Elizabeth Thornton (21 page)

Tomorrow, when Hugh got to the bank, he would learn the truth. And when he came back for her, he wouldn’t find her. She planned to be well on her way to Dover.

Hugh smoothed back loose strands of hair from Abbie’s brow. Her lashes were like smudges against the parchment of her skin. She was exhausted, worn out by the punishing pace he’d set. They’d covered the distance to London in record time, but only because they’d stopped for nothing but a change of horses and provisions to eat on the way. They’d been traveling since dawn and they weren’t done yet. Night had fallen a long time ago, but he was determined to push on until they reached the outskirts of London. No one could trace them there.

He’d had no choice but to go at this grueling pace. Not only was he determined to get to Langley before
Maitland could prejudice the colonel’s mind, but he would not risk being caught by the other side, not now that he knew what he was up against.

The men who’d murdered Alex were scum, fanatics, and traitors besides. He’d dealt with their kind before. Nothing stopped them but a bullet or a hangman’s noose.

When Abbie moaned in her sleep he reached down, slid one arm under her legs and lifted them to lie across his lap. She nestled against him, murmured something incoherent, but she did not waken.

He was proud of her in more ways than one. She’d made the journey without a word of complaint. But more important by far, she’d finally told him the truth.

As for George, when he caught up with that scapegrace, he’d kick his backside to kingdom come. Undoubtably, there was a woman in it somewhere.

He wondered what Abbie made of it all. She’d asked a few questions about his work at the foreign office, and how he knew all these intelligence people, and he had said something vague about meeting them at university or during the course of his work.

He hadn’t wanted to tell her the truth. For one thing, all agents were sworn to secrecy, even when they left the service. But there was more to it than that. Hugh Templar, the agent, wasn’t the man he was now. He’d been a warrior. He’d seen things, done things, that only another agent could condone. As soon as he’d left the service, he’d slammed and locked the door on that episode of his life. He didn’t want Abbie opening that door because he didn’t want her to change towards him. She respected him, and that’s the way he wanted to keep it.

There must be some nice man out there …

Maybe he didn’t fit the description. Maybe his past was murky, and maybe it didn’t matter. He could take
good care to make sure that Abbie never found out. And when this was over, he would gladly sink into the obscurity of his books and scholarship.

He pillowed his head on the banquette and let his thoughts drift.

T
hey stopped for what was left of the night at a hostelry in Chiswick, well off the main road. Another hour or two would have taken them to their own doors, but Hugh was convinced that Maitland would not be far behind, and would expect them to make for home. Maitland might think twice about arresting him, but he would have no such reservations about Abbie, and Hugh’s object was to keep Abbie out of it until he had a chance to speak to his former chief.

The landlord had obviously risen from his bed to answer the pounding of the door knocker and spoke to them rudely until Hugh slapped several gold sovereigns into his palm. Before long, Hugh and Abbie, now posing as Mr. and Mrs. White, were shown into a small but comfortable room, while Harper and Tom went off to the stable block.

The first thing Hugh did was light the fire. “We could have posed as brother and sister,” he said. “Then we would have been given separate rooms.”

“No,” said Abbie. It was she who had told the landlord
they were husband and wife. “I don’t want to be alone, not tonight.”

Hugh straightened and turned to watch her. She was wandering around the room, looking at everything but, he suspected, seeing nothing. When she let out a sigh and sat on the edge of the bed, he crossed to her.

“It’s George, isn’t it?” he said. “That’s what’s put that look on your face.”

“What look?”

The look of a trapped animal waiting for the hunter to catch up to it. “Anxious, worried,” he said. “But George will have his amnesty, I promise you.”

“I wasn’t thinking about amnesty for George.”

“Then what were you thinking?”

She was thinking that she couldn’t save George by herself, that she wasn’t brave enough or clever enough. She was thinking that the urge to confess was like a constant shadow on her heart. She looked at Hugh and wanted to lay all her burdens on his broad shoulders.

“I was thinking about tomorrow,” she said. “It could be dangerous.”

He sank down on his haunches and took her hands. “I’ll be on my guard at all times. Nothing will go wrong.”

“Those men are dangerous. They’ve already killed a man.”

He got up and sat beside her on the bed. “They don’t know where we are. They don’t know where we’re going. And once Langley has the book, they’re finished. They won’t care about us. All they’ll care about is saving their own skins.”

“What will happen to them if they’re caught?”

“They’re traitors, Abbie. They’ll hang.”

“What about me? Am I a traitor too?”

“Put that thought right out of your mind. You thought
you were helping your brother. You didn’t know then that British intelligence was involved. You’re in the clear.”

The urge to confess quietly died.

When she nodded, he stood up. “I’m going to check on Harper and Tom,” he said, “and have a look around. I’ll get our saddlebags at the same time. Will you be all right?”

She made an effort to show some life. “Don’t worry about me, Hugh. I’ll be fine. I’ll just sit in front of the fire and warm myself until you return.”

“This will only take a few minutes.”

“Really, Hugh, I’m fine.”

He wasn’t convinced. She was very pale, and she would hardly look him in the eye. When she stifled a yawn behind her hand, he felt reassured. Maybe all she needed was a good night’s rest.

“Lock the door behind me,” he said, “and don’t open it to anyone but me.”

She walked him to the door and locked it behind him. When she heard his steps recede along the corridor, she put her fists to her mouth to stifle a long pent-up breath. She took a few halting steps into the room and was caught by her own reflection in a long cheval mirror. The woman who stared back at her was barely recognizable. Her coat and frock were mired with mud. Her expression, her whole appearance, was one of hopelessness. This woman didn’t look as though she could stand up to her own shadow. How could she hope to stand up to these vicious, desperate men?

She would stand up to them the same way she had stood up to them when Hugh was attacked, or she would die in the attempt.

The thought terrified her, but fear wasn’t the only emotion she experienced. She was mourning the loss of
all that might have been. Whether she lived or died, whether she succeeded or failed, she would lose Hugh’s friendship. He would despise her. He would know that she was unprincipled, that she was prepared to betray her own country. The names she had called him paled into insignificance beside the names he would call her. And it wouldn’t matter if, once she got the book, her family decided that their best course was to go to the authorities. Hugh would know she had tricked him.

She took the chair by the fire and stared at the flames that licked around a log. Her dreams had burned to ashes a long time ago. It was more than time that she accepted it. She would never marry; she would never have children. She would never know a lover’s embrace.

Lover
. She tested the word carefully. She’d always thought she understood the difference between right and wrong, but now she realized she didn’t know anything at all.

She covered her face with her hands. What was the good of being good when it felt so bad?

When she opened the door, Hugh strode into the room and threw the saddlebags onto the bed. They’d left their boxes at Mrs. Deane’s place because he’d wanted to travel light. All they had with them was a change of clothes and a few articles of toilette.

“Did you pack a nightgown, Abbie?”

“I don’t remember.”

He opened one of the saddlebags and removed a white lawn shirt. “You can sleep in one of my shirts if you forgot,” he said.

“Thank you, Hugh, but I’d rather go to bed as I am.”

He stopped rummaging in his saddlebag when he noticed
the chair by the bed. The garments she’d worn that day were neatly folded over the backrest; her white lacy underthings were on the cushioned seat. A pair of embroidered silk stockings trailed from her underthings to the floor. He looked at those stockings and his mouth went dry. Imprints of her calves and thighs were clearly evident.

Slowly, very slowly, he turned to face her.

She’d taken the gold taffeta counterpane from the bed and wrapped herself in it, leaving her shoulders and arms bare. Her hair was loose and streamed around her shoulders in a fiery torrent. Flickering candlelight played over her skin, drizzling it with honey. Her appeal was staggering. Her intent was patently clear. But giving the lie to her bold attempt at seduction was the alluring smile that wobbled at the edges, and the fragility in her eyes.

“I thought—” he cleared his throat, “I thought I’d bed down in front of the fire, if you’ll spare me a blanket and one of your pillows.”

Her chin lifted, and she took a tentative step toward him, then another. “I want you to sleep with me, Hugh,” she said simply.

A wave of heat roared through him, and beads of sweat broke out on his brow. He had to struggle to find his next breath. “Abbie,” he shook his head, “this isn’t what you want. What about your self-respect? What about that nice man out there who wants the same things you do?”

He was trying to be noble, trying to spare her. She had no idea how it would be if he took her right now. She was at a low ebb; she was frightened and in need of reassurance. She wanted comforting.

And he wanted to take her on a wild ride to oblivion.

He was wound up like a coiled spring. He was always
like this on the eve of a mission. In spite of his assurances to Abbie, he was well aware of the danger involved, and the threat of danger aroused long forgotten instincts in a man. It stripped him of the veneer of civilization and reduced him to little more than a barbarian. Every soldier who had fought in a battle knew this. If he were to take her now, his body would demand a fast and furious release. Abbie deserved a slow, careful initiation with all the finesse at his command.

And she would have it, when the conditions were right.

She held on to the edges of the taffeta counterpane as she took another rustling step toward him. Her voice cracked. “What nice man out there? There isn’t one. If there were, don’t you think I would have found him by now? And what’s the good of self-respect when the future is so uncertain? All I want is this one night, Hugh. If I had that, I think I’d be more reconciled to my lot in life and stop pining for the impossible.”

He wanted to tell her that she wasn’t pining for the impossible. He wanted to tell her that she’d found that nice man out there who wanted the same things she did. He ached to hold her, reassure her, convince her that she was more of a woman than he had ever known. He could do none of those things. Even now, his control was slipping away. If he didn’t get out of here, he would fall on her like a rutting bull.

She drew in a big gulp of air and swallowed it. She hadn’t expected Hugh to be so skittish, but that’s how he appeared. He looked as though he’d rather be anywhere than in this small room, alone, with her.

At any other time, her pride would have rushed in to save her from making a fool of herself. But this was too important to be swayed by pride. This night would be all
she would ever have of him. She refused to let him turn her away unless he could convince her he really meant it.

She began to edge forward, but carefully, so as not to make him more nervous than he appeared. “Don’t go all moral on me now, Hugh. Isn’t this what you wanted? You kissed me. You touched me. You changed things between us.”

He saw that he was mangling the shirt he’d offered her in lieu of her nightgown, and he tossed it aside with a grimace of self-derision. Wonderful. Now he’d given her the impression that he was rejecting her. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he didn’t want to disgust her either.

The irony in the reversal of their roles would have made him laugh if he hadn’t been grinding his teeth together. The taffeta wrap was slipping, and his imagination had just taken a wild plunge into hell and damnation. He hardly knew what he was saying. “I’ve changed my mind. This isn’t for you. You’re not a camp follower. You’re a respectable, gently bred girl.”

She stopped edging forward as the hurt started in her heart and spread out in waves. She spoke in a painful whisper. “You’ve changed your mind? You don’t want me anymore?”

He took a sideways step, giving him a clear path to the door. “Go to bed, Abbie. I’m going to find Harper. There are still some things we have to go over before we leave tomorrow.”

“But you’ve just talked to Harper.”

“Well, I want to talk to him again.”

She took a sideways step as well, blocking his exit.

“Don’t you understand anything?” he said fiercely. “This is the wrong time and place. And I haven’t had a woman in an age. This is not a good idea, Abbie.”

This was something new, this reference to past lovers.
She wasn’t surprised; she simply wasn’t interested. All she could think about was the present moment. She wanted something for herself, something to warm her in the cold black nights that lay ahead.

“I’m not afraid of you, Hugh,” she said.

“Well you damn well ought to be,” he roared.

She was only an arm’s length from him when her courage began to ebb. She’d thought it would be simple. She’d offer herself and he’d take her. But all he’d done was try to put her off. He stood there, as loverlike as a pillar of stone, while she was all trembles and shivers inside.