Page 16 of A Masked Lady for Mr. Kenworthy
“Excuse me, miss,” Rupert said, astounding Thomas with his ability to be both stern and politely formal. “I must ask you to step away from the window. This instant, if you please.”
Thomas had to catch himself before he began reprimanding Rupert about the way he was speaking to the young woman. Once more, he reminded himself she was not just an ordinary young woman. She was a spy, a traitor to their great country, and a perilous person. He could not be gladder for Rupert’s partnership or his presence at the interrogation. If he had been left alone to accomplish this task, he knew he would have already mucked up the whole thing. He must get on top of his attraction to the woman. For all he knew, it was all part of her plan to make him feel sorry for her and make him believe he had romantic feelings for her.
The woman regarded the two men warily, but she said nothing. Thomas held his breath, bracing himself for whatever she might do next. The look in her eyes told him she was deep in thought about something, but he could not begin to guess what she might be thinking. Thomas instinctively positioned himself directly between her and the door. He glanced at Rupert, who appeared to be relaxed, but he was watching her carefully, as well. There was silence between the three of them for a brief period, and Thomas felt as though time had stopped.
“Miss, please,” Rupert said, slowly rising from the chair. “Do not make me ask you again. Move away from the window and have a seat over there.”
Thomas caught Rupert’s eye and raised his eyebrows questioningly. Rupert understood his silent question and shook his head. Then, he looked back at the woman, watching her patiently.
After another moment, she moved away from the window, looking away from her captors as she walked toward the chair. Thomas thought she looked as though she was carrying weight as heavy as all of London on her shoulders, and he once more felt sorry for her. But he reminded himself that he could not allow himself to begin that train of thought once more. He was resolved to ignore what he felt for her and help Rupert perform the interrogation, just as he had many other times, with many other criminals.
That was until the woman sat in the chair to which Rupert had directed her. She did not look up at them right away, and Thomas began to relax. If she planned to flee, she would be surveying the room, particularly the distance between herself and the door and between herself and Thomas. But she did not. Instead, after one more minute of silence, she began to sob uncontrollably. Thomas stood staring at her, completely caught off guard.
He looked at Rupert, who was looking at him with equal surprise. His partner shrugged, clearly as unaccustomed to seeing hardened criminals cry as Thomas himself was and equally as at a loss as to what to do. Thomas bit his lip, the woman’s vulnerability tugging fiercely at Thomas’s heart. How was he supposed to be tough and unrelenting with a beautiful young woman who was so clearly distraught before him?
Chapter Thirteen
Faye dropped her head, trying to turn her face away from the two men. She cursed herself for her emotional outburst, but she was unable to contain it just the same. She was confused, afraid, and felt horribly under strain. All she could think of was her mother’s health and how terribly she had ruined any chances of getting proper care for her. And now, she would probably never see her mother again. Her mother would die, carrying with her the worry of why her daughter had vanished so suddenly, leaving her to suffer from her illness alone. The thoughts were unbearable, and her sobs transitioned into near hysteria.
She was so absorbed in her emotions, she started at hands touching hers. She jumped backward, feeling a dull pain as she slammed into the back of the chair. She looked up through her tear-filled eyes and saw the blurry visage of her kidnapper. She could not see his expression through her tears, but she could feel him tugging at the rope around her wrists. His touch was remarkably gentler than it had been when he had tied her hands together, which caught her completely off guard. She tried to blink the water from her eyes and focus on his features. As she did, she saw that he was staring at her intently.
Stunned, she tried to reassess the situation. If he was untying her, did that mean he was going to release her? The answer to her unasked question came a moment later when the man reached into his coat pocket. She held her breath, knowing well that the man was likely armed, as he had been on the night of the ball. She was sure he was reaching for that same gun. Her life flashed before her eyes, and she braced herself for the gunshot she knew would come before she even realized it. She was vaguely aware of the other man sitting at the single table in the room, holding a quill and looking at a piece of paper intently, rather than watching Faye and the man who had kidnapped her. Was he going to take some morbid notes on how the man in front of her killed her?
However, no gun came from the man’s pocket. It took Faye a moment to realize what he was holding instead was a handkerchief. What was more, he seemed to be handing it to her. She stared at it for a moment, her wild imagination playing out a scenario in which he actually had the gun in his hand and had merely covered it in a handkerchief to give her one final moment of false security before he pulled the trigger. But, when she looked back up at the stranger, his face had softened, and his eyes held a dash of regret.
Faye meekly took the handkerchief from the man’s hands. Out of habit, she quietly murmured her thanks, then blew her nose gently in the cloth. She lowered her hands back to her lap, wringing the handkerchief tightly in her hands and wondering what was to happen next. The hope of leaving the manor alive was beginning to refresh within her, and she tried to get her emotions back under control and regain her calm, focused demeanor.
“Who are you working for?” the man at the table asked, his voice sharp and biting.
Faye could not help wincing, despite her determination to get herself under control. Her kidnapper whipped his head around to look at the other man, giving him an annoyed look. The table man shrugged apologetically, then looked back down at his paper.
“Forgive us, miss,” her kidnapper said, giving her a small smile, “but we must know who you work for so that we can get to the bottom of this whole mess.”
Faye shook her head slowly. Mayson had been the one who had sent her, but he had not employed her. She got the impression that was not what they were asking her.
“I do not understand,” she said truthfully. “I have no idea what you mean. I do not work at all.”
Her kidnapper sighed, shaking his head sadly.
“Look, miss,” he said. “I fancy it would be a shame to see you sent to the gallows. But that is precisely what will happen to you if you do not cooperate with us. Please, just answer the question. It will be far better if you answer us here, in this room than if we have to take you elsewhere.”
Faye stared incredulously at the man. Of course, the thought of going to the gallows frightened her, but she had done nothing to warrant such a sentence. She had broken into the marquess’s study, but so had the man before her. And she had been trying to catch Lord Turlington at the park, but her abductor had been there, also. So, if she had done something to earn her a trip to the gallows, so had he.
“And just who, pray tell, are the two of you?” she asked, pride swelling in her bosom at the boldness in her tone.
Apparently, her sudden acuity caught her captors off guard, as well. Both men looked at her with surprised expressions, then exchanged quizzical looks. After a brief hesitation, the man at the table gave her kidnapper a curt nod. Then, the man in front of her turned back to her, his face softening.
“I suppose that is a fair enough question,” he said. “We are agents of the Crown. My name is Thomas Kenworthy, and this is my partner, Rupert Eston, the Viscount Daleshire.”
Faye blinked in surprise. She would never have guessed that an English nobleman would be doubling as an agent for the Crown. All at once, the man’s appearance in the marquess’s study and at the park made more sense. These two men must be trailing the marquess because of some suspected criminal activity. Faye resisted the urge to begin crying again. Mayson had gotten her involved in this mess, and now, two agents of the Crown were going to take her in because of his misconducts.
“Now my partner has answered your question, you must answer ours,” Lord Daleshire said flatly. “Who are you, and who do you work for?”
Faye took a deep breath. Now she knew these men represented the authorities rather than crooks, she knew she must answer them. And she knew that would involve confessing everything she had done at Mayson’s demand. Of all the scenarios she had imagined, she had never thought she would find herself facing time in jail.
“My name is Faye Winters,” she said slowly, concentrating on speaking rather than crying. “I am the only daughter of the late Earl of Welborn.”
She paused, understanding now that the viscount was taking notes on the answers she gave. She waited to give him time to write down what she had just said and to take another breath.
