Lucy stilled. He couldn’t possibly mean to harm an innocent child. Nobody could be that cruel. But then, she’d been an innocent child once.
“Doubt me all you want,” he said, as if reading her mind, “but you’ll be the one risking the lives of those around you, and just so we’re clear, I have indeed just added Mr. Summersby’s daughter to the list.”
Lucy wondered if a place worse than hell existed. She hoped so, for this man deserved a far harsher fate than to merely burn for all eternity.
“Now, I have to leave you, unfortunately, but we’ll meet again soon enough. You mustn’t worry about that, Lucy.” He leaned a little closer, and when he spoke again his voice sounded hollow. “I have no choice but to let you go, but hopefully our little conversation has made you realize that I’ll succeed in my task by all means necessary. Do you promise not to scream?”
With tears blinding her eyes and her breath coming in rapid bursts, Lucy quietly nodded. “Why are you doing this?” she asked, as soon as she was free to do so. He still pinned her down, but at least he’d removed his hand from her mouth, allowing her to breathe normally again.
A moment later, he was across the floor with his hand resting on the door handle. He turned back to face her and merely shrugged. “The same thing that gives most people an incentive to work—money.”
“This was a…a job?” She couldn’t believe that she was having this conversation, but she needed answers, and he was the only one who could give them to her. But this time he didn’t reply. Instead he quietly cracked opened the door, looked out to ensure that no one was coming, and then exited her room without another word or backward glance.
Lucy wasn’t sure how long she’d been lying there under the covers before the shock of it all had dissipated enough for her to move—half an hour most likely, although it felt like much more. With shaky hands, she pulled back the covers and sat up. She couldn’t let him win. The thoughts of revenge that had crowded her mind for so long came flooding back. This was it, she decided. He might have sought her out instead, but that didn’t mean that she had to cower helplessly in a corner while he threatened everything around her. Yes, he terrified her because she had no doubt of what he was capable of, but she also knew that her only way forward would be to stop fleeing and to turn around and face him.
Drawing a deep, resolute breath, she stepped down onto the floor. She could no longer wait until tomorrow in order to obtain one of the daggers that she’d imagined she’d borrow from William’s collection in the study. Now that the assassin had visited her in her bedroom, she realized the imminent danger and the importance of being able to protect herself.
Shivering from the cool night air that surrounded her, she padded across to her wardrobe to retrieve her dressing gown. The fact that she’d been completely nak*d beneath the covers while that beast of a man had held her down and threatened her was not a thought she cared to entertain at the moment. Instead, she forced it back as she began slipping her arms through the sleeves, pulling the garment tight around her waist as if she hoped it might somehow shield her from harm.
She couldn’t go back downstairs now—not like this and certainly not with guests still milling about. She hadn’t checked the clock, but if William wasn’t back yet like he’d promised he would be, then that could only mean that he was still busy entertaining their friends. Her eyes settled upon the door that connected her room with William’s; it was standing slightly ajar. Surely a man like him, trained to be a soldier and a spy, would keep a weapon close to where he slept.
Without another moment’s hesitation, she crossed the floor, picked the oil lamp from her bedside table, and pulled the door wide open. She then paused for a moment on the threshold, knowing that with one more step she would violate William’s privacy, betraying his trust yet again. A deep breath strengthened her resolve. She could turn to no one for help in this matter and was therefore forced to protect herself and her loved ones by whatever means necessary.
Her movements were quick and determined this time as she walked through to her husband’s sanctuary—a room she’d visited on only one previous occasion. Her eyes went directly to the couple of chairs where they’d sat and shared a glass of brandy together two days earlier. She doubted that he’d be inclined to share anything with her again if he discovered her rummaging through his things like a thief in the middle of the night.
Turning about, she wondered where to start. It was one thing to be in his room without permission but far more difficult to actually open a drawer and peek inside. It would also be a lot harder to explain such an action if she got caught.
With a forceful mental shove, she pushed her misgivings aside and carefully opened the top drawer in William’s dresser. Peering inside, she found some handkerchiefs, all neatly folded and stacked on one side. Next to them were his cravats, and next to them, a few different accessories—pocket watches, a monogrammed cigar case, three pairs of gloves, and a couple of leather wallets. Closing the drawer back up again, she moved on to the next one, finding only crisp, white shirts this time. By the time she was done looking, she was forced to concede that if William did have a dagger or a pistol hidden away in his room, then it had to be somewhere else.
She paused to think as her eyes swept over the four-poster bed, the metallic threads on its burgundy colored quilt shimmering in the glow from the oil lamp that Lucy had placed on top of the dresser. A bedside table with a couple of drawers stood on either side. Stepping toward the one on the right, Lucy reached out and pulled open the drawer. A book was the first thing to catch her attention—Bensley’s The Officer’s Manual in the Field. A slow smile pulled at Lucy’s lips as she stared down at the leather-bound edition. Of course her husband would have such a book by his bed rather than a novel or a collection of poetry, for which she knew he cared very little.
Reminding herself of her task at hand, she pushed it gently aside and reached inside the drawer until her hand found something cold, hard, and metallic. Her breath was one of relief as she pulled the object out, revealing a single shot Manton pistol. Careful to point it away from herself, she turned it over in her hands, studying it as she wondered whether it might be loaded. She supposed it must be in case William happened to need it in a hurry, but she couldn’t be sure. For that matter, she wasn’t even completely certain that she’d be able to figure out how to use it if she had to. With a frown, she reached back inside the drawer and pulled out a small box of shot and powder. She’d have to examine everything more closely, but she’d do so in her own room and with the door locked.
Closing the drawer, she went back to retrieve the lantern from the dresser and was just about to exit the room when the door opened and William stepped inside, his eyes widening with momentary surprise as he spotted her. Concern abandoned his features, and he gave her a warm smile of appreciation as he started toward her, but then his gaze dropped to her hand, and he slowed until he stood completely still. “What are you doing?” A frown transformed his features into a mask of worry, though his voice remained completely calm.
“No…nothing,” Lucy stammered as a flash of heat rose to the surface of her skin and her hands began to tremble.
He was in front of her in a second, his much larger body looming over her as he braced his hands on either side of her slight figure, keeping her trapped. “You’ve taken something of mine without my permission—a rather dangerous weapon—and all you can tell me is that you’re not doing anything?” His voice was a low rumble. “Do you think me a complete imbecile, Lucy, or perhaps blind?”
Unable to speak for the painful knot that now clogged her throat, she quickly shook her head.
He drew back a little and took a deep breath. “I thought we’d moved past this, Lucy, yet here you are, sneaking about and purposefully lying. Will you please tell me what’s going on?”
“I…” Words failed her, and when she tried to breathe, her voice quivered and broke instead, practically choking her. With a loud sob, she sank to the floor and cried until she could no longer see. What could she possibly tell him without putting everyone around her in danger? William was too observant; he’d know that she was being dishonest with him no matter what excuse she tried to fabricate.
“Lucy?” His voice was hesitant, but a moment later he was beside her on the floor, his hands reaching around her body and pulling her toward him until her head was nestled against his chest. It was a long time until he spoke again, but when he did it was with concern marking his voice. “I can tell that something’s troubling you, Lucy. Why won’t you tell me? Why won’t you trust me?”
Easing back a little, she raised her gaze to meet his, brushing the tears from her eyes. “I cannot,” she whispered, her eyes darting toward the dark corners of the room as if she half expected the assassin to leap out and attack them for this small truth. His eyes narrowed, and the words that she needed to say suddenly gushed from her mouth. “Please, William…don’t be angry with me. As hard as it is, you must believe me when I say that I cannot tell you.” Locking her eyes with his, she implored him to understand.
His gaze turned contemplative. “Nobody acts like this unless they’re truly terrified,” he muttered. “Your jumpiness…your uneasy behavior during dinner last night…the incident during our ride earlier in the day…This isn’t just about your nightmares or the fears caused by your parents’ deaths, is it Lucy?”
Closing her eyes against the sympathetic glimmer in his eyes, she sank back against the dresser and shook her head.
“Who has threatened you?”
Again she shook her head, determined not to disclose anything further. As it was, his assumption based on her behavior alone was likely to place him in danger.
“Very well,” he said, relenting, “it seems you’re in enough of a state right now without me pressing you any further, but as I’ve told you before, I’ll stand beside you against whatever trouble you have to face. It would just be a lot easier for me to do so if you tell me who has put you so ill at ease. For now, however, I shall show you how to use the pistol in case you need to, and then you shall remain here with me for the rest of the night. Until I know exactly what it is that’s putting you in such a state of panic, I’ve no intention of leaving you unattended.” Leaning forward, he placed a tender kiss upon her brow. “I apologize for my reaction before, but I don’t respond well to backhanded behavior or to being lied to—especially not when I was under the impression that there would be no more secrets between us.”
Lucy blinked. Was he really forgiving her for sneaking into his room, stealing his pistol, and then serving him an obvious lie? Surely this man was too good for a woman like her to deserve. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It was badly done of me. I know that. But I didn’t know what else to do.”
He nodded, hesitated a moment, and then said, “I have to tell you something as well.” He drew a deep breath. “Before you told me about your past, I asked my father to write a letter to the first secretary of the Foreign Office, asking him to investigate you.”