Chapter 10

Rolland went straight to his window and opened it. The greatest thing these old houses lacked was air circulation. He craved the fresh air of the sea more than anything. Unfortunately, the library had been commandeered by guests, and he and his friends had been forced to meet upstairs, which was far more stifling. The warm breeze met his skin, and he was on his ship again, minus the salty flavor in the air. His mind cleared, and he turned around with his back to the window.

Lewis took a seat at his desk and pulled out a paper. "Let's make this quick. Miss Yearsley requested I play her in a game of croquet."

Marcus plopped onto the bed and propped himself up against the pillows. His hands went behind his head, and he leaned against them. "Because croquet is more important than protecting the precarious balance of European powers."

Lewis shrugged one shoulder. "It could be a revealing game. Besides, between your ability to tell whether someone is lying, Rolland's naval experience and gift with strategizing, and my talent with codes and puzzles that has saved this country more than once, we should be able to weasel out our spy in no time at all."

"Especially one under our very nose," Rolland added, shifting so he could feel more of the breeze on his neck.

"And soon we will have Cadogen here, and we can depend on his fierce reputation and pantherlike movements," Lewis added.

"And yet we have made no progress in the few days we have all been together." Marcus stretched his arms above his head and yawned. "I want to see this task through as quickly as you do, Lewis. Being a host is exhausting. We might have to apply ourselves to more than playing croquet with the enemy."

Rolland reviewed the facts in his mind. It seemed silly to mention the gold coin he'd discovered the day before. After the violinist had left, he'd pulled it out of his pocket to discover its owner, only to realize it was French currency, not English: a twenty-franc Napoleon coin, to be exact. But surely a little French coinage could not point to a criminal. No one at the party was French or had any connections they knew of. Besides, the Congress of Vienna was not even involving France. Despite his reasoning against it, he'd held on to the coin. He had to be certain about it before he said anything to his friends since a wrong clue was as damaging as no clue. It had the power to distract a person's mind.

"Let's gather what we have learned," he said quickly, refusing to let the coin divert his own attention for now either. He pointed to Lewis. "You can go first since you are the most impatient today."

Lewis smirked. "I have learned that Miss Yearsley has captivating green eyes."

Rolland nodded slowly. "An effective trait. She must use her eyes to lure people in before she kills them." Was Lewis taking this job seriously at all?

Lewis tapped his chin. "I've been thinking of the latest information Cadogen sent us, and there was nothing more he could find about her. And I don't need Marcus's skills of perception to see her innocence in a single glance."

Rolland didn't waste his time responding to such an idiotic statement, and without proof, there was no reason to. "Marcus? Have you learned anything new since our meeting yesterday?"

Marcus sat up. "Actually, I do have a theory based on my interactions yesterday. I noticed Mr. Haversham carries himself differently when around Mr. Hawke. He visibly straightens his shoulders. The two have history."

"The last correspondence from the Home Office said they both have investments that lead to Prussia," Lewis said. "It would be helpful if we knew who was on the other end. Are the investments trade-related or mercenary?"

"My questions exactly," Marcus agreed. "My guess is Mr. Hawke is the stronger character of the two. I believe if we can get to know him better, we will know where Mr. Haversham's loyalty lies too."

"Focus on the greater enemy? I like it." Rolland scratched his hurt shoulder through his jacket and immediately regretted it. His eyes went to his arm, and in the process, something on the floor caught his eye. A bit of gray fabric stuck out beneath his bed skirt. "Lewis," he said, keeping his eyes on the floor, "why not split your attentions between Miss Yearsley and Miss Haversham? You might learn a thing or two." He pushed away from the wall and made a show of relaxing on the edge of his bed. He caught the fabric with the toe of his boot and tugged it out. It just kept coming.

"Miss Haversham and her mother seem to excel at gossiping, so I am sure I can come up with some sort of fodder that meets their interest."

Rolland barely registered Lewis's words as the fabric finally pulled tight beneath his boot. Either he was losing his mind, or this was the hem of a woman's skirt.

The violinist.

That cheeky woman!

He bent over and lifted up the bed skirt, coming eye-to-eye with her. His eyes narrowed.

"What is it, Rolland? See a mouse?" Lewis came over, and it was too late to try to hide his discovery.

"Out," he ordered, like the woman was one of his subordinates.

"Me?" Lewis said.

"No. Her." He reached under the bed and took the woman's hand, giving it a tug.

There was a soft shriek, but when her head emerged, Lewis's cry was much louder.

"Why are you keeping a woman under your bed, Rolland?" Lewis asked.

"What? Rolland has a woman?" Marcus jumped to his feet and crossed around the bed.

Rolland helped the bashful violinist to her feet. "I am not keeping a woman under my bed. She put herself there."

"Only because I heard voices besides your own." She sounded perfectly justified, like there was nothing wrong at all in returning to his bedchamber uninvited. Her naivety might be endearing under different circumstances, but it was going to be her undoing. "Are these two sailors you know, Captain?" She stepped closer to him and smiled.

He rubbed his forehead. Must she act like she was his lover? "Not sailors, no."

"Oh, let me guess. You must be Marcus." She pointed to the duke. "You're the one who can tell whether people are lying."

Marcus's jaw went slack.

"And you must be Lewis, the one who is good with codes and puzzles. Now I have only to meet the intimidating panther, Cadogen."

Lewis hit Rolland's good arm. "Who is she? How does she know all this?"

"She knows this because she overheard everything you said." Rolland pointed at Marcus. "This is His Grace, the Duke of Westmorland, and this is Mr. Evan Lewis."

"His Grace?" The amber eyes he couldn't help but admire grew wide like sunflowers, and she dipped into a deep curtsy. "This is terribly embarrassing."

Marcus chuckled. "It is a little awkward, especially since Rolland did not finish the introduction and give us your name."

Rolland opened his mouth to admit that he did not know her name, but the little minx beat him to it.

"Miss . . . Miss Theresia . . . Miss Theresia . . . Smith."

Rolland glanced at Marcus's raised brow; he had also caught the obvious lie. Smith was the first name people went to when making up a name. Theresia, though, was different—too different for someone to make up in the moment. It didn't sound English, but it fit as a Roma's name. He could not make sense of her, no matter how he looked at it. Finally shaking his head, he said, "I thought I told you to return that dress and write to me if you needed anything."

Theresia sighed and looked at the others. "I am not really a maid, as you might have gathered."

Not a maid, but she was quite the actress.

She looked at him. "What? His Grace can tell whether someone is lying. I did not want him to think you'd gifted me this dress for a disguise... to see you." She paused for emphasis. "And why mail you a letter when I could deliver it myself? I wouldn't want my feelings falling into the wrong hands." She held up a crumpled missive.

Rolland scowled and spoke through gritted teeth. "Risk aside, I would have preferred you to post it or leave it with the butler. And why would His Grace think I had gifted you a dress?" Her implications were starting to annoy him.

"Because you asked me to return it. Besides, a gift is not so unusual coming from a man who cares for a woman." Her voice was so matter-of-fact that she could have fooled the archbishop himself.

"When he cares for a woman?" he sputtered and turned to his friends for help.

She reached up and patted his cheek with more familiarity than his grandmother. "Is he always so self-conscious when he speaks of his heart's tendre?"

"Self-conscious?" Heat rushed to his face. "Heart's tendre?" He pulled at his cravat. He could not believe how effectively this woman had painted him into a corner.

She giggled, but it was anything but girlish. Her voice was deeper, her laugh alluring. "And I am sure you have both noticed that he repeats words when he is flustered. Very well. I shall bid you farewell, Captain." She dipped another curtsy, her elegance exceeding the grace of any maid's capabilities.

"Wait," Lewis said. "You cannot leave now. I have too many unanswered questions."

Theresia's lashes fluttered as if Lewis had complimented her. "I always leave when I am wanted, for how else shall I be missed? Besides, I cannot make our dear captain uncomfortable." She pinned her gaze on Rolland. "Don't worry. I will be back."

She had better not be. "Just post the letter next time, please."

"Rolland," Lewis started while Theresia made her way to the door. "I did not think you were that kind of a man."

Theresia spun around, her eyes simmering like molten gold, and skewered Lewis a stinging glare. "Mr. Lewis, I resent that. Just because I donned a disguise to deliver a very important note does not mean my moral standing is in question. I trust you will remember that, just like I shall certainly not forget about this little spy mission of yours."

She let herself out before the others could say a word.

What effective blackmail. All Rolland could do was stare after her. Had she really just done and said all that? He hadn't thought a person could truly surprise him any longer, but every encounter with Theresia Smith had proved him wrong.

Marcus cleared his throat. "I think you have some explaining to do, Rolland."

He wanted an explanation himself, but his compelling need to assure himself that Theresia got out of the house safely trumped all else, especially with the added guards patrolling the place. Taking care of her was beginning to be a bad habit of his. Sometimes being a naval officer with a soft spot for anyone vulnerable was exhausting. "Excuse me. I'll be back."