31

T he next twenty-four hours passed in a whirlwind of lovemaking. Stephen and Elizabeth could not walk within three yards of each other without finding themselves atop a sofa or against a wall or on a chair, with frequent breaks for rest or stretching or cuddles. He had never felt giddier.

At the moment, they were up in the topmost room of the northern turret, ostensibly so he could show her how the whispering walls worked, as well as the views from the various telescopes.

They'd done all of that and more. They were now collapsed in a naked heap in the center of a soft, thick rug Stephen might have had sent up to the turret just in case they tumbled into each other's arms.

As splendid as he found their encounters, Stephen could not shake the constant fear that each time would be the last.

It wasn't simply a matter of not yet having made promises of a shared future. There weren't any promises to make. Elizabeth had been clear from the beginning that she viewed her relationship with him as nothing more than a brief holiday from her real life. She still talked about returning home to her family and what sort of mission she might be sent on next.

If there was another prince in a castle to save, Stephen hoped the bastard kept his shirt on.

Uncharitable? Yes. Hypocritical? So be it. He didn't want to be a forgotten domino in the middle of a long line. He wanted to be the domino left standing, instead of brushed aside or packed away.

But pushing Elizabeth was not the path forward. She would have to choose him of her own free will, or not at all.

"I'll miss this," she murmured in his arms. "Nothing will top this mission."

Stephen's exposed skin felt colder than ever. She wouldn't have to miss this. No, they couldn't keep the castle, but that didn't mean they had to give up on each other.

Except it sounded as though Elizabeth had already done just that. She was relegating him to a memory before he was even gone from sight.

"You are aware," he said softly, "that since both of us live in—"

"The battle royal is imminent," the telescope in the corner said in a perfect imitation of Reddington's voice. A discarded shoe answered in the real Duke of Wellington's voice, "Then prepare to die!"

Throwing voices again. Elizabeth turned into a regular court jester whenever Stephen brought up topics she didn't wish to discuss. Things like what might or might not happen when their forced proximity ended and the future was up to them.

Very well. If she wanted to keep their focus on the problem at hand for now, he supposed he couldn't blame her. He just hoped to have enough time to convince her to give him a chance before the case ended, and their relationship terminated right along with it.

Stephen pushed himself up on one elbow to gaze over at her. "Pomp and arrogance aside, Reddington should not be underestimated. There's nothing he hates more than looking foolish. He has an army. He will employ any trick he can to get what he wants."

"Let him try his best," Elizabeth replied. "Remember my request for equal numbers? After our last negotiations, I called in reinforcements."

He raised his brows. "King George's army, I hope?"

"Even better," she assured him. "My siblings."

Stephen's stomach gave a little lurch. "Your family is on their way here?"

Marvelous. They wouldn't just fight on their sister's side. They'd take Elizabeth away.

If his life had been lonely before he'd understood what—and whom—he was missing, it would be unbearably drab without encounters with Elizabeth to look forward to.

She nodded distractedly. "Well, most of my siblings are coming. Chloe and Faircliffe cannot leave London because of Parliament and the baby. But the other seven should arrive the day before the siege. Which should give us plenty of time to prepare our counterattack."

"The day before the siege? That's today." He fumbled in his discarded trousers for his pocket watch. "It's half seven in the morning. Are you saying your family could arrive at any moment?"

"Mm-hm." Elizabeth propped herself up on her elbows. "Do you think Reddington will storm the castle at ten o'clock sharp tomorrow? Or do you think he'll camp out the night before, to be outside our walls at the break of dawn, trumpets blaring?"

"I don't know."

There was a lot Stephen didn't know. Now that the arrival of Elizabeth's family was imminent, his chest felt hollow. He could no longer concentrate on the previously relaxing warmth of their tangled naked bodies.

Her intimidating family might sense their involvement and disapprove of the match. Temporary or otherwise. With his luck, her siblings would size him up in a single glance and decide a reclusive tinker was the exact opposite of what their gregarious, swashbuckling sister needed.

The Wynchester family's disapproval would have the same effect as a trough of cold water to the face. And if they did not accept him, it was unlikely Elizabeth would wish to prolong the "holiday" either. She would awaken from this fairy-tale dream and discover Stephen to be an ordinary man.

The kisses would end, and goodbye would soon follow.

"Any minute now," he said. "I can't wait."

Her eyes flicked toward the horizon. "As much as I'm looking forward to you and my siblings meeting each other, followed by a nice, old-fashioned battle to the death—"

"To the yield," he reminded her firmly. "I was very clear about neither side doing any murdering."

"Spoilsport. The thing is… bloody aftermath or not, I still feel like I'm letting Miss Oak down. She hired me to find her sister's will, not to chop down our enemies."

"I respectfully contend that ‘chopping down' another human definitely counts as defending your client's rights."

"That stupid gilded stone." She groaned, and flopped over onto her back. "What could it mean? Why would anyone gild a stone? And hide it? Back in London, the Mayfair town homes are fairly dripping with gold, but Castle Harbrook is delightfully gray through and through. The only other—"

She let out a garbled sound and grabbed his wrist.

"What's wrong?" he asked in alarm. "Do you need breakfast?"

"I know where the next clue is," she gasped. Frantic, she scrambled up from the floor and started pulling on clothes.

Stephen hurried to do the same. By the time he shoved his feet into his shoes, Elizabeth was already down the first flight of stairs. He tore after her, catching up just as she reached the parlor where Stephen had welcomed Miss Oak.

"The next clue is in here?" he asked.

"It has to be. This is the fussiest, frilliest room in the entire castle. Even more so than the countess's private quarters. Suspiciously fussy."

The furniture looked exactly as it had before: delicate and expensive. Arranged atop a gorgeous Axminster carpet stood four tangerine-colored armchairs, a plush yellow sofa… and the ostentatious desk with matching ornate tea cabinet. A glass-paneled gilded cube protected the expensive tea china, along with three slender, gold-filigree-covered drawers beneath.

"Gold," he breathed.

She grinned at him. "Exactly."

They made their way over to the tea cabinet and lifted the protective glass covering. Inside were four gilded porcelain teacups atop four gilded porcelain saucers.

"We appear to have come to the right place," Stephen admitted. "Should we pour ourselves a cup?"

"A nice tall glass of brandy, if we find the next clue. But first we have to solve this one."

Elizabeth hooked her sword stick against the back of an armchair and tugged open the first of the gold-filigreed drawers.

Empty.

She made a frustrated sound. "Here's a riddle for you: Why is the vital thing you're desperately trying to find always in the last place you look?"

He shrugged. "Why?"

"Because when you find it, you stop looking." Elizabeth opened the second drawer. Also empty. "We won't stop until we find what we're looking for."

She slid open the third and final drawer—or tried to. It stuck halfway and had to be coaxed out of its cubby.

"The next clue has to be here somewhere." She handed all three drawers to Stephen to be placed atop the sofa for safety, while Elizabeth sank to her knees to peer inside the compartments. "Thank God for soft carpet, or I'd never rise from this position."

"I can ravish you down there," Stephen promised her.

She fluttered her eyes at him. "I'll remember that promise. Check those drawers for loose panels, please. I'll do the same here."

All of the drawers and cubbies were of the same sizes and dimensions. The construction was solid. There was no hidden compartment.

"It was a good idea," Elizabeth said, dejected. "I was so sure I was right."

"Maybe you are right," said Stephen. He pulled a magnifying glass from his pocket and began to walk around the tea cabinet slowly, hunching and squinting in concentration. "We need to find a button. A lever. A spring-release valve."

"This is a tea cabinet, not one of your contraptions."

"Not one of mine, no. But that doesn't mean—"

"The china!" Carefully, Elizabeth placed all four cups and saucers aside, revealing an intricately carved, three-panel surface beneath, styled like vines and flowers. "Why hide a shelf this beautiful behind rows of cups and saucers?"

"Because it's a shelf. In a tea cabinet." He felt less brilliant by the second. "Perhaps you're right. This is ordinary furniture, not one of my contraptions."

"Don't give up. If you saw something that made you pause…" Elizabeth ran her finger across the raised dips and whorls that made up the leaves and petals of the stunning display. "Look! Only one flower thorns, and it possesses exactly one. Strange, no?"

She touched it with the tip of her finger—and the mahogany thorn immediately sank into the background. She jerked her finger away.

As soon as the pressure was gone, the center panel sprang open, flying away from the thorn on two hinges and revealing a narrow hidden compartment beneath. It was just large enough to slide a book into—or an important document.

"I told you all we needed was a spring-release valve," Stephen chortled.

Elizabeth eased two fingers into the cubbyhole. "I feel… parchment ."

"Is it another clue?"

"It's tied with string. Give me a minute." Elizabeth snapped the thread with her dagger, then carefully opened the hidden document. After checking the date at the top of the page, Elizabeth read aloud, "‘I, Arminia Southridge, Countess of Densmore, possessed of sound mind and body—'"

"You found the will and testament!" Stephen gaped at her. "I can't believe it's really over. No battle royal. No Reddington. Castle Harbrook finally belongs to Miss Oak."

Elizabeth turned the paper over with a frown. "I found the will, but no deed. I suppose it doesn't matter. We have the proof we were looking for. Reddington is owed nothing." She handed Stephen the document and let out a long-suffering sigh. "How I wanted to beat him at his own game. We would have emerged victorious."

"We did emerge victorious." Stephen scanned the testament with a mixture of pride and dread. "My aunt's will could not be clearer. Miss Oak is the full, sole, and legal owner."

"And we didn't even need your useless cousin."

Stomach sinking, he gave a wan smile. He'd been afraid every night would be their last night together. He was finally right.

Elizabeth had achieved the impossible. Stephen had failed to do the same. Their courtship was over as abruptly as it had begun.

Stephen handed her the will. "Congratulations. Shall we give His Grace the devastating news?"

She brightened. "Ooh, let's do it on paper. Then I can shoot it at him with an arrow. That might be the only way to get through to his black heart."

Horse hooves and carriage wheels sounded outside the castle.

Every muscle in Stephen's body tensed. "Good Lord, that was impeccable timing. Do you have your arrows ready? Reddington's cold black heart is waiting."

Elizabeth rushed over to the closest window and let out a whoop of joy. "It's my family!"

Oh. Stephen had been afraid of that. He joined her at the window. Hawks circled ominously overhead. He had never seen so many in one place. It felt like a harbinger.

By the time they arrived on the front lawn, the Wynchesters had descended from their trio of carriages. He recognized each of them from Elizabeth's descriptions of their appearances and personalities.

There were Tommy and Philippa, each easily identifiable. Philippa, a pale white cloud wrapped in a storm of lace, and Tommy, fair and lanky with short brown hair and men's trousers.

Next were athletic Graham, with his golden-brown skin and floppy black curls, and his wife, Kuni, with her long black braids, dark brown skin, and bright pink pelisse that presumably hid a collection of daggers.

After them came Marjorie and Lord Adrian. Contrary to expectations, neither appeared to be a white canvas covered in colorful paint splotches. Marjorie was a tiny little blond wisp of a woman, and Lord Adrian a mischievous rogue disguised as a fine gentleman.

Last came Jacob, with his gentle poet's air, dark brown skin, and what appeared to be some sort of mink or ferret draped about his neck like a particularly furry scarf.

The siblings took turns hugging Elizabeth and kissing her cheeks in familial joy, barely sparing a glance at the towering medieval castle or its picturesque backdrop of chalk downs and limestone ridges.

Stephen didn't want to interrupt their happy reunion. Nor was he making his intrusion any less awkward by hanging back, halfway between the castle and their carriages.

"Darling tinker!" Elizabeth made an exaggerated get over here motion with her arm.

As Stephen approached, one of the circling hawks shot from the sky, streaking toward him like a poisoned arrow. He squeaked and jumped backward out of the way.

The bird ignored him and aimed its deadly claws toward Jacob Wynchester… who lifted his arm in welcome. None of the siblings blinked as the hawk landed on the leather gauntlet at Jacob's wrist as docile as a dove.

Stephen wasn't certain his heartbeat would ever return to normal.

"Family," Elizabeth began as if there had been no interruption, "please allow me to present Mr. Stephen Lenox. Stephen, these are my siblings, Tommy, Graham, Marjorie, and Jacob, my sisters-in-law Philippa and Kuni, and my brother-in-law Adrian. These are the Wynchesters. Most of them."

Stephen bowed. "The pleasure is mine."

When he straightened, Graham shook his hand. "So you're the famous Stephen. It's so good to put a face to the name after hearing so much about you."

Stephen stared at him blankly. "I'm… famous?"

"In Elizabeth's daily reports," Tommy explained. "We've read them a hundred times. There's usually a line about Reddington, two lines about the castle, three sentences about Miss Oak's future orphanage, and then four pages about you."

Stephen looked at Elizabeth.

Her cheeks turned pink. "On the days when there wasn't much progress to report, I had to fill my reports with something ."

"You made him sound a little less"—Kuni waved her hand toward Stephen's midsection—"clothed."

Stephen closed his eyes and cringed. "Tell me you didn't write home about the state of my abdomen."

"It's on my mind a lot," Elizabeth protested. "You've a very nice abdomen."

"And, apparently, you also possess a very big—" Marjorie began.

Jacob coughed into his fist.

"—brain," Philippa finished. "The vast majority of her letters detail how clever you are. I can't wait to see your machines for myself."

Stephen rubbed the back of his neck. "I make them to stave off boredom, mostly."

"Well, if that's true, you'll never be bored again," said Graham. "On our trip up, we compiled an entire list of fantastical devices we would love to own. If you can make a device even half as fanciful, we'd pay you handsomely."

Stephen cut a glance toward Elizabeth.

Her eyes twinkled as she whispered, "I've not told them yet."

"Secrets!" Tommy held up a fistful of reports. "After this stack of intelligence?"

Elizabeth smiled. "You'll find out soon enough."

Jacob shook Stephen's hand. "It really is good to meet you. After a month of letters, we all feel like we know you. We're glad to make it official."

"I feel like I know you all, too," Stephen admitted. "Elizabeth has told me a few stories—"

"A few!" Tommy's brown eyes were fond. "I imagine she trotted out the wildest of our adventures, complete with throwing voices to imitate each of us perfectly."

"Several times a day," Stephen said with a grin.

A low rumble thundered in the distance. The Wynchesters glanced up at the blue sky overhead in surprise.

"Is that a storm?" Philippa asked.

"Worse," said Stephen grimly. "It's Reddington and his troops."