Page 63 of The Spy Who Loved Her
Sir Roger offered a cordial bow as a gentleman was meant to do for a lady. “I’ll call again soon,” he said as he turned for the door, and she did not think she had imagined the subtle threat lurking there within the even tenor of his voice. “And, Lady Emma—I am deeply, deeply sorry.”
Emma managed to still the trembling of her knees until Sir Roger’s footsteps faded from the hall. As much as she would have liked to wilt with the relief his absence had created in her, she knew she did not have the luxury of it. She had to tell Kit what had transpired. Immediately.
Chapter Twenty One
By the time Emma had finished recounting the details of Sir Roger’s call, Kit’s face had gone several shades paler. His hand shook as he lifted his glass to his lips, swallowing down far too much liquor in a single, pained gulp. “Christ,” he said, in a low, despairing tone. “Christ.”
“I—I’ve made a dreadful mistake, haven’t I?” Emma asked, dropping her head.
Kit swiped one hand through his hair, his fingers yanking a few knots free on the pass. “No,” he said. “It’s not your fault, Em. There is nothing you could have done differently.”
Her throat tightened with encroaching panic. “I don’t understand,” she said, wringing her hands. “All of this, Kit—it’s beyond my comprehension.”
Sinking back in his chair, Kit heaved a sigh and scrubbed one hand over his jaw. “We told him,” he said, “that the journal had contained nothing of import. A journal, and only that. He accepted that explanation, because there was no pressing reason not to. If we had had the proof of his perfidy, we would have wielded it against him. There is information to be learned, Em, not only in what is said and done but in what isnotsaid and done.”
Oh. Her shoulders sank, her fingers going lax in her lap. What had she told the man, not only with the words she had spoken, but with the ones she had not? With her actions and inactions?
“Em, it was a doomed endeavor before he had ever set foot in your home. He had his suspicions even before he arrived that we had been less than forthcoming with him—and perhaps more than forthcoming with you,” Kit said. “He came only to confirm those suspicions. He prevailed upon you because you haven’t the training to lie convincingly.”
He had deliberately set her off-guard, reading her reactions togauge the truth. And she had not been a proficient enough liar, nor quick enough at thinking on her feet to deceive him. “He asked to see the journal,” she said.
“And you did not show it to him,” Kit said.
Her spine stiffened with outrage. “Of course I did not! How could I have done?”
“You couldn’t have,” Kit said. “But that is alsoinformation, Em. Enough of it for Sir Roger to make some credible guesses as to the contents thereof.”
At once, several disjointed pieces clicked into place within her mind; a sudden, startling understanding. She had not fooled Sir Roger with her feigned outrage at his perceived abandonment. She had not fooled him with the meager defense of safeguarding Ambrose’s private thoughts. She had all but told him, with her refusal to share it, what he had already suspected: that the journal contained information that might well implicate him.
She had also told him, with that same inaction, that she had not read its contents. Because it was just as Kit had said. If there had been concrete proof, it have would have been wielded against him already.
If you can,he had said.But he had meantif you areable—and she was not. Heknewshe was not. And he knew, too, that no one was.
“I told him it was ciphered,” she whispered. He had given her a choice that was no choice at all, had had her in check before he had even entered the room. And she had walked right into the trap he had set for her. She hadn’t known it, hadn’t even suspected. In comparison to a master, she was only a novice. A mere pawn upon the board, to be manipulated as he saw fit. “Itoldhim.”
“You didn’t tell him,” Kit said. “But he’s shrewd enough, experienced enough, to make the assumption himself. There truly is nothing you could have done differently,” Kit repeated, though his face had not regained its color. “It’s not your fault, Em.” He said it as if he wished to impress it upon her, as if he wished to absolve her of the consequences of it before they had happened.
Her head pounded with the frantic thud of her pulse. “What is going to happen?” she whispered. “Kit, what can we do?”
“I don’t know,” he said, and swallowed hard. “Em…there may be nothing wecando. Thus far he’s done nothing inherently suspicious. We’ve no proof whatsoever of current wrongdoings, no evidence to suggest any active engagement in illegal activities. Without that journal, we have nothing. Have you…taken precautions to guard it?”
“Yes,” she said on a rush of relief that she had had that much foresight at least. She hadn’t liked the way Sir Roger’s gaze had lingered upon her desk. Hadn’t liked his attention to the ink stains upon her fingers. “Yes, I have.”
“Good,” he said. “Tell no one its location.No one, Em. Not even me.” His shaking fingers swiped at his jaw. “So long as the journal is in play, he will try to take it. And if he succeeds, the game is over.”
Checkmate. A shiver slipped up her spine. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean we will have nothing and he shall have everything,” Kit said. “He’ll destroy it if he can, and then—then there will be a traitor within the Home Office, free to act with impunity. There is no telling what damage he might cause, the lengths to which he might go to protect himself and his position.”
And they would all be marked as his enemies. Obstacles to be removed—or eliminated.
∞∞∞
The quiet creep of footfalls upon the stairs raised Rafe’s hackles before the intruder had even reached the door of his study. It wasn’t the regular step he had come to associate with his housekeeper, nor the thunderous stomp generally indicative of Dannyboy’s overeager stride. He was reaching into the drawer of his desk for his pistol before the door had opened, one hand curling around the handle.
And yet it was Dannyboy’s head that appeared in the gap of the door, his brow furrowed in consternation. “Oi, guv,” he said. “There’s an awful lot o’ men outside yer house. Did ye know?”
A pit of unease formed in Rafe’s stomach. “Are there?” he asked. “What did they look like?”
