You Only Love Once (26 page)

“Not think—fear.” She could only stare at him. Nate sat up and took her hand, a faint frown touching his brow as he examined her fingers. “I know you trust Ian—enough that he might persuade you to take Dixon to Stafford, or just to leave and disappear. And the hell of it is…I would rather you just disappeared, than have to see you endangered by anything you've done to help me, or done at my suggestion. I would rather lose you, and know you were safe, than see that Dixon—or Selwyn or Stafford, for that matter—reaps his just reward. Even if I would be lost without you.”

“Do you know,” she said in a low, halting voice, “that before I agreed to this job, I had planned to quit. I am not so young, and I thought to retire before any chance of a quiet, happy life was gone for me. I thought I would have to persuade Ian to marry me, for no one else, I believed, would be able to overlook what I am and what I have done.”

“You want to marry
Wallace
?”

“Because he knows the worst about me.” She paused, smoothing her fingertip over his horrified expression. “Not because he loves me—for he does not—or because I love him—for I do not. Because I never thought another man would be able to know and still want me.” She looked at him in wonder. “I still do not see how you can accept that I have been an assassin and a spy.”

“It just is,” he simply said.

Her smile was a little sad. “It is not easy, or wise,
for someone in my position to fall in love. I have never told anyone but Mellie, truthfully, that I loved them. Except you.”

He lifted her chin and kissed her. She was lost, turning and reaching for him until they were caught tight in each other's embrace. “I will never leave you,” she whispered.

Nate smiled. “I will never doubt you again.”

Angelique laughed. “Doubt, I can live with.”

“No. It would strangle both of us. I make you two promises. First and foremost, that I shall never doubt you, nor give you reason to doubt me.”

“You have not,” she said softly. “Even when you must have doubted every word I said.”

“We're done with that now.” He kissed her again. “My second promise is to get you safely out of England, no matter what.”

“You cannot promise that—it is not in your control—”

His embrace tightened. “No matter what,” he repeated firmly. “Whatever I have to do.”

 

St. Margaret's church was warm and quiet after the chilly rain of the previous day. Pale morning sunlight filtered through the tall stained glass windows onto the polished floor. A couple dressed in deep mourning sat in the back, heads bowed in silence. From time to time the lady would press her hands beneath her veil, covering her eyes as she broke down in a fit of quiet weeping. Her companion patted her arm when she did so. They had come in early that morning, murmuring to the rector about a suddenly deceased father—carried off in the middle of dinner, right before their eyes—and
the rector nodded in consolation and left them to their prayers.

After an hour or so, another man slipped into the church. He saw the couple at once and approached with respectful gravity, touching the woman's shoulder lightly. “I am deeply grieved to hear of your loss,” he said softly.

She made a sound like a strangled sob, and got to her feet to clasp his hands. “Thank you,” she said with a slight hiccup in her voice. “He was such a good man—”

The newcomer nodded. “I know. He will be missed.” He reached into his pocket, searching, then offered his handkerchief. She took it and reached under her veil to dab her eyes. “If there is anything else I can do for you, for any of your family, you have only to ask,” the man told her gently.

She raised her face, still shrouded in the black net of her veil. “You cannot know what that means to us,” she said. “Thank you for all you have done. You are a true friend.”

He bowed his head. “I owe you so much…” He looked past her to the man behind her. “My condolences,” he said, putting out one hand.

“Thank you,” murmured the gentleman, clasping his hand briefly. “How kind of you to come.” He touched the woman's arm. “My dear, we should go.”

The lady nodded, still drying her eyes. “In a moment.”

The second man nodded again. “I will leave you, then.”

“Thank you,” whispered the lady as he bowed and walked off. The mourning pair sat again and
stayed where they were for several more minutes, then rose and slowly left the church as well. The lady leaned heavily on her companion's arm until they were outside the church, where he hailed a hackney and helped her inside.

Once Nate had closed the carriage door, Angelique tore off her veil. She laid the handkerchief Harry had given her on her lap and unfolded it to reveal the small square of paper folded inside. With unnaturally steady fingers she unfolded it and held it up so they could both read at once.

It was brief but damning.
Ross, Earl Selwyn, Under-secretary of State for War and the Colonies. The first Lady Selwyn drowned along with her young son in a tragic accident; Selwyn mourned them for almost a decade. Married ten months ago to Millicent Beaumont, second daughter of the Duke of Ramsey. The new Countess Selwyn retired to the country in anticipation of the birth of her first child a month previous. Selwyn widely seen as a growing political force based on his connections.

For several moments neither spoke. The carriage swayed as they jolted over the cobbles heading through London, surrounded by the sounds of a city in full hum.

“He could have read it in the newspapers,” said Nate at last.

“Ten years is a long time to remember a tragic boating accident, and then connect it so quickly to the name Selwyn when you mentioned it.”

“He could bear Selwyn a grudge for some other reason.”

“He could.” Angelique folded the note and slipped it into her reticule, along with Harry's handkerchief. “He could be the most brilliant liar I've ever seen.
But short of finding this missing Lady Selwyn and presenting her in the House of Lords like Banquo's ghost, I do not think we will find better proof.”

“No,” he agreed quietly. “I don't think we will.”

“It is what I expected,” she said. “I have not decided what to do next, but I was prepared for this.”

Nate rapped on the carriage roof to signal the driver to stop. His fingers closed around hers. “I'm glad to hear that.” He helped her down from the hackney and paid the driver. They were on the edge of St. James's Park, still some distance from Varden Street. Angelique tucked the veil from her bonnet into her reticule, glad to feel the sun on her face for a few minutes. “Let's walk a bit,” he said, tucking her hand around his arm. It was still early, so the park was not busy.

“What I do not know is how to handle Stafford,” she said. “He is the real concern, not Selwyn.”

Nate smiled grimly. “I completely agree. And I have an idea how to do it.”

I
an sized up Jacob Dixon with a long glance. “So,” he said, “you're the one who's stirred up such a fuss.”

Dixon stared back at Ian with mingled horror and indignation. “I certainly have not done,” he said, even though he flinched every time Ian moved. “I was s-simply going about my business…”

“Stealing, lying, fleeing the country, then more lying,” interjected Nate. “We know what you've been up to. But in spite of it all, we've come to make you an offer of clemency.”

Dixon kept his eyes fixed fearfully on Ian, still standing over him in menace. Today Ian wore all black, from the tall leather boots that shook the floor when he walked to the greatcoat that swirled around him like a shroud. It only made his red hair more alarming, especially all ruffled and spiky as it was now from having shoved his hands through it so many times. Angelique wondered what had gotten into him, showing up dressed that way in response to her summons. She suspected it had been Nate he expected to cow—as if that would happen. But she had to admit Jacob Dixon was more tractable
in a state of perpetual terror, so she said nothing as Ian paced in front of the man several times before finally dropping into one of the chairs they had brought up to the attic.

From where he lounged in another chair, Nate watched only Dixon's face. His eyes cool and shuttered, he looked to Angelique even more dangerous than Ian. Ian was a growling dog, hair on end and back arched. Nate was a viper, coiled and silent but waiting to strike.

Jacob Dixon looked between the three of them and didn't seem to know where his best chance lay. “My good man,” he said at last, appealing to Nate. “Perhaps we could have this discussion privately.”

“No,” said Nate evenly. “Because this is not just my idea.” Even though it was, almost entirely. Angelique never would have come up with it herself, and it wasn't something Ian would do, either. But she had agreed to it, so she kept her face impassive and let Nate guide things his way.

“I came to England in search of justice,” Nate said, still watching the thief like a hawk would a field mouse. “My charge, and only goal, was to find you, sir, and return you to face the man you ruined and the country you swindled. And before you accuse me of lawlessness myself”—he smiled thinly, for Dixon had opened his mouth—“let me add that I carried a letter of introduction from President Monroe himself, setting out exactly what I've just told you. General Davies is a decent, heroic man, and Monroe is aware of what our country owes him. He approved wholeheartedly of what I meant to do.

“Now, I would have been perfectly content to track you down like an animal and drag you back
to New York in chains, but the president asked me to use diplomatic channels—discreetly, of course. That led me to Lord Selwyn, who was deeply outraged and most solicitous upon hearing my story. Of course this vile criminal must be apprehended, he told me. He sent me to another man, who in turn promised to provide assistance in capturing you. Unfortunately, it appears Lord Selwyn also gave him another charge.”

“To kill me!” cried Dixon. His face had grown alternately red and then pale. “He wants you to kill me—we've already discussed this!” He thrust out his chained hands, pointing at Angelique. “You swore you wouldn't let her do it, and in return I promised to cooperate with you!”

“True.” Nate's voice hadn't altered; it remained flat and relentless. “And so far you have done precious little in that regard.”

Sweat beaded on Dixon's lip. “What do you want?” he protested. “You knew about Hurst; you have my baggage. Unless you plan to unchain me, I don't see what else I can do!” Nate just looked at him until Dixon swallowed, a loud gulping sound in the quiet attic. “What?” he cried. “Tell me what you want!”

Slowly Nate leaned forward. The old wooden chair creaked loudly, and Dixon flinched. “I want to propose a bargain to you,” Nate said quietly. He rested one elbow on his knee and cocked his head. “Are you interested?”

Without a sound Dixon nodded.

“Good. As I see it, I have three choices. The first choice: I do as I meant to do originally and carry you back to New York to stand trial, publicly clearing General Davies of guilt for your theft. You'll go to
prison for a very long time, of course, but that's no more than you deserve.

“The second choice: Prison might be too good for you. I could cut my losses, recover as much of the stolen money as I can, and sail back to New York. It turns out there are some Englishmen who take a particular interest in you, and I think I could hand you over to them and be wished Godspeed on my way home. New York will be disappointed not to have your blood, but they will have the money, which is far more valuable. I assure you, my conscience wouldn't suffer for your fate at all.”

“What is the third?” Dixon whispered when Nate lapsed into silence. “I must say I prefer the first choice, though, by a generous margin. Selwyn will not be merciful, sir, you know what I told you about him!”

“The third choice,” Nate went on, “is the most difficult. I shall have to relent on something very important to me, my companions shall have to sacrifice a great deal, and you…you shall be better off than under either of the previous choices…in some ways.”

Hope—and calculation—sprang into Dixon's eyes. “Well, then I am sure we can negotiate, to ensure a better outcome for you,” he murmured.

Nate's mouth curled into a deadly smile. “Oh yes. You're going to return the money, but not for my benefit. You're going to return it all to President Monroe. If even ten dollars is missing, the bargain is void.”

“Er…all?” said Dixon cautiously. “But it was not a trifle to come to England. Surely you cannot expect—”

“All of it,” repeated Nate in a silky tone. “Do what you must to cobble the sum together in any way you can, or the bargain is void.” He waited as Dixon opened his mouth to argue, thought again, and subsided. “And in return, I shall not tell Selwyn you are here. I shall not tell him you are still alive. I will even take you out of England and not put you on trial for embezzlement. I shall help you to a new life, and a new name, and in return you will never return to any of the states, or to England—although I presume I need not urge you on that course, given what Lord Selwyn might feel on discovering you had fallen into his grasp once more. And if I should find you in my country…” He shrugged. “Well, the authorities there will already think you long dead.”

“That's all?” Dixon looked as though he could hardly believe his ears.

Nate inclined his head. “That's all.”

Dixon looked at Angelique, then at Ian. He seemed to regret the last, for his eyes widened until a rim of white showed all around the brown. He looked at Nate again and nodded so hard his disheveled hair tumbled over his brow. “I accept.”

Nate smiled at him again, and Dixon shrank away. “You never had a choice.”

When they had left Dixon to his fears and gone back down the stairs, Angelique let out her breath. “Do you think he will fulfill his part?”

“I suspect he'll try as if the devil himself is driving him.”

Ian was staring at Nate. “You're that devil, aren't you? Not only coming up with this bloody daft idea but actually trying it. What'll you do if it doesn't work?”

“It will work,” said Nate. He hadn't lost that cool, focused look that put Angelique in mind of a snake gliding quietly through the grass behind its prey. “And I haven't heard any other ideas from you, better or worse.”

Ian glowered at him. “I've had a few ideas,” he muttered before turning to Angelique. “And you—you, I expected more of. What are you thinking, lass?”

“Perhaps this is not the best way, Ian,” she replied quietly, “but we do not have many options. I do not know what Stafford knows about this. I do not even know for certain Selwyn committed the acts Mr. Dixon accuses him of. But I am uneasy over it all, and I don't know how to discover the truth.”

“This isn't meant to discover the truth, this is meant to confront Stafford!” Ian was staring at her in frustration, but now he lowered his voice and turned his shoulder to Nate, as if to exclude him. “Whatever you think of him, remember that he's not a fool and he's not unwilling to take chances. He's unpredictable, Angelique, and this could go wrong in so many ways.”

“That is always possible, no matter what course we choose.”

Ian swore, his brogue so thick she couldn't even tell what curses he used. “But the consequences—”

“I have chanced them before,” she reminded him.

“Not because you created them to begin with!” he shouted at her.

The words seem to hang in the air. Angelique felt the sting of them, the implicit accusation that she was being reckless and worse, careless. Ian towered
over her with the fiery anger of his Highland fore-bears flushing his face, his hands twitching at his sides as if he'd like to grab her and shake some sense into her. Nate said nothing, just watched the two of them with hooded eyes. He hadn't moved from his position, leaning against the door with his arms folded across his chest. She was squarely between them, caught between the cold sense of Ian's warning and the bright hope that she could finally be free of her past.

“Ian,” said Angelique softly. “I will understand if you won't help me.”

Ian raked his hands through his copper hair. “I want to help you. I fear this idiotic plan puts you in danger and only helps
him
.” He jerked his head at Nate. “Why should I plot against Stafford so a conniving thief won't get a knife in the back like he deserves?”

“Help me,” Nate repeated, a hint of anger breaking into his voice. “Did you listen to anything I said? I came to catch a thief and make him face justice, and now I can't do it without putting Angelique in an impossible—perhaps fatal—position. I'd be happy enough to run Dixon through, I assure you, except that it would be exactly what Stafford and Selwyn want. Now the best I can do is return the money, which I grant is significant and will spare General Davies from destitution and shame, but you're utterly insane if you think Dixon is going to walk away from this a free man. I'll hand him over to the navy, or a merchant sailing for China, or the first bloody pirate who crosses my path.”

Ian grunted. “That's better than nothing, I suppose.”

“You've never been to sea for months at a time, I see,” Nate snapped

“Stop,” Angelique snapped as they eyed each other like bristling pugilists. “There is one more thing we must add to the plan. If all else fails…”

“As it's likely to,” Ian muttered.

“Good, then you will have no objection,” she told him. “Because it is something you must do.” She drew herself up, knowing neither man would like what she was about to say. “I support Nate's plan. It is daring, yes, and it forces a confrontation with Stafford, as Ian says; but it is necessary. If Lord Selwyn has been abusing his influence by ordering Stafford to have people killed, it matters. If Stafford has neglected his duty of care in exercising his power, it matters. If either proposition is true, it blackens all that you and I have done for Stafford, Ian, and the burden falls on us to restore things to rights.”

“You've got a thief's tale and your own inclination as evidence.”

“And Harry's warning that Stafford and Sidmouth have grown reckless,” she reminded Ian. “I told him nothing of what we were doing, and he still warned me to be very, very careful how I proceeded in their employ. I have looked and looked for a reason to believe all is as it should be, and have not found it—nor have you.”

Ian closed his eyes and sighed, but nodded for her to go on.

“If it happens that Stafford knew what Selwyn wished and why, he will not be pleased by our actions. I suspect he will not allow me simply to resign and walk away. I will forever wonder if he might
suffer an attack of anxiety and send someone to silence me forever. I know too many of his secrets.” Nate's eyes had narrowed, but she raised one hand to keep him quiet until she could finish. “If this should be true, I think it will be best if John Stafford is assured I am no threat to him.” She paused. “If he sees me die.”

“You—If—What—Sees you
die
?” choked Ian.

“Not in truth,” Nate growled. “Angelique, I understand what you say, but—”

“You do not know him as I do,” she said quietly. “He will not hesitate to do it. Many times he has asked me to act without telling anyone—not even Phipps knows all I have done for him. If I were to reveal publicly all his undertakings, it would cause a tremendous uproar. And I am just a woman, an assassin and a spy, hardly someone society will mourn.”

For a long minute all was silent. Ian gripped handfuls of hair and opened his mouth several times to speak, but never did. Nate just watched her, his gaze frustrated but measuring. “How do you propose to do it?” he asked at last.

“A knife to the chest. A bladder of blood, sewn into my dress, will provide enough proof.” Both men gaped at her for a long moment. “Ian?” she prodded.

“It's damned lunacy,” said Ian heavily, “but I reluctantly agree.”

“Good, because you will have to wield the knife.” Ian and Nate jerked in identical surprise at her words. “If Nate does it, Stafford will have him arrested at once. If I do it, he will wonder why I took my own life. And I would prefer to have someone I
trust holding the knife, rather than take the chance Phipps can be manipulated.”

Ian's face had gone gray. “Bloody Christ, I can't stab you!”

“Let me,” said Nate. “We can argue, you can attack me first…”

Angelique shook her head. “It must be Ian. Will you, Ian?”

After a long pause, Ian dipped his head. “I'm going to hell for this,” he muttered. “But I'll do it.
Only
if absolutely necessary.”