Elizabeth Powell (7 page)

A low fire burned in the grate. The red embers provided the only source of light, but their glow did not extend beyond the hearth rug. Amanda stood with her back to the door and waited for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. At length she could make out shapes of furniture—chairs, a sofa, a few assorted tables, and a large desk by the French doors. Relief surged through her. Locke’s study!

Light—she’d need more light. Amanda found a lone candle in a pewter holder and lit it. The glimmering flame revealed more of the room. Amanda noted in particular the fine Aubusson carpet, the marble bust of Pallas Athena in one corner, and the portrait above the fireplace. She lifted the candle and stared at the painting. The antique style and dramatic flair marked it as one of Lawrence’s works, a woman just past the blush of youth. She was beautiful; Amanda envied the woman’s glorious red hair, pale skin, and luminous gray eyes. Those eyes smiled out at her, as though the lady enjoyed some secret amusement. Who was she? Locke wasn’t married, to Amanda’s knowledge. She shrugged. The portrait wasn’t what she was here to see.

Locke’s desk was covered with books, papers, and documents of various sorts. Amanda sighed; she didn’t have
time to go through every single sheet. She scanned the topmost layer, but found nothing out of the ordinary. Of course, Locke would be a fool to leave any incriminating evidence in plain sight. Amanda moved behind the desk and set the candle down, then began to search the drawers.

A few moments later she stood up in frustration and blew a stray curl away from her eyes. Nothing! There had to be something here, there just had to be. Had she gone through the drawers too quickly? Had she missed something?

Amanda reopened the first drawer with an impatient yank—and gasped. Although the drawer appeared to be filled with nothing more than blank stationery and envelopes, she heard a clunk from the back. Something hard had hit the wood. She took off one glove, then reached in and felt the back wall. It felt solid enough. Then she moved the vellum and envelopes and examined the bottom. It, too, seemed ordinary. No, wait. Toward the back, her fingers brushed against what felt like a tiny metal spring. A false bottom? This had to be what she was looking for….

So absorbed was she in her examination that she didn’t hear the doorknob turn. The hinges groaned a warning. Amanda looked up in horror. Her skin turned to ice.

Heavens! She stared wildly around the room, but nowhere could she find a place to hide. Wait—there was something. With terror racing through her veins, Amanda darted behind the damask curtains that covered the French doors. She huddled in the narrow recess, shivering. She heard the door scrape slowly open, then shut again. Soft footsteps crossed the room. Amanda heard a clink, followed by a dull thump. More footsteps, then the rustle of papers. A tall silhouette appeared on the curtains, distorted by their folds. A bead of sweat trickled with agonizing slowness down Amanda’s spine. She stood utterly still, not daring to move or even breathe, her senses strained to the breaking point.

Silence claimed the room. The silhouette turned and seemed to hesitate.

The curtains exploded apart, and a strong hand gripped Amanda’s arm and hauled her away from the window.

Amanda shrieked.

She glimpsed golden hair and a captain’s uniform, enough to recognize Captain Sir Jonathan Everly. The instinct to flee overwhelmed her, and she reacted without thinking. She cocked back her fist and threw her hip into the blow.

Captain Everly caught her hand just before it connected with his jaw.

“None of that,” he growled. He yanked her forward, off balance, and she tumbled against his chest.

Amanda’s mouth went dry. Everly held both her hands, and she was pressed most indecorously against him. She resisted, but couldn’t get away. She stared up at the captain’s stern, resolute jaw, at the thin scar on one high-planed cheekbone, then met his blazing blue eyes. If he was at all discomfited by this situation, he gave no sign.

“Now, little hellcat, tell me what you’re doing here.” His tone brooked no opposition.

Amanda pulled back as far as his grip would let her. Despite her compromised position, she remained defiant. “I might ask you the same question, Captain. How did you know I was here?”

Something she couldn’t identify flitted over Everly’s face. “Your perfume,” he replied. “I remembered it from our encounter earlier this evening.”

Amanda flushed. She wore the jasmine scent because her father had brought it for her from Egypt, and because she adored the fragrance. Apparently it had made an impression on Captain Everly, as well.

He tightened his grip on her wrists. “Now—tell me why you were rifling through Admiral Locke’s desk. What were you looking for?”

“Let me go,” she said coldly. “You’re hurting me.”

“My apologies.” If Amanda didn’t know any better, she would swear he was embarrassed. He relinquished his hold on her right arm.

Amanda shook out her hand, but not to alleviate any pain. Her skin tingled where he had touched her. She gave herself a mental slap. This man was the enemy. He had helped murder her father. She shouldn’t want anything to do with him.

“Who are you working for?” Everly demanded, his face thunderous. “I warn you, Mrs. Seagrave—if that is your real name—I do not countenance women who lie.”

Amanda glanced around Everly to the disarrayed desk. Oh, heavens—not only had she forgotten to close the drawer, but she’d neglected the candle as well; it sat atop the desk like a beacon. Everly was bound to tell Locke she’d been snooping. Well, her father had told her that the best defense was a good offense.

“And what about you, Captain?” She tilted her chin at a mulish angle. “Were you looking for information to try to blackmail your compatriot? You seem very interested in the contents of his desk.”

Her acrid retort seemed to blindside the captain, but not in the way she’d imagined.

“Compatriot?” He stumbled over the word. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come now, Captain. I know you.” Derision dripped from her words. “What other reason would bring you to Locke’s study? No honor among thieves, I see.”

Everly searched her face, his eyes bright and hard. He turned her ungloved palm upward and examined her work-roughened skin. “Who are you?” he demanded. “Why did you run away from me earlier?”

“I am no one of consequence,” she replied through clenched teeth. She closed her fingers over her palm and tried to tug her hand from his grasp, but the captain kept hold of her.

“I won’t let you go until you tell me who you are.” He leaned closer. “Or until you tell me what you found.”

He was too close for Amanda’s comfort. “I didn’t find anything,” she whispered. His lips were inches from her own.

He quirked a gilded eyebrow at her. “Really?” he said softly. “Now, why don’t I believe you?”

Amanda’s reply was cut off by the sound of voices from the hallway. Both her head and Everly’s jerked toward the door, a pair of puppets on the same string.

“Someone’s coming,” she breathed. She took advantage of the momentary distraction to free herself. She pulled away and stepped back to the recess, picking up her fallen glove.

The captain snapped to action. “Quickly—out onto the balcony,” he ordered in a low voice. He met her questioning expression with a scowl. “I think you’ll agree that the curtains are an imperfect hiding place.”

Amanda felt her face go scarlet. She nodded.

Everly opened the French doors to reveal a tiny balcony with a wrought-iron railing. Below the balcony, glistening in the veiled moonlight, lay the gardens.

Amanda leaned over the railing and swallowed hard. “It’s at least twelve feet down.”

Everly turned and surveyed the wall. “I’d say more like fifteen. There’s a trellis here. Can you climb down?”

Amanda had not climbed anything since she was twelve, but she nodded. “Of course.”

Everly climbed over the rail and tested the trellis. It wobbled. “If it doesn’t hold, I can withstand the fall better than you.”

The voices came nearer. “Just hurry!” Amanda urged. She thrust her gloves into her reticule. Climbing was best done with bare hands.

Everly descended the trellis with the agility of a young midshipman; Amanda could readily imagine him among a web of ship’s rigging. He reached the ground and gestured up to her.

“Now—your turn.”

Amanda hitched up her skirts and clambered over the railing, then scowled down at Everly. “Look up my skirts and I’ll plant you a facer you’ll never forget,” she warned.

Everly grinned, and the gesture once more transformed his face from handsome to devastating. Amanda’s breath caught in her throat. She swiveled back to the trellis, then took hold of the wet wood and cold, slippery vines. She had to concentrate on what she was
doing, not on the captain. One step, then the next. The trellis shuddered beneath her.

The study door squawked on its hinges. Terror shot through Amanda, and she gasped; her foot slipped off the trellis. She reached out wildly for the next rung, but encountered only air. Well, she’d jumped from greater heights than this. She let go. The world skewed at a wild angle, she collided with something solid, then crashed into a flower bed. Beneath her, Captain Everly gave a grunt of pain.

Amanda stared down at him, realizing that she was lying on the captain’s broad chest. The double row of brass buttons on his jacket pressed painfully into her tender skin.

His eyes strayed to her generous expanse of neckline, presented to him as it was. “As much as I am enjoying this little escapade,” he wheezed with a weak smile, “we need to get out of here.”

Indignant, Amanda scrambled to her feet. Captain Everly had a more difficult time. His right leg didn’t want to support him. Reluctantly, Amanda offered him her hand. He accepted it, and she helped brace him as he struggled upright.

Raised voices sounded from the study. More lights flared to life in the room.

“This way!” Everly said. He limped along the paved path toward the back of the garden. Amanda followed him.

They came to the expanse of stone wall, with no exit in sight. “Some navigator you are,” Amanda groused. “You’ll have us aground and at the mercy of the enemy in no time.” She shot an apprehensive glance over her shoulder. They were out of sight of the balcony, but she heard urgent voices in the garden.

“There has to be a gate somewhere,” muttered Everly.

Amanda scanned the ivy-shrouded wall and caught a glint in the moonlight, metal dusted with heavy dew. “This way!”

The gate hinges were even less well oiled than the
study door had been. Amanda winced at the raw rasp of metal against metal. Halfway open, the door stuck.

“That’s as good as we’re going to get. Hurry!” Everly grabbed Amanda’s shoulder and pushed her toward the door; she slid through with room to spare. Everly followed, but had trouble squeezing his large frame through the opening. They hurried through the mews, then down the alleyway toward the street.

“We can take my carriage,” Everly gasped.

Amanda hesitated. Why had the captain helped her escape? Why hadn’t he turned her in? There was no time to guess his motives now. Sounds of pursuit came from behind them.

“Forgive me, Captain, but I’ve made other plans,” she stated, and before Everly could reply, she lifted her skirts and dashed down the street. Behind her she heard Everly utter a sharp oath, but she did not stop.

Harry’s carriage was waiting where he promised it would be. He must have seen her coming; he opened the door for her and extended a hand.

“Good God, Amanda!” he exclaimed. “What is going on?”

Amanda all but threw herself onto the seat next to him. “No time to explain. Drive!”

The carriage gave a lurch and started away down the street, and Amanda leaned back against the squabs, breathing hard. Yet for all her exhaustion, her narrow escape thrilled her. Heavens, was she turning into an adventuress? A tiny smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Then her thoughts returned to Captain Everly, and how she had sprawled so wantonly across his body in the garden, and the smile vanished. Yes, Captain Everly was a very attractive man. He was also the enemy. Or at least he seemed to be. She shivered, and it wasn’t entirely due to the cold night air.

Harry took off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. “There, that should keep you warm. Now, will you please tell me what went on at the house? Why were you running down the street like the Furies were after you?”

Amanda huddled into the warm wool. The high excitement started to fade, leaving her drained and cold. “You needn’t make such a face at me, Harry. I’m all right, and I didn’t get caught.”

Harry heaved an exasperated sigh. “Yes, yes—but what happened?”

Running right over Harry’s blustering attempts to get a word in edgewise, Amanda related the events in Locke’s study—that she found Locke’s secret hiding place, but hadn’t been able to discover what it held before she was forced to flee. She thought it best not to mention Captain Everly, the part he had played in the evening’s events, and especially not her attraction to him. She was loath to admit that much even to herself.

“It may not be much, but it’s still progress,” she was quick to point out in response to Harry’s deepening frown.

“Confound it,” the young lieutenant muttered. “You think that Locke is hiding something, but you don’t know what it is? And you call that progress?”

Amanda’s fingers tightened around the thick fabric of Harry’s jacket. “Yes, I do.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “So what will you do now, hmm? Go back to the house in the morning and ask the admiral if you might continue where you left off?”

“You needn’t be so cross at me,” Amanda reproached him.

He glared at her. “Why not? You take this appalling risk, get me to help you, and in the end have nothing to show for it.”

“Cut line, Harry. No one saw me, and I did not get caught. And I know now that Admiral Locke
does
have something to hide.”

“Again, I ask you: what are you going to do about it?”

Amanda answered his challenging gaze with defiance. “I don’t know yet,” she stated, “but I will think of something. I do know that I cannot go back to Dorset—not until I have discovered Locke’s secret.”