CHAPTER 4

C HAPTER 4

T he courtyard in front of the British embassy churned in the dawn light. Carriages were being packed, horses snorted restlessly, and servants and staff members raced about making last-minute adjustments.

Cade sat quietly on his horse, watching. Next to him was Captain Hansen, the commander of the embassy’s military guard. He was lean and tough, with watchful eyes. They’d become friendly, developing a degree of trust as they worked together.

Cade said, “Do you think we’ll be moving before noon?”

Hansen laughed. “Yes, and the sooner the better! I can’t wait to get back to England.”

Cade hesitated before asking a personal question, but he sensed an unusual kind of tension in the other man. “Does trouble await you there?”

Hansen’s brows arched. “This is why people resent those who are gifted.”

“You’re more gifted than you want to admit,” Cade observed.

The other man shrugged. “I just have a soldierly sixth sense for danger. How did you know that I’m concerned?”

“There seems to be more on your mind than this escort duty.”

Hansen hesitated as he considered whether to say more, then sighed. “A month ago I received word that my father had died unexpectedly. As soon as we reach London, I’ll need to resign my commission and go home to take charge of the family estate. My mother is grieving and I have a young sister and brother. I need to be there for them.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t even want to think about what it will be like to lose my father,” Cade said quietly. He meant his real father, Rhys Tremayne, not his birth father, the brutal smuggler who’d thrown Cade away when he was a child.

“We’ll all miss him,” Hansen said tersely. Then his voice lightened. “There was also good news arriving in the same post. My wife informed me that she’s with child.”

“Congratulations! That’s a very good reason to want to return home.”

Hansen nodded. “I wanted to return to England immediately, but it was obvious that the embassy would be closing soon and I couldn’t abandon Lord Whitworth when there were no other officers with as much experience.”

“Staying was the honorable thing to do.”

Hansen smiled wryly. “Yes, but I now better understand the temptations of being dishonorable!”

“Sometimes being less than honorable is the best way to get the results you need,” Cade said.

“Spoken like a man who works for the Home Office,” Hansen said. “But you have the bearing of an officer. Were you ever in the army?”

“No, though I rather like giving orders,” Cade replied. When the other man chuckled, he added, “My Home Office assignments have been varied—some were rather military in nature.”

“You’re quiet about it, but you’re good at getting people to do what you think should be done. Is that some kind of gifted trick?”

“We’re not mesmerists, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Cade said dryly. “It’s more a matter of looking at a situation and deciding what is the best solution, then persuading the man in charge to think it’s his idea.”

“That’s what you did with me, and it was very successful.” Hansen grimaced. “We wouldn’t have found that cache of gunpowder if not for you.”

“My sister Tamsyn was the one who suggested that we should search the shrubbery around the embassy.”

“That pretty little blonde was the one who sensed the gunpowder?” Hansen said, surprised. “She seems too ladylike for such things.”

“She is not to be underestimated,” Cade said with an inward smile. His gaze went to the front door of the embassy. The Whitworths were coming out together and heading down the steps, the duchess holding her husband’s arm. Behind them, Tamsyn and Mr. Holland, the ambassador’s private secretary, were quietly following.

The day had brightened, and it was easy to see Tam’s face. She looked relaxed and calm. Her gaze went to him, and he felt a stab of sharp connection. They’d always worked well together, and he felt that connection even more intensely this time, perhaps because of the seriousness of their mission.

He nodded to her, then said, “It looks like we’re ready to leave.”

“I’ll be glad to get out of Paris and onto the open road.” Hansen set his horse forward to the ambassador’s carriage. He had a brief conversation with Lord Whitworth before the ambassador, his wife, Tamsyn, and Holland climbed into the vehicle.

The gates of the embassy compound opened and the carriages rolled out. Great Britain was officially leaving France as thunderclouds of war gathered over Europe.

* * *

Tamsyn was glad when they reached the countryside. The narrow Parisian streets would be dangerous if an enemy wanted to attack, and while that didn’t happen, she could feel the hostility around them.

French roads were generally good, especially major routes like the one from Paris to Calais, and the well-sprung ambassadorial carriage was as comfortable as one could be on such a journey. She shared the backward-facing seat with Mr. Holland. The opposite seat was occupied by the Whitworths, with the ambassador quietly working at a lap desk.

The duchess sat next to him, gazing out the window with her hands clasped tightly in her lap. It didn’t take a gifted person to recognize her tension and her desire to be back in England.

Just three days earlier, Tamsyn and Cade had made this journey south at top speed, riding the best available horses and changing frequently at the post houses along the way. She’d been dressed as a boy because riding astride was faster. Cade had perhaps slowed his pace a little so she could keep up, but if so, she hadn’t held him back much. Though she was small, she’d always had excellent stamina.

When they reached Paris, they’d stopped to change to more respectable clothing and gone to the embassy in Moreau’s carriage. This journey would be slower and less exhausting physically, but they must both keep alert. She was always aware of Cade’s location, and on this journey, her consciousness shadowed his as they both watched for danger.

After a long, boring day of travel, Tamsyn was glad when the ambassadorial party stopped for the night at an inn that was adequate, though no more than that. She and Holland dined with the Whitworths in a private parlor, but when they were done, she went in search of Cade. He’d eaten in the common room, then taken a sturdy tumbler of wine outside to sip while he relaxed on a bench and watched the last fading streaks of sunset.

Tamsyn smiled and sat next to him. “One day passed without disaster, but by the time we reach Calais, I’m going to be really tired of traveling!”

“I’m already tired of it, but at least this is slower than our mad journey to Paris.” He wrapped a casual arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into him with a sigh. She always felt relaxed with Cade.

She borrowed his glass for a sip. “A rather nice red wine. One of the advantages of being in France.” She returned the tumbler. “Have you sensed any signs of trouble?”

“Not really, but I have a sense that we’re being watched.” He hesitated before continuing, “The disturbing part is that it feels as if we’re being stalked by the man who planted the gunpowder by the embassy wall.”

Tamsyn frowned. “Your scorpion. Can you describe what he feels like?”

“Cold. Focused.” He sipped more wine. “Ruthless.”

“Can you share that feeling with me so I’ll recognize him if he’s near?”

“I’m not sure, but it’s worth trying.” He raised the arm around her shoulders and touched warm fingers to the middle of her forehead.

After a still moment, she felt a jolt of energy so startling that she gasped and jerked away from Cade. “I didn’t know it was possible to transmit the feeling of another person so intensely!”

He caught her hand to steady her. “What did you experience?” he asked quietly.

“Give me a moment to sort it out.” She closed her eyes and stilled her mind so she could analyze the complicated mix of energies she’d received from her brother. “I felt you very strongly, as if you were protecting me from the Scorpion’s energy. He’s as cold and vicious as you’ve said.”

“You’re the expert in reading people. Do you think he’ll attack the ambassador on the journey to Calais?”

She sent her perceptions deeper. “I don’t think so, but I feel there will be trouble in Calais. Serious trouble.” She thought more. “He hates Britain and passionately supports Bonaparte, but there’s also a personal element in what drives him.”

“He enjoys killing?” Cade suggested.

“Nothing that simple. But don’t take my word for any of this.” She opened her eyes and felt a different kind of startling awareness as she looked at Cade. She’d known him most of her life. She’d been instantly drawn to his desperate courage when her parents had first brought him home. He’d grown up to be tall, strong, and good-looking, but she was so used to him that she hadn’t really seen him in years.

He really was a remarkably fine figure of a man—strong and intelligent and competent, not to mention strikingly handsome, with lurking humor in his eyes. She smiled to herself. Familiarity hadn’t bred contempt, but she had certainly been taking his appearance for granted.

His brows arched. “Have I just grown a second head?”

She shook her head. “No, it’s just that when I know people very well, they become so familiar to me that I don’t really think about what they look like. Then I’ll suddenly see them as if for the first time, and it’s rather startling. Doesn’t that happen to you?”

He chuckled. “No, I only see people in a regular sort of way.”

She wondered for perhaps the first time in her life how he saw her. With a shiver, she pulled her shawl around herself. “It’s getting chilly.”

Cade wrapped his arm around her shoulders again. He was always reliably warm.

“Time to go in,” he said. “Where are you sleeping tonight?”

“With the landlord’s daughter. She has a room with two beds and is used to accommodating female travelers as long as they aren’t too alarming. What about you?”

“I’m sharing a room with Hansen. I hope he doesn’t snore.”

She stood, covering a yawn. “He probably hopes the same of you. At least none of our party must sleep on straw in the stables.”

“I might head out there myself if Hansen snores loudly,” Cade said darkly. “I’ll be glad to get back to England. We should be there in a few more days if bad weather doesn’t hold up our channel crossing.”

“And if the French officials don’t prove difficult.” She frowned as they went inside. She had a strong feeling that they wouldn’t be home in a week. If not, she hoped it was just weather that would slow them down.

No. It wouldn’t be the weather.