Page 51 of After the Spy Seduces

“Honor among thieves?”

“Dishonor among spies,” he corrected. “But it works the same way in the end. You can’t trust the information you’ve been given if you can’t trust the person who gives it, and they have no reason to destroy all the trust they’ve garnered with the English by double-crossing us. The court of King Louis won’t allow it.” His mouth tightened. “In short, they won’t harm Meri because their own government will kill them if they do.”

She wished she could believe that.

“Here’s our hotel.” He opened the front door and escorted her inside. “Welcome to the Mermaid.”

With fears and worries surrounding Meri engulfing her, she barely noticed the hotel around her or the crowd of guests filling the lobby. She glanced blankly into the adjacent dining room as they passed, where people gathered around small tables and several more waited for a place to sit. The hotel was full to overflowing, and half a dozen more people were lined up at the counter in the lobby, where the hotel manager patiently shook his head at every request and referred them down the street to the coaching inn to find a room.

Christopher guided her up the stairs to a room on the second floor, took out a key from his breast pocket, and unlocked the door. Then he lit a candle on the hallway sconce and led her inside.

She took a deep breath to force down her rising anxiousness and attempted to focus on the room, lit softly by the glow of the candle. A dresser, a washbasin with a pitcher, towels, and soap, and very little else in the room—except for the bed. A perfectly good bed by all standards, clean and comfortable, with a lace canopy stretching over its four posters and lots of thick, down bedding for cool nights by the seaside. Yet her pulse spiked at the sight of it.

Christopher closed the door behind them and set her bag onto a wooden chair in the corner. He noticed her hesitancy as he lit a small lamp on the beside table, then shook out the candle stub to extinguish it. “Is something wrong with the room?”

“There’s only one bed.”

“There is.”

“And no trundle.”

“There is not.”

She slid him a sideways glance. “And no rug on the floor for you to sleep on while I’m tucked into bed.”

He flashed her a rakish grin and drawled, “There certainly isnot.”

She scowled at him, irritated. How could he still be attempting to distract her? Hadn’t he realized yet that she was too upset, that all she could think about was Meri and whether she was all right? And to distract her likethis, of all ways… “Christopher Carlisle, if you think for one moment that you will—”

“That I will take one of the extra blankets from the bed and sleep on the floor in front of the fireplace?” he interrupted. “Yes, that is exactly what I think.” He paused with an exaggerated expression of shock. “Unlessyouwere thinking something entirely different, that you and I would— For shame, Miss Morgan!” The devil had the gall to look affronted by the suggestion. “What kind of creature do you take me to be?”

Not falling for that for one second, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Certainly not a vicar.”

He laughed and placed a chaste kiss to her forehead before stepping away.

“I am sorry about the sleeping arrangements—and so is my back,” he muttered. “Or it will be after a night on that floor. But this was the last private room left in the village.” He moved around the space, checking to make certain that it was ready for her, including inspecting the pitcher on the washbasin for water. “Tomorrow is the village’s festival of St Brendan, the patron saint of sailors and seamen, and apparently, everyone in southeast England comes to Bradwell to celebrate.Everyone.” He frowned into the box by the fireplace to check if there was enough fuel there to keep them warm through the night. “Which is probably why the French picked this place. With all the people coming into town for the festivities, no one will notice us or them among the crowds, and they can sail away on one of the boats in the harbor as soon as the exchange is over. Which reminds me.” He reached beneath his jacket, withdrew the diary, and extended it out toward her. “You have to carry this from now on.”

With a firm shake of her head, she pushed it away. “You keep it.”

“The French won’t take it from you by force. We don’t know when they’ll ask for it, or how, just that you have to be the one to hand it over. And when they do, you have to give it to them without struggle, understand?”

She eyed it warily. “But to just hand it over like that, without seeing Meri to know if she’s all right—if we give it to them, we’ll lose our only bit of leverage.”

“That’s how it has to be. Right now, they hold all the power, and they know it. We have to do as they say and trust that they’ll keep their word.”

Not having any other choice, she accepted the diary. She stared at it in her hands, as if it were a snake ready to strike.

“It won’t work,” she softly voiced her fear.

“It will. You need to trust in that.”

She gave a sharp nod that wasn’t at all convincing.

Before he could see more doubt darken her face, she crossed to the window. She peered out across the bay with all its boats silhouetted against the black sea in the rising moonlight and the festival tents and booths erected just to the side of the wharves, all lit by lanterns and torches. So many people… She wrung her hands. How would they ever find the French to give over the diary in this crush?

“Relax, Diana,” he said quietly as he approached her from behind and took her shoulders in his hands. “She’ll be fine, and so will you.”

He released her and stepped back. Immediately, she missed his closeness and the comfort he brought.