vigorously. “I think you must. I’d like to have it back when you’re finished, of course. I’d also like to ensure Stratton never learns he had a fake. Things could become . . . difficult for my daughter if that were known.” Nash’s eyes clouded, and his expression was pained.

Rhys understood and felt a surge of compassion for the man. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t. I do think it’s best if the book came with us. That way if these men come calling, you can simply tell them you don’t have any of the items they want—assuming they even want the books. The man today only wanted the glass.” Rhys had put up quite a fight, so perhaps the brigand had decided having the glass was enough. Without it, the code couldn’t be deciphered. “I would love to know why they’re so opposed to anyone solving the code.”

“Yes. Hopefully Septon will have information for you,” Nash said. He stroked his chin. “One other thing . . . I’m not sure how to say this. Traveling with Miss Derrington as you are isn’t terribly appropriate. Rest assured that I will keep your visit secret—for a variety of reasons, not the least of which will be to protect her reputation. However, the longer you travel alone together, the more you risk scandal. Please don’t take my comments poorly. I’m a father, after all, and seeing as Miss Derrington hasn’t one . . .”

Yes, she was an orphan. Not completely alone, since her aunts had raised her, but she had no male figure in her life. She’d given Rhys just the cursory overview of her parents’ death and going to live with her aunts. He sensed a lingering sadness, but perhaps he was seeing his own grief in her. He’d taken the loss of his father hard and didn’t think he’d ever completely recover. For as long as he could remember, it had been just the two of them, and despite his father’s high expectations, he couldn’t imagine a better mentor or friend.

Rhys had thought about this, but unless they hired another chaperone, there was nothing to be done. He didn’t want to do that, not when the Order—if that’s in fact who they were—was following them. Instead, they’d go with the other method they’d already employed. “We’ll be traveling as husband and wife.”
And hope they didn’t run into anyone who would recognize her.
He’d deal with explaining their situation to Septon if the time came.

Nash peered up at him. “Have you considered actually taking her as a wife? She’s quite lovely and in possession of a fine wit. I have always preferred a woman with mental acuity. My wife was the smartest person I knew.” He smiled fondly.

Make Miss Derrington his wife? He did find her brain attractive, along with nearly everything else about her, save her untrustworthiness. He couldn’t marry someone who would lie to him. “I don’t know that Miss Derrington and I would suit.”

Nash’s smile turned discerning. “You might be surprised. Perhaps things will come to light on your travels.” He shook his head and glanced at the carpet. “But listen to me, prattling like an old romantic fool. I’ll instruct Godfrey that you’ll be leaving after luncheon.” He turned and ambled to the door.

Rhys watched him go, bemused by the man’s observations. Yes, there was
something
between him and Miss Derrington, but not enough to build a marriage on. It was, however, enough to tempt him during their journey south, and he’d need to be on his guard to keep her at arm’s length.

He slipped the glass into his coat pocket and scooped up the list of numbers, folded it inside another piece of parchment, and tucked it inside the cover of Nash’s book. He was still eager to seek the treasure, but his enthusiasm was tempered by the Order’s pursuit. He would have to be vigilant.

Why was the Order so committed to preventing the code from being deciphered—assuming that was their goal? The logical answer was that the treasure was exceptionally valuable. Did they know its location? Were they trying to protect it from being discovered or did they want it for themselves? Hopefully Septon would have answers. In the meantime, Rhys would focus on keeping the books and the glass—and most importantly, Miss Derrington—safe.

As the carriage drove away from Westerly Cross, Margery thought about the numbers and how they could possibly relate to her book, which she figured had to contain the coded message. It made sense, given Nash’s book had yielded the numbers.
 

Thinking about the code solved multiple problems: it took her mind off her attraction to Mr. Bowen and it would hopefully help her solve the code before they arrived in Caerwent and shared the lot of their findings with Septon. Margery barely trusted Mr. Bowen, and with the repeated attempts to steal the book, she didn’t dare trust anyone else.

She looked askance at Mr. Bowen seated opposite her in his coach. “If we solve the code before we get to Caerwent, do you agree that we needn’t share any of this with Lord Septon?”

Mr. Bowen’s dark eyes found hers in the dim light of the coach. “I do. In my letter to him, I only said I wanted to discuss some research.”

He
had
sent a letter. She’d assumed as much and was glad to hear he’d been vague. She’d done the same with her aunts. Before leaving Westerly Cross, she’d posted a letter notifying them she was on her way to Caerwent and that she would hopefully be home soon.

The longer she was away, the more uncomfortable she felt. Not because of her reputation, but because she worried about her aunts. She was especially anxious to hear if Aunt Eugenie had recovered from her cold. She was not, however, eager to hear Aunt Eugenie’s reaction to her unplanned jaunt across western England with a man who was neither her husband nor her relation. At least Aunt Agnes wouldn’t disapprove.

“When we get to Shrewsbury, I’ll hire a pair of men to ride with us as protection.”

“Thank you,” she said. “We still have Lady Stratton’s pistols, as well. I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about forcing me to act as your wife?”

His answering exhalation was full of resignation. “I’m not ‘forcing’ you. It’s the only way to protect both your reputation and your person. I can’t allow you to sleep in a separate room.”

“I understand.” Begrudgingly, she did. “However, if you hire someone, can’t they guard my room? And before you say I still have to act as your wife as a means to avoid scandal, can’t we say I’m your sister?”

His brows dipped so hard, she thought they might crash into his eyes. “No one would believe that,” he muttered. He looked out the window. “It’s only for two nights. Shrewsbury, Ludlow, then we’ll be at my home, and you can have your own room.”

“We’re staying at your house?” She’d been so focused on not thinking about Mr. Bowen and spending time with him that she hadn’t considered their route past Shrewsbury.

“It makes sense. Ludlow’s too far from Caerwent to make the journey in one day, so we’ll stop over at Hollyhaven.”

Yes, it made sense. And now she need only spend two nights sharing a room—and a bed—with him. What about when they traveled to Caerwent? Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. She planned to decipher the code before they reached his house. They’d still have to travel together—just to a different destination. Assuming the code pointed them to a destination. What if it went nowhere? Or it was unsolvable? She refused to think like that. She hadn’t come all this way and put herself at risk for nothing.

She set her hand atop her book, nestled beside her on the seat. Mr. Bowen kept Lord Nash’s book in similar close fashion and the cipher glass hidden deep in his pocket. “I’ll go along with your scheme, but only because sharing a room will allow us more time to work on deciphering the code together.”

He inclined his head, an impassive expression flattening his features. “My plan has many benefits. You should realize I always think everything through.”

She nearly smiled. It had been awhile since he’d displayed his characteristic conceit, and, strangely, she’d missed it.

Now she was appreciating things about him that she shouldn’t even
like
? The sooner they solved this code and found the treasure, the sooner she could get back to her life and he could go back to his.

Chapter Twelve

Rhys didn’t know what was more frustrating: their inability to make progress in solving the code or spending so much time in such close proximity to a woman he desired and who clearly didn’t desire him in return. Thank God they’d arrived at Hollyhaven.

Thomas greeted them at the door. “Good afternoon, sir, miss.” He inclined his head toward Miss Derrington. “I’ve prepared the garden room for you. It’s situated in the northeast corner and offers an exceptional view of the garden. Hence, its name.”

“Naturally.” A smile teased her lips, drawing Rhys’s attention to them, as if he needed a reminder of their lush softness. He’d relived their kisses a thousand times over the past two days and nights as they’d struggled to endure each other’s company. Or maybe that was just how he saw it. Spending time with her, exchanging information as they studied the texts,
sleeping
beside her . . . It was more than enough vexation to send a man to Bedlam.

As they moved into the foyer, running footsteps tapped against the wood floor. Penn, approaching from the back of the house, came to a sudden halt just inside. “You’re back,” he said, his voice heavy with exertion—and maybe something else. Maybe something like . . . relief.

Rhys went to him and touched him on the head. “I’m back.” Penn’s eyes darted toward Miss Derrington. “This is my friend and colleague, Miss Derrington.” Colleague was perhaps stretching things, but how else was he to describe her? The object of his unrequited lust? Blast, as she’d once asserted, he
was
beastly. He cleared his throat. “Miss Derrington, this is Penn. He’s my . . . foster son.”