room, mending some undergarments. She’d chosen the location mostly because Beau would never be able to look for her there.
It had been a success. She didn’t arrive back to her bedchamber until after Lady Wilhelmina had returned from dinner. Marianne had helped the young woman change into her night rail before stealing back up to her own bedchamber on the fourth floor. Even then, she waited another hour before she moved quietly out into the corridor, down to Beau’s room.
He answered the knock nearly immediately, as if he was waiting for someone.
His jaw was tight and his face was blank. Most tellingly, he didn’t say a word. He merely stepped back and opened the door wide enough for her to enter. She remained silent as well as she stepped inside. She waited for him to close the door behind her before she turned to him.
“Beau, I—”
“I assume you received a letter, too?” His voice was clipped, entirely devoid of emotion.
Very well. If he was going to be this way, so would she be.
“I did,” she answered curtly, careful to remove emotion from her voice too.
Beau stalked over to the small desk in front of his window and grabbed his letter.
“Didn’t burn yours, I see,” she said.
“No. I didn’t. Do you have yours?” His face remained blank. He was beginning to alarm her.
She pulled from her apron pocket the letter she’d been carrying all day. “Yes, I have it.”
“Well, I suppose you won’t read yours to me until I read mine to you?” His voice was harsh.
“Why don’t we trade them?” she offered.
“Ah, excellent. That way we’ll both know we aren’t lying…for once.”
She tentatively held out her letter to him and he handed her his.
They both accepted each other’s letters and read them quickly.
Marianne closed her eyes. Beau’s letter said the exact same thing hers had.
* * *
Agent B,
By now you must realize that we have two operatives at the Clayton house party. You must work with Agent M to bring the Bidassoa traitor to justice. Your orders are to return with the family to Lord Copperpot’s estate and await further instruction while continuing to investigate. Good luck.
G
* * *
Beau was the first to speak. “You’re Agent M.”
Marianne nodded. “You’re Agent B.”
“Guilty.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair and stalked toward the window. “Damn it. I don’t like working with anyone else.”
“Neither do I,” she replied.
He turned back to face her. “What do you know about the Bidassoa traitor? You said you brother was murdered. You said you were looking for a murderer, not a traitor.”
“My brother was murdered. By the Bidassoa traitor. My brother was Private Frederick Ellsworth.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Beau’s eyes widened. “The devil you say! Your brother was the soldier who intercepted the letter? The one who took it to Wellington?” Beau spent the next several moments trying to solidify in his mind how all of this was possible.
First, Marianne was a spy too. He’d been so enamored of her, he’d failed to see the clues that were directly beneath his nose. General Grimaldi, his commanding officer, liked to do things this way. He often put two operatives in the same location in order to test them. Then, in the end, they would be there to help one another.
Beau had simply never guessed that Grimaldi would pull this stunt on him, and specifically not with a female spy. Beau had never seen it coming. That was his fault. And he could bloody well kick himself for being such an obtuse fool.
Second, apparently Marianne’s brother was the private who had been shot after intercepting the Bidassoa traitor’s letter from the French. Having handed over the letter, Private Ellsworth had died in front of Wellington, and was posthumously awarded a medal in return for his bravery. In all of his musings, Beau had never guessed that her brother and this hero were the same man. Why would he have any reason to?
Marianne leaned back against the wall near the door. “Yes. The truth is that I set out to find Frederick’s murderer as soon as I learned what had happened to him.”
“How did you get involved with Grimaldi?” Beau asked.
She stepped toward the window, crossing her arms over her chest. “At first, I merely went to London. I was looking for the men who were in the special council, who knew about the British army’s plans at Bidassoa. I soon learned there were three suspects.”
“Cunningham, Hightower, and Copperpot,” Beau ground out.
“Precisely. Lady Courtney, my former employer, helped me with a reference,