Page 106 of The Bachelor Spy
“Of course, miss.” Evie dipped a curtsy, maintaining her housemaid’s deference even as every instinct screamed danger.
Blake swayed convincingly, gaze dropping to her lips as if he had other ideas than conversation yet still playing the heartbroken drunk to perfection. “Helen, please—”
“Not now, Mr. Blake.” Evie’s voice was sharp as she tucked her arm more firmly beneath his shoulder. “You’ve embarrassed yourself quite enough for one evening.”
She steered him down the corridor, feeling Rivers’ eyes boring into her back with every step. It wasn’t until they’d turned the corner and were well out of earshot that Blake straightened, his affected stumble disappearing entirely.
“Did you get it?” he whispered.
“Everything.” Evie’s hand went to the camera concealed in her pocket. “Kill list. Code names. Both of ours.”
His jaw tightened. “Then we’re running out of time.”
“She knows I’m onto her, at least, and I feel she may suspect you too. That little performance bought us hours at best.” Evie glanced back down the corridor. “She’ll either run tonight or eliminate the threat. Andwe’rethe threat.”
They’d found their proof.
Now they just had to survive long enough to use it.
Chapter 15
Darkness had fallen on the house by the time Frederick and Grace stepped over the threshold back into Havensbrooke, and they’d barely made it a few steps when a pale-faced Mrs. Powell rushed toward them. Her usually implacable demeanor had given way to tight-lipped alarm, her eyes shifting between them as she approached. Even her small cap gave an unruly quiver.
“I’m sorry to accost you as soon as you enter, my lord, my lady.” She lowered her voice to barely a whisper. “But there’s just been another robbery of your study. No more than a few minutes ago.”
Frederick increased his pace, Grace on his arm, as Mrs. Powell continued. “Mr. Blake is already there, as well as John, Mr. Brandon, and Miss Gale. A window’s been shattered, sir.”
A window? Good Lord!
They attempted to keep to a regular pace so as not to draw attention from the patients, but as soon as Frederick turned the corridor—navigating his home well regardless of his limited vision—he quickened his steps until he reached the study.
Another break-in. And this timehewas here for it.
His pulse hammered heat through his muscles.
Ever since his eyesight had been damaged, a worry at the back of his mind kept resurfacing. The same gnawing fear he’d harbored as a child: of being worthless. Not good enough.
And then, every step of the way from France to home, he’d been treated with kid gloves.Careful of the terrain. Careful of your eyes. Careful of your lungs.
All good reasons. All important.
But the biting dread of his world upending in a new way—not from financial ruin or a world at war, but at an even more intimate level, awoundedlevel—haunted his steps.
Grace accepting him back into their life with her usual enthusiasm and ready willingness to take him at face value had helped ease some of his doubts. Visiting his mother and working through a mystery, oddly enough, did as well.
And now? Another opportunity for him to prove he wouldn’t sit idly by—no matter the infirmity—and allow his wife, servants, or cousin to face danger without him.
Yes, he’d been learning his value in Christ for a while, his wife the primary inducement, but how easy it was to fall back into patterns of doubt. Of fear. No wonder this life of faith was referenced as a battle so often in scripture—as real and difficult as the war-torn battlefields of France. Except it took place in his own heart, across the terrain of his own life. Daily. A clash of truth against lies. Of light against darkness. Of hope against despair.
And in this conflict, God had been slowly teaching him how to advance. One day. One prayer at a time. He’d never been so grateful for the strength beyond his own, for the one who was in the trenches of this struggle with him.
The entry to his study was filled with servants, each stepping back to make room for them to pass.
“My lord.” Brandon dipped his head as they approached, slightly out of breath. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know—”
“I don’t hold you responsible, Brandon.” Frederick moved past him into the room, his hand reaching for Grace’s as he led the way. The dark glasses obscured some of his vision, but he knew these shapes. These people. Even some of the blurred expressions and shifting movements.
Mary’s wide eyes. Ellie wringing her hands.
