Elizabeth Powell (17 page)

“I doubt a navy man was responsible,” the admiral replied. Amanda heard the clink of glassware. “Such an act would violate an officer’s code of honor. At any rate, there is nothing here for anyone to find.”

Amanda stiffened. Nothing to find? Botheration—he
had
moved them.

“Good,” said the second voice, pinched with sarcasm. “I’d hate to think you had endangered our operation by keeping any incriminating documents in your possession.”

“You know I wouldn’t do that.” Locke’s irritation was unmistakable.

“I am pleased to hear it. Now, we must assume that our activities are still under suspicion, and move with caution. I have just received our orders: the next navy packet arrives at Portsmouth on Tuesday, with information vital to our cause.”

“Your cause. Not mine.”

“Let us not bandy semantics. It is your cause, Locke, because you work for us.”

“Not by choice.”

Outside, Amanda’s jaw dropped in shock. The second man must be the traitor from the Admiralty! His voice sounded so familiar. If only she could place it.

“Nonsense. We have paid you very well for your services. From the way you’ve redecorated your house I can see that you’ve become accustomed to extravagant living.”

Admiral Locke mumbled something, too soft for Amanda to hear, but the tone was definitely unpleasant.

The traitor did not seem impressed. “Your disposition worsens with each passing day, Admiral. I’d be more careful, if I were you. You are not irreplaceable.”

“You need me,” Locke argued.

“Yes,” the traitor agreed, “you have been a valuable asset. But even you can push too far.”

Locke hesitated a moment before answering in a tight voice, “Quite a choice you’ve given me—the hangman’s noose, or a knife in the back.”

“I see we understand each other. Now, can I rely upon you to deliver that information to our agents?”

“Yes, damn you. But after this, I’m done,” Locke growled.

The traitor guffawed, a harsh sound. “I think not. You’re done when I say you’re done.”

A long pause fell over the room. Amanda held her breath. What was going on in there?

“I’m warning you,” Locke said harshly. “I want no more part of this. I’ve seen too many men die as it is.”

“You’ve never struck me as the squeamish type, Locke. Is that business about Captain Tremayne still bothering you? Ah, I see that it is.”

The edges of Amanda’s vision began to blacken. Her father … they were talking about her father. Her fingers curled against the glass.

“He was a decent man,” Locke said. “A good officer. He didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

“Of course he did,” countered the traitor. The cold cruelty in his voice made Amanda’s skin crawl. “He pried into our affairs and endangered our mission. We had to get rid of him. It was his life or yours, and both you and I know that your sense of self-preservation is greater than your sense of honor.”

Another long pause, broken by a crash and the tinkle of shattered glass.

“No need for such displays of temper, Admiral,” said the traitor. “This affair will work to everyone’s satisfaction. Our mission is nearly finished. Deliver the information from the packet to our man at the George and Dragon, and Le Chacal shall reward you handsomely. A few days later you shall have your new command.”

“Good,” Locke muttered. From the placement of his silhouette, Amanda realized that he stood right in front of the curtains. She tensed. Her heavy breath fogged the windowpane.

“But in case you are tempted to double-cross me,” the traitor continued, “I feel obliged to tell you that I am prepared to send those raving letters of yours to the First Lord. Should anything happen to me, my men have instructions to deliver them immediately. You’ll hang for murder.”

“My life is ruined either way. You bastard.” Locke was angry. She didn’t need to see his face to determine that.

“You won’t be ruined if you continue to follow Le Chacal’s instructions.”

“By God, what a supreme stroke of irony—I must atone for my sins by committing treason.”

“As sins go, yours is particularly heinous. I wonder how society would react if they knew you strangled your wife in a jealous rage.”

Nausea swept Amanda in a wave. She squeezed her eyes shut. First treason, now murder.

“I did not mean to kill her,” Locke said thickly.

“Whether you meant to kill her or not, the fact is that she’s dead. But for those letters, her death seemed like an accident,” the traitor continued. “You should have been more careful.”

“Why did you choose me to be your cat’s paw? Why not someone less conspicuous?”

“Because of your influence as an admiral, and because your particular vices made you an easy target. As it turns out, we’ve proven to be an effective team, you and I.”

“Go to hell, you hypocrite. You betrayed your country, then blackmailed me into helping you.”

“My country,” spat the traitor, “betrayed me first. But I did not come here to argue with you. You have your orders, Locke. Defy us once more, and you’ll regret it.”

Amanda heard one set of heavy footsteps head toward the door. The hinges protested, the door clicked shut again. She pulled away from the window and squinted through the panes. One silhouette still remained in the room. She put her ear back to the glass. What was Locke doing now?

Another clink of glass. “My dearest Emily,” Locke murmured, “I am so very sorry. Forgive me.”

A pause. Then footsteps, headed away. The hinges screeched, then the study door closed with a snap.

Amanda sagged against the door frame and put a trembling hand over her mouth. She didn’t need to find the documents Locke had hidden away. She hadn’t heard the traitor’s name, but she had heard his voice, and knew when and where they would make their next move.

She gingerly opened the doors into the study. Warmth flooded through her. She peered through the part in the curtains—the room was empty. Rubbing her hands to
restore the circulation, she stumbled over to the fireplace. Cold, she was so cold. She pried off her gloves and held her numbed fingers before the flames. What had just taken place within these four walls chilled her more than the night air. She didn’t know the traitor’s name—Locke had never mentioned it—but she knew she would recognize his voice if she heard it again.

She wriggled her toes inside her slippers as feeling began to creep back. She’d wait a little longer, just to make sure no one saw her leave. Her mind reeled with a million questions. Who was Le Chacal—another French agent? Heavens, she’d discovered an entire nest of them. Whoever this Frenchman was, it sounded like the traitor from the Admiralty took orders from him. Locke played only a small part in this treasonous web, but that had not diminished her desire for vengeance. For justice. She had to find Captain Everly—Jack—right away.

Amanda thrust her hands into her gloves, then hurried to the door. She opened it a crack, then cocked a cautious ear. Good, there was no one in the hall. She opened the door a little further, mindful of the hinges, and slipped out into the corridor.

A burst of falsetto laughter froze her where she stood. Someone was coming down the hall from the main stairs. Startled, Amanda lifted her skirts and raced to the back staircase, praying that she wouldn’t run into anyone else.

The clamor of raised voices caught her attention as she neared the first floor landing. She peeked around the corner. A few offices stood in the hall, not far from her. Amanda ducked back into hiding. It would seem suspicious if she suddenly appeared from the servants’ stairs. Better to go up one more flight, then come back down the main stairway. She watched the officers nervously, but none of them so much as noticed her as she sneaked across the hall and up the next set of stairs. Amanda’s knees wobbled as she hurried upward.

The second floor of the town house held the family and guest bedchambers. Amanda ran this gauntlet as quickly as she could, willing herself to ignore the moaning and the rhythmic thumping that came from some of
the occupied rooms.
Occupied
. Heat flooded her face. The sooner she found Jack, the sooner they could leave this horrible place.

At the head of the stairs, she paused to take a deep breath. How she wanted out of this house! She concentrated on each step as she descended, for her shattered nerves had turned her limbs to jelly. She must be calm, she told herself; she must do her duty. So intent was she on her footing that she didn’t recognize the men standing by the newel post until she was upon them.

Admiral Locke looked up, and his icy blue eyes impaled her.

“Prospecting the bedrooms, Miss Campion?” he asked, one brow lifted in a suggestive arch.

The question caught Amanda off guard. She was fumbling for a reply when Everly’s admonition ricocheted through her skull.
You must play your role, no matter what depredations you see, no matter how shocked or appalled you become
. She was supposed to be a strumpet; she would act like one. She tossed her head and smiled at her enemy.

“I did not think you would object.” She hardly recognized the low, throaty laugh as her own.

Locke shrugged. “Not at all, my dear. But I fear Everly is still engaged at cards. I do hope he hasn’t forgotten about you.”

“I doubt that, Admiral.” A knot of arctic cold gathered beneath Amanda’s heart. He was playing with her. Why?

“Do not fret—I’m certain this young man could divert you for a time. Could you not, Lieutenant?”

Amanda turned and found herself the focus of Harry Morgan’s astonished stare. From the bumper of brandy in his hand, as well as the golden cast to his hazel eyes, she could see he was well and truly foxed. Oh, heavens, what else could go wrong?

She pirouetted and latched coquettishly on to Harry’s arm. “Yes, I’m sure Mr. Morgan will keep me amused for a time. If you’ll excuse us?” With a flutter of her lashes, Amanda pulled Harry away from Admiral Locke.
She could feel the admiral’s gaze drilling into her back, and willed herself not to run.

“What … what’re you doing here, Amanda?” demanded Harry. He wobbled and stumbled against her.

“Shh! Not so loud,” Amanda hissed, propping him up with one shoulder. She maneuvered him down the hall. The door to a side parlor stood open, and she headed for it. She needed to explain before things got any worse.

Harry ignored her. “I said, what’re you doing here?” He shook off her touch, and his eyes flared with a golden glow as he scanned her up and down.

“Not now, Harry. I’ll tell you everything later, I promise.” Amanda darted a panicked glance over her shoulder, but Locke had disappeared.

“No, you’ll tell me now!” With an oath, Harry seized her arm and propelled her into the parlor.

“Harry, you’re hurting me,” she protested. She tried to pull away, but Harry tightened his grip. She winced. “You’re bosky.”

The lieutenant downed his brandy in three gulps and set the glass down with a bang. “So what if I am a lil’ cup-shot? I’m not so disguised that I can’ see the way you’re dressed. You look like a wh … a doxy. What the hell’re you doing here?”

She had never seen him like this. His slurred, accusing tone sliced through her. “I promise I’ll explain everything later. Please, just let me go.”

“No. No more promises,” Harry muttered. He leaned down, his nose almost touching hers. “Tell me—now!”

Amanda coughed as brandy fumes engulfed her. “You know exactly what I’m doing—I’m here to find my proof.”

He waved a finger in her face. “Dammit, Amanda, I told you to go home. You don’ belong here.”

She batted his hand away. “Stop ordering me about, Harry.”

“Stubborn. Always so stubborn. You just keep pushing, don’ you? You don’ care who you hurt.” Harry ran a hand through his tousled hair. “Well, I’m not goin’ to stand by and let you do this. You’re goin’ home.”

Amanda recoiled from the strange glitter in his eyes. “No, Harry, I can’t. I’m here with Captain Everly.”

Harry’s brows shot skyward. “Everly? Cap’n High-an’-Mighty? You’re here wi’ him?”

A bitter mixture of alarm and impatience mingled on Amanda tongue. “Yes, I am, but it’s not—”

The young lieutenant didn’t wait to hear the rest. “That whoremonger. I’ll call him out!” he roared. He released Amanda, pivoted, and all but lunged for the door.

“Harry, no!” Amanda managed to grab his sleeve. “Stop this!”

“Why’re you protectin’ him?” Harry spun about and grabbed her by the shoulders, his fingers digging painfully into the tender skin. “You wanted to be here, didn’t you? You wanted to be here with
him
.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I needed his help to get into the house.”

“Did he give you that dress?” he demanded. “Has he kissed you? He has, hasn’t he?”

Alarm raked its way up Amanda’s throat. She couldn’t reason with Harry, not when he was like this. Neither could she tell him the truth. “N-no, of course not.”

Harry stared at her, his eyes narrowed to golden slits. “You’re lying.”

“Harry, please let me go.”

“Not until you kiss me the way you kissed him.” Intent, he bent down and tried to plant his lips against hers. Amanda gasped and twisted away; Harry’s mouth skidded across her cheek. He frowned at the evasion. She tried to struggle free of his embrace, but he tightened his grip and tried to kiss her again.

“Stop it!” Amanda cried. Panic warred with reason; panic won. She slapped him. Hard.

The young lieutenant, caught off his guard, teetered backward and landed sprawling on an overstuffed chair. He raised a hand to the angry red mark on his cheek, his face clouded.

“I thought you were my friend, not a drunken sot whose only thought is to maul me.” Amanda trembled
from head to toe. The coldness beneath her breastbone was back, a terrible black void. So much had happened tonight … she wasn’t sure what to think anymore. Tears sprang to her lashes as she backed toward the door.

“Amanda, wait!” Harry sputtered, struggling to rise from the chair.

“Just forget you ever saw me,” Amanda whispered as she made her escape.

Desperation drove her as she dashed into the hallway. She needed to leave! She barely saw Admiral Locke by the parlor door, barely saw the assessing look he gave her. She slowed only when she reached the ballroom; the sight of the assembled guests made her pause. She needed to collect herself. If she dashed through the room like a Maenad, all wild eyes and flying hair, she would become an instant cynosure. She’d already withstood quite enough attention.