Page 82 of No One's Bride
Smith met his gaze, his disdain sharpening his stark features. “I’m not the one facing the noose. You might escape punishment, my lord, but your friends will hang for treason.”
Treason!
Sebastian reached into his coat pocket, whipped out Melbourne’s letter and waved it under Smith’s nose. “Your Home Secretary says otherwise. We act on behalf of the Crown and have permission from the highest authority to investigate the matter.”
Smith faltered. “That could be your tailor’s bill or a note from your lover.”
He thrust the letter into Smith’s bony hand. “Read it before you question my integrity!”
The rogue opened the missive, his gaze racing to the seal and signature at the bottom of the page. His shoulders sagged, the fight leaving his body. “Damn and blast. It appears we’re on the same side.”
What the devil?
Smith worked for the government?
“Then ye won’t mind me rifling through yer pockets.” Wearing a frown of suspicion, Ailsa came forward. “If ye have a reason for being here, ye have nothing to hide.”
Sebastian froze. Every instinct said she should run, far enough no scoundrel could ever hurt her again. But the thought roused visions of her at home in the Highlands. If a few feet felt like a cavernous void, how would he fare when she was miles from reach?
Alerting them of his intention, Smith opened his coat and delved into his pocket. He handed Ailsa a calling card along with a silver insignia.
She studied the items before offering them to Sebastian. “Mr Smith works for the Alien Office in Crown Street and oversees domestic surveillance.”
Sebastian examined the card. “You’re responsible for deporting French nationals?” To be more precise, Smith hunted spies. “What has chasing revolutionaries got to do with old spell books?”
He knew the answer, of course.
Someone was using runes and symbols to pass secret messages.
To say Sebastian was intrigued was an understatement. But a sick feeling in his gut left him questioning how it related to Michael.
“Spell books?” Smith snapped. “You have more than one?”
Sebastian daren’t mention his brother without first knowing the facts. “Forgive me. It was a slip of the tongue. Though I know a grimoire was stolen from Chadwick’s Auction House last year.”
“Then you know enough to get yourself killed.” With his hands raised in surrender, Smith turned slowly. “Might you lower your weapon, so we may compare notes in the hope of finding a traitor?”
“First, call off your men.”
With a curt nod from their master, the agents backed out of the alley and congregated at the entrance.
“Ask me a question, and I’ll answer honestly.” Sebastian released the hammer on the flintlock pistol and handed Aaron the weapon. “In return, you will afford me the same courtesy.”
Smith nodded. “Can you confirm you have the grimoire in your possession and that it contains symbols drawn in the margins?”
Sebastian beckoned Ailsa closer. “That’s two questions, but I’m sure Miss MacTavish feels generous. As you have her rare copy ofUtopia,it is only fair she replies.”
Smith did not deny having More’s book.
“The answer is yes to both questions, sir.” Ailsa shot Smith a look of steely determination. “But I’ll nae agree to an exchange until we’ve caught Mr Hibbet’s murderer.”
Pride filled Sebastian’s chest. Most women would swoon at the sight of blood. But Ailsa was courageous, intelligent, a woman who would raise strong sons. Not that he’d ever considered the last quality important until now.
“Why did Mr Hibbet agree to give ye the grimoire?” she continued. “Did he know ye work for the Alien Office?”
The spymaster grumbled under his breath. “Hibbet contacted me after the auction. He never mentioned how he knew me or asked why I wanted the grimoire. He said he wished to prevent it falling into the wrong hands.”
The wrong hands?
