And we need to act now.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Lady Derring Lady Derring Lady Derring . . .”
“Wha . . . Dot?”
Delilah had been dreaming. And Dot was whispering. Two inches from her face.
“Shhhh. Captain Hardy is downstairs and he needs to speak to you at once. He told me to fetch you and Mrs. Breedlove, and to be very, very quiet about it.”
Delilah absurdly put her hand out and patted Dot’s face to ascertain that she was real and that this wasn’t part of the dream she’d been having.
Dot’s nose was cold, like a little pet’s, and it squashed a little.
She glanced at the clock on her mantle. It was half past twelve.
Delilah shot straight up in bed.
“Is he all right?”
That sick terror and ferocity were instant. If he was not all right, she would make it so.
If he was not, she thought that she would die.
It was not an epiphany she found welcome at this hour of the morning.
She reeled with it. And then Dot said, “I think so, Lady Derring. He certainly looks quite fine. And he’s with about a half-dozen soldiers and he’s the one in charge, so I would say so.” She paused. “I am less certain about us.”
And at first she didn’t see the soldiers at all, despite the red coats. They were motionless, blending into shadows. And then it was their very alert tension that disturbed the softness of the room. Everything else in it was frayed, or soft, or worn. The soldiers were rigid, spotless, and grim.
Tristan, she saw. Standing like the needle on a compass in the dead center of the room.
“Ladies, please sit down,” Tristan said at once. Quietly.
Delilah froze.
“Delilah,” Angelique urged, and touched her arm.
They sank onto the settee.
Their hands touched between them. Angelique’s were as icy as hers.
“This is Lieutenant Massey.” Tristan’s voice was scarcely above a whisper. He gestured to a tall, sturdy, dark-haired man. Angelique and Delilah nodded to the lieutenant.
“We apologize for the dramatic nature of this request and the necessity for subterfuge. But Mrs. Breedlove, Lady Derring, we’d like you to inform the Gardner sisters that the room they originally wanted has become available to let, and then to move them into it straightaway. First thing tomorrow morning. One simple sentence from you. Then hand them the key.”
Delilah stared at him. Surely she was dreaming.
“I . . . don’t understand.” Angelique was able to speak. In a whisper.
Delilah began. “But . . . I’m afraid we’ve let that room to . . . but we promised . . . we can’t . . .”
“Lady Derring.” It felt wrong, suddenly, to hear him call her that. Delilah: He’d claimed her name. Lady Derring was a name that belonged to another woman in another lifetime. “I am the Captain of the King’s Blockade and I’m afraid I must insist that you do as I say.”
She reared back a little as if he’d thrust a torch into her face.
“For your safety and the safety of your guests, Lady Derring. The Gardner sisters are neither sisters nor women.”
There was a silence. Her heart battered at her like it was trying to break free.
“Tristan . . .” Delilah curled her hand into the settee. She felt as though she was falling and falling.
Lieutenant Massey’s eyes went wide when he heard the “Tristan.”
His head swiveled between Captain Hardy and Delilah.
Tristan’s face was unreadable and his eyes were cold as bullets in the shadowy room. All he was in this moment was a commander.
What had Angelique said? Like a rock or a trebuchet.
“Captain Hardy.” Angelique was frightened, too, Delilah knew. But her tone was all that was placatory and dulcet. Angelique was a survivor. “You can understand that this building belongs to us, so naturally we are concerned . . . what on earth is happening? Are we under suspicion of a crime?”
Angelique had asked that terrifying question with gracious rationality. And a hint of good humor.
Then again, she hadn’t kissed this man’s scars a day ago. Or risen sated from his arms, reluctant to let him go, a few hours earlier. She hadn’t heard him beg her with her name. She hadn’t cracked open his guarded heart, cherished what she found there, never realizing in the process that she’d also cracked open her own and now—well, what had Angelique said? That it rattled around in there like dropped china? That’s how it felt.
Waves of emotion swooped through Delilah like attacking birds: fury and helplessness and nauseating betrayal and scorched pride.
She was a fool.
Tristan