Page 102 of No One's Bride
The man was still unconscious on the floor.
Blood seeped from the wounds to his arm and leg.
“But what about the list?” Did they not need to hand the names to Mr Smith and have the spies arrested?
“There’s something wrong.” Mr Chance sounded more angry than unnerved. “Chadwick came for the list, confident it was the only evidence against him, yet he knows about the grimoire.”
One did not need a great mind to understand his meaning. “Good grief! You think an accomplice has gone to steal the book?”
Sebastian!
Would he be prepared?
Would his over-confidence be his downfall?
“Not just one accomplice,” Mr Daventry said, his grave tone sending a shock of fear to her heart. “I fear Denton is about to be ambushed.”
* * *
“So, Michael didn’t mention the grimoire? He didn’t tell you how he came to own the book?” Sebastian studied Kirkwood over the rim of his glass. He took a sip of brandy while looking for signs of deceit, but struggled to concentrate when thoughts of Ailsa filled his head.
He should never have agreed to the damn plan.
Was Daventry capable of protecting her?
Hopefully, the murderer would come for the grimoire, and Ailsa would be safe. His only focus should be deciding if Kirkwood was somehow involved.
“No. But I suspect your brother stole it from one of the crew.” Kirkwood shifted uncomfortably in the chair. He seemed reluctant to speak, but after exhaling a weary sigh said, “There was talk of a traitor aboard ship. That naval secrets learned in Simon’s Town were being passed to spies when we docked in France.”
“But you’re not suggesting Michael was involved?” Since deciphering his brother’s message, Sebastian accepted Michael had died from a fever. The rest was a plea for help, not a spy’s secret machinations.
Besides, love filled Sebastian’s heart, not hatred.
The powerful emotion rode roughshod over self-loathing.
“If he was, his intention would have been to infiltrate the ranks and bring the men to justice.” Kirkwood tossed back his drink and placed the empty glass on the side table. “I suggest you raise the matter with the Admiralty. The grimoire came from Simon’s Town. They were being sold by the dozen, although it would be impossible to know who bought them.”
With luck, the names of the spies were on Hibbet’s list, though he kept that information to himself.
“Well, it’s late.” Kirkwood took the spell book from his lap and stood. He held it firmly before finally handing Sebastian the volume. “This one merely contains the message from your brother. He obviously meant for the Admiralty to search for other copies but didn’t know who to trust.”
He’d trusted me, and I failed him.
But then he wouldn’t be in this predicament.
He wouldn’t be in love with Ailsa.
“I shall take the matter up with the appropriate authorities.” Sebastian had given his servants leave to remain at the Bell and Crown until closing, so he escorted Kirkwood out.
They said good night, though a sudden wave of apprehension kept Sebastian at the door. He held his breath until Kirkwood climbed into the waiting hackney.
As the vehicle rattled away, the cause of his discomfort became apparent. Smith came striding across the street like a vicar on a mission to eradicate sinners. His men lingered in the background, the ever-faithful congregation.
“What the devil do you want, Smith?” The man was an itch one couldn’t scratch. “Should you not be out combing spy haunts?”
Smith opened the flap of his leather satchel and gestured to the rare copy of More’sUtopia. “I’m here to trade books. I have a letter from the magistrate permitting me to take the grimoire as evidence.”
Sebastian wouldn’t give Smith the grimoire if the King ordered it.
