Page 83 of The Bachelor Spy
“I know the censors are only doing their job.” Rivers sighed heavily. “But Gerald mentioned he was being moved to a new sector—somewhere near Loos, I think—and I haven’t heard from him in over a week. The newspapers say there’s going to be a major offensive there soon.” Her voice quivered. “I just keep imagining … Well, I see so much here. It’s difficult not to worry.”
“Now, now, miss,” Davies said gently. “Your brother’s got proper training, ain’t he?”
Blake’s attention sharpened. Loos. The offensive scheduled for late September. How did she know about it with such certainty? Though, to be fair, the newspapers had been speculating about Loos for weeks. It wasn’t exactly a state secret that something was brewing there.
“Yes, Sandhurst. Top marks.” She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was smaller, more vulnerable. “Gerald wrote about preparations for a major push. Stockpiling ammunition, moving up artillery. Does that mean it’s coming soon? Oh, it sounds dreadful.”
Blake frowned. That was considerably more specific than newspaper speculation. But Rivers could have gleaned such details from her brother’s letters—officers sometimes wrote more than they should, especially to worried family members who wouldn’t understand the sensitivity of such information.
Still.
“Miss Rivers,” Davies said carefully. “You might want to be cautious asking too many questions. Not saying you mean any harm, understand, but there’s folks who’d think it odd.”
“Oh!” Rivers sounded genuinely mortified. “I’m so sorry, Corporal. I just worry so dreadfully about him. We all do.”
“Of course you do, miss. Natural as breathing.”
“But you’re quite right.” Her voice trembled. “I never meant to pry. It’s only that he’s so far away, and the not knowing is simply awful—” Her words broke off into what sounded like a suppressed sob.
“There, there, dear girl.” The affection in Davies’ gruff voice was unmistakable. Blake could easily imagine the old soldier patting her hand in paternal comfort. “You’ve done no harm. Just a sister worried for her brother, that’s all.”
Blake heard Rivers thank the corporal again, her footsteps approaching the doorway. He resumed his walk with studied casualness, nodding pleasantly as she emerged, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
She was asking questions, certainly. But weren’t half the women in Britain doing the same? The hospital wards were full of anxious visitors trying to understand what their men were enduring, attempting to piece together information about where their loved ones might be stationed. Listening to every news report to guess at movements and safety.
Wilson, on the other hand, had everything: the German connection, the angel symbolism, the Russian document, the pattern of her duty shifts matching the intelligence leaks perfectly.
Blake needed to discuss his newest findings and concerns with Evie. Get her assessment of Rivers. Because something about the young nurse nagged at him—some instinct he couldn’t quite articulate.
And that uncertainty, that tiny seed of doubt, was the most dangerous thing in intelligence work.
As soon as he reached the morning room, however, his unease shifted entirely.
Through the partially open door came the sound of familiar laughter.
Not a woman’s laugh. Nor a child’s.
Freddie’s.
Relief crashed over Blake with such force that he had to pause, one palm pressed against the wall for support. He knew the casualty statistics. Read them in cold, clinical reports that never quite conveyed the devastating human cost. The glowing optimism of a quick war had long since withered into brutal reality.
The losses were staggering.
So the fact that his cousin—his dearest friend—was home andlaughing …
Well. That meant everything.
Blake drew in a steadying breath and pushed open the door.
Three heads turned toward him. His gaze went immediately to Frederick, surveying the bandages wrapped around his eyes, the weariness etched into his features, the way he held himself with that particular stillness of a man adjusting to darkness in a world he’d once navigated with such certainty.
But he wassmiling.
Blake’s throat tightened. “Well.” He forced lightness into his voice despite his growing emotion. “The conquering hero returns, I see.”
“Blake?” Freddie’s head turned sharply toward his voice. “What the devil are you doing here?”
“Recovering, supposedly.” Blake moved into the room, his manufactured limp on full display. His gaze shifted to Grace, who merely raised a brow, but the gleam in those blue eyes was irrepressible. Oh, dear heavens. The woman might keep her lips closed, but her expression gave almost everything away. Perhaps it was a mercy Frederick couldn’t see at the moment. “Though I must say, Havensbrooke proves rather more exciting with your lovely wife at the helm.”
