Chapter 11

Theresia was a better actress than she had ever realized. She had passed herself off as a maid in front of several women and had managed to act collected after making a complete fool of herself in front of three men—one of them a duke! She gave the seminary's library the credit for the last one. She had met some colorful characters in her hours of reading and had called upon that knowledge in her time of need.

Unfortunately, even the best of acting could not make up for her bumble of words. Had it really been necessary for her to pretend the captain was fond of her and that she was delivering a love note? Her first real introduction into Society, and she had presented herself thus?

Bad, Theresia! Bad, bad, bad!

It was a good thing she was leaving England once she found her vase. Her only comfort was that if returning to her homeland did not work out for her, she might have a future on the stage. Never mind. That was not comforting to her at all. She moaned and stepped away from the door. Not many feet down the corridor she froze. It was like she could hear a hum from her vase. She turned and stared behind her. It was close. She was certain of it. She couldn't walk away. Without second-guessing herself, she turned away from the direction of the stairs toward the room just beyond the captain's—the last in the corridor. When her hand connected with the handle, the captain's door opened.

He stepped into the corridor alone and shut his door.

For heaven's sake! Did he have to catch her every time?

He put one foot toward the stairs, oblivious to her presence, and she started to release the breath she'd been holding.

Then he paused suddenly. His shoulders dropped and a sigh emitted from him. He turned around and faced her.

She jumped. "B—but how? Do you have eyes in the back of your head?" She could see why he thought himself capable of catching a spy. He was incredible at catching her.

"Weren't you supposed to be leaving?"

She gave a sheepish shrug. "I have to find what is mine."

He shoved his hands onto his hips. "It wasn't under my bed, then?"

"Shh!" She pointed to his parents' bedroom. Was the man daft, or had he forgotten where his parents slept?

His eyes widened, and he pointed in the other direction. "You're leaving —now! I will distract the man at the front door while you slip away. Avoid the trees and stay on the drive like you are merely taking your day off. Wait at the end of the drive just around the corner, and I will pick you up in my carriage. We need to talk."

She squirmed. "Shouldn't I go into this room and put some cinders on my face first? You know, to disguise myself better?"

His brow lowered as he narrowed his deep-set eyes, and his mouth pulled into a straight line.

"There isn't time for that, is there?" she quickly amended. Dratted man. He probably employed the same intimidating expression to get his soldiers to obey. Then again, she might have pushed too hard with her attempt to create the appearance of a relationship between him and her. She was learning that in moments of duress, she could not predict her own behavior. She pointed toward the stairs. "After you."

She gave him a wide berth and followed him, her feet whipping against her dress to keep up with his long stride. With no dirty face or handkerchief to hide behind, she kept her head down while Rolland called the footman at the door away. She took the front door the moment she was alone and did not stop until she was tucked behind an oak at the end of the drive. At least the weather was pleasant, with blue skies and blurs of white like a watercolor painting. She was rarely granted time to sit and think in the middle of the day, and she sorely needed it now.

A quarter of an hour later, a carriage came rumbling toward her from the direction of the stables. By then, she had prepared an eloquent apology even Mrs. Stone would approve of and practiced her plea for help at least a dozen times. She could only hope the formidable captain would soften his heart toward her once more.

The carriage stopped some feet around the bend, preventing anyone from the house from seeing them. The captain hopped down and offered her inside with his head. With shoulders lowered in the meekest fashion, she complied. Still, despite herself, she couldn't resist mumbling when she came up beside him, "It is hardly proper for me to ride unchaperoned with you."

He snorted. "When have you ever cared about what is proper?"

She speared him with a glare. "Only my entire life." And then she remembered that she wanted his help and had only managed to undo all her efforts to appear demure and sufficiently humbled. She took his all too capable hand and felt herself propelled inside. The man did not know his own strength.

She settled into the comfortable carriage and watched the captain do the same across from her.

"Miss Smith? Is that your true name? I have a hard time believing half of what you tell me."

It was time to start apologizing. "You are right to wonder. Theresia is my true name, but Smith is not. However, under the circumstances, I feel more comfortable being addressed so. As for what happened earlier, I am well aware you are appalled by my behavior. I shudder to think of the things I said." She touched her forehead and gave an exaggerated wince. She was being completely honest about her embarrassment, but she had to make certain he knew it. "I am desperate, Captain. Nothing else matters to me if I cannot retrieve what is mine."

He studied her for several long minutes, with the only sound being the conveyance's wheels grinding against the road. Would he forgive her? Or was he planning on taking her to some dark corner of the world where he would get rid of her forever?

"I will refer to you as Miss Theresia for now."

She exhaled. For now meant he planned to converse with her again. And if he was calling her Theresia, he wanted to be friends. "Very well, and I will call you Captain Rolland."

He scowled. "Captain Reese. You do not have permission to call me by my given name."

Her jaw dropped. "But you can call me Theresia? How terribly one-sided of you."

When he nodded, she crossed her arms. There was something about his sternness that made her want to best him—to prove that he did not have the upper hand in the situation. And she would prove it by calling him Rolland. No lessons from Mrs. Stone about proper address would change her mind.

"At least assure me you are taking me home."

He smirked—the closest thing she'd ever seen to a smile. "Did you think I was taking you all the way to the port to put you in some ship's hold?"

She squirmed. "The thought might have crossed my mind. After all, I did make a scene in front of your friends."

"You mean, when you pretended to be my lover?" He shook his head. "And yet you claim to be a proper lady?"

The word lover made her gasp. "I pretended to hold your affection and nothing more. I wanted them to think I was delivering a love note so they would not question the contents. I realize it was not ideal, but it was the best I could come up with in the moment."

"You are a good actress but also naive to the ways of the world. If you think your innocent intentions were applied in any other way, you are fooling yourself. I can see why you refuse to give anyone your name."

"Your insinuations are maddening. Mrs. Stone warned us against the dark minds of men. I should have listened."

"Who is Mrs. Stone?"

Drat. She shouldn't have brought up any connection to her real life. For so long, she had schooled her temper, but with Rolland, she could hide nothing. She forced the calm, collected face she had perfected over the years. "She is the headmistress of a seminary I attended, if you must know."

He stared at her as if trying to take her measure—Roma or lady? Let him wonder.

A scowl melded over his mouth. "Perhaps you should have attended a few years more."

She gaped. It might be a valid response, considering her reckless behavior, but he would never believe the number of years she had actually attended. It was far more than most. Still, his criticism hit a sensitive note since she was fighting to hide the shame behind her decisions. She composed her expression once more, but her tongue took on a life of its own. "Perhaps you should have been at sea a few years less."

His brow quirked. "Really?"

"Your manners have clearly suffered, Rolland ." She cringed at her forwardness. The new brave and direct her could use some refining.

His lips twitched, fighting a smile, and at least there she found some satisfaction. She had nearly cracked his somber demeanor.

As if sensing her reaction to his own, his glimpse of a smile disappeared. "Forgive me. I have never met a woman like yourself. Can I even presume you are staying with the Roma? Or is there some fine manor home I am to return you to?"

Her cheeks burned at the mention of living with the Roma. She could hardly believe it herself. "To the Roma camp, if you please. I have friends there." Let him think what he wanted about her temporary home; she would not be in England much longer, God willing.

"Good," he said. "Stay with your friends, and do not think of returning to the duke's house again."

"But my vase—"

"Your vase?"

She had done it again and revealed too much. She swatted her mouth with her hand. "Theresia!" she whined, scolding herself with another swat at her lips.

"At least now I know what to look for so you can remain far away from Ashbury Court."

She straightened in her seat. "Then, you will help me?"

"Isn't that what you wrote to me about? To elicit my assistance?"

"Well, yes, but that was before I claimed to your friends that I was... you know."

He chuckled, his lips barely smiling. "I do know. Were you this much of a handful for Mrs. Stone?"

She relaxed back, the hope of his offer filling her with needed peace. "Not at all. I never caused any trouble at school. In fact, I was a paragon of how a lady should behave. A lot of good it did me."

He raised his brow, but she had said enough. Too much, really. "What about you? How long have you been in the spy business?"

He smirked again. "You do not mince words."

She shrugged. "Perhaps I held them in for too many years. Besides, you cannot think less of me than you already do."

Taking his time to answer again, he finally said, "I think of myself as a soldier, not a spy. When your countrymen's lives are at risk, you will do anything to protect them."

It was not much by way of an explanation, but she had a feeling it was all he would offer. And it was probably more than he would have said to most. "You might not think well of me or my opinion, but you are a good man, Rolland Reese, aren't you?"

His eyes narrowed. "After meeting you, I cannot say what sort of man I am. I'm hiding women in my room and secreting them home in my carriage."

It was her turn to laugh. "Fair enough."

Apparently he did not find his own joke amusing, though, because he rubbed the skin between his brows like the very thought brought on a headache. "Tell me about this vase so I can search better. What does it look like? I imagine there are dozens of vases at Ashbury Court."

"No vases like mine. It is the finest bohemian crystal you have ever seen, created by a renowned master craftsman. The facets are cut so finely that they glitter like diamonds, and the base is of solid gold. But the gems embedded in the top make it truly unique and valuable."

"And someone discovered the worth of this vase and stole it from you?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"What can you tell me about the thief? Finding him will lead me to the vase."

"I did not see his face, but he spoke French."

"French, you say?" His eyes looked far away for a moment.

"Yes, I have a good ear for languages, and I am fairly good with tones because of years of music lessons. I am quite positive I would know his voice again if I heard it."

"Do you really think so? There are plenty of people in England who speak French."

"But how many of them are at your house party?"

Rolland eyed her, clearly surprised by her logic. "What did this man want with your vase? To collect it? Sell it? Did you hear him say anything in particular?"

"Nothing substantial. He said it would support his cause, but he wasn't specific. He also mentioned a debt in need of repaying, but there was none my family owed... not monetarily that I can imagine."

"A cause and a debt. I wonder . . ."

"Wonder what?"

"I wonder if your thief is related to our traitor."

Theresia pushed her back into her seat. Had she been chasing after someone so dangerous? She thought of the thief in London and the way he had swung at her. She squeezed her eyes shut. The carriage pulled to a stop at just that moment, and the motion pulled her back to the present. She suddenly had a feeling that she was risking more than her reputation when it came to finding her vase.