Page 59 of King's Man

And Sam, who’d left three hours ago at least, would be home before dinner. Plenty of time to disappear into that vast hive of a city. And Nate would never see him again.

Nate would never see him again.

“The next coach to London,” he told the landlord. “I must be on it.”

Compared with the chaise, the stagecoach was a plodding affair and Nate was bone-shaken and weary by the time London’s grimy streets closed around them and the coach finally rattled to a halt at the bustling Swan with Two Necks. There’d been no seat inside, so he was crisped from the sun too, which had flitted in and out of the clouds all day. His skin felt tight, his limbs ached, and his heart was a leaden lump in his chest.

For most of the journey, he’d thought of nothing but Sam, wracked with such regret he could hardly sit still. Now that it was too late, he saw that he’d been a fool. A fool and a coward. Because of course he should have told Sam the truth from the beginning — even if it had turned Sam against him.

Even if they’d never reconciled.

Well, Sam knew the truth now. Or thought he did. A version of the truth that painted Nate as a man gathering names of political dissenters. Christ, how Sam must despise him. It turned his stomach just thinking of what he must have thought, finding that letter hidden in Nate’s book. And he swore that if he did nothing else before he sailed for Boston, he’d find Sam and make him understand the truth.

It was late by the time Nate rapped on the door of Talmach’s rooms on Milk Street. What he really wanted was to return to his own lodgings to bathe and sleep, but first he needed to know what chaos the whole business at Marlborough Castle had caused in London. There was a strong possibility he might not even have a position anymore.

Talmach’s limping footsteps approached the door. At the sight of Nate, one dark eyebrow arched. “You’re back.”

“Evidently.” His patience with the colonel was thin.

Talmach opened the door fully to admit Nate and then closed it behind him with a click, leading him into his neat parlor. Taking off his hat, Nate set it on the table beneath the window. Outside, London began to glitter as this dreadful day at last succumbed to dusk.

“Well?” Talmach said, turning to face him. “Did you find the list?”

Nate hesitated, then reached into his pocket and pulled out two letters. Despite his nausea, he’d found time on the slow journey to London to distract himself from thoughts of Sam by studying MacLeod’s letters. “A handful of correspondence. These were written by men assuring MacLeod of their assistance in his schemes.”

Talmach took the letters, casting his eyes over them. “Only two?”

“The rest were mere supposition and rumor. Nothing that could be considered evidence.” They were still in his bag, but the colonel didn't need to know that. Nate braced himself. “I destroyed them.”

“What?” Talmach’s head shot up. “For God’s sake, Tanner, there’s value in supposition and rumor when you’re looking for the enemy within.”

Not good enough. “Perhaps, when we were at war. But the war’s over, Colonel. We’re at peace now, and we can’t police a man’s thoughts.”

“Don’t be so naïve. Some thoughts are too dangerous to be tolerated.” Talmach sent him a calculating look. “As are some acquaintances.”

For the first time in the colonel’s presence, Nate felt a cold clasp of fear. How much did he know? “That’s as maybe,” he said stiffly. “But there are lines we cannot cross and still call ourselves Patriots.”

The colonel pocketed the letters and moved to the fireplace, pouring two glasses of whiskey and offering one to Nate. “A fine sentiment,” he said. “Are you finished lecturing?”

Nate eyed the drink for a moment before deciding to accept. God knew he needed to calm himself down before his temper tripped him into saying something revealing. It was good Kentucky whiskey, too, and went down easily. Shame the smoky taste reminded him so painfully of Sam. “You should know that we were discovered,” he said abruptly. “And that I was seen by MacLeod.” He studied his glass, swirling the amber liquid around. “It was night, and I wore a scarf over my face. I don’t believe he recognized me but it’s possible that he did, and that he’s warned Farris of my involvement.”

Talmach let out a slow breath, steepled his fingers and tapped them thoughtfully against his lips. “I’m aware of what happened. Careless, Tanner. I expected better. You could have exposed our whole operation.”

Nate noted the two pertinent words in that sentence:couldhave. “I take it I didn’t?”

A hesitation, then Talmach moved from the fireplace and eased himself down into a chair, propping his right leg up on a stool. He waved Nate into the seat opposite. “MacLeod arrived in London last night, making wild accusations against Farris. Apparently an unknown man visited the day before the… incident… claiming to be there on Farris's behalf?"

Nate grimaced, but nodded. "That was Hutchinson. He needed to locate MacLeod's study."

"Hmmm. A foolish decision." He brushed his cuff, as if dusting away a spec of dirt. "As you can imagine, I was forced to act. Our case against Farris would have been in jeopardy without his contract with MacLeod. Fortunately, wheels are now in motion to turn the situation to our advantage, despite your… sloppiness at Marlborough Castle.”

Nate set his teeth but didn’t respond to the rebuke. “If that’s the case, I should return to Farris tomorrow. I assume you took steps to explain my absence?”

“I sent an apothecary’s note — a bilious fever.” He regarded Nate carefully. “You certainly look sick enough. What the devil happened to you?”

“Well, MacLeod shot me, for a start.”

Worse, I let my stupid heart get skewered.

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