Page 111 of The Bachelor Spy
“Are Lord and Lady Astley still in the study?” John’s voice carried down the hall.
“I believe so.” This from Mary, her tone more timid.
“Did you find anyone missing among the staff?”
“No,” came Mary’s quick reply. “Even all the nurses were accounted for.”
Evie’s gaze shot to Blake’s.
“What about you?”
“It don’t make no sense,” John said slowly. “I mean, Pennington being gone does, as far as him being able-bodied and all. But the other missing patient? He could barely walk before.”
Blake’s palm tightened against Evie’s waist.
Smith.
A door opened—the study, presumably—and then closed.
Footsteps faded.
“She must still be in the house,” Evie whispered, her fingers still wrapped around his jacket. “She’ll take the kill list, the codes, everything she’s gathered. She won’t run without it—it’s her payment, her proof to Rook that she’s valuable. She’ll go back to her room first to collect everything before she flees.”
Blake knew what had to happen. Knew the choice they both must make.
From Evie’s tightening hold on his jacket, she knew too.
“Then we need to move now,” he said, his gaze scanning her face, pausing on those eyes. Those marvelous, mesmerizing eyes that had haunted him for months.
No, much longer.
Evie studied his face in the dim light. “You’re going to the ruins.”
“Smith will meet his contact there. This distraction with Pennington’s theft”—Blake gestured vaguely toward the study behind them—”it’s too convenient. Too perfectly timed. Rivers arranged it somehow. A few careful comments after overhearing his story, no doubt. Probably flirted her way into speeding his desperate plan along, likely giving him the hint to look in the document box for blueprints.” His mouth tightened. “Judging by the mess he left in Frederick’s office, she was quite effective.”
“I’ll go after Rivers. She’ll exit by the west wing—fewer eyes to see her leave.”
Blake brought his hand up to cup her cheek, his thumb trailing along the soft skin there. Her eyes fluttered closed in complete abandon to the touch—a vulnerable move.
A trusting move.
Proof of her feelings.
His stomach twisted to the point of hurting.
He hated war. Hated what it did to people. What it asked of them.
“I would rather stay together if we could, sweetheart.” His thumb slid over her bottom lip before he took a quick taste. “We do work fairly well together when you’re not trying to kill me.”
Those lips curved ever so slightly beneath his touch. “Then that should be proper incentive for you to stay alive.”
Her gaze lingered in his, her smile dissolving, accepting their fates. “We meet back here when it’s finished.”
He hated this plan. Hated separating.
But there were too many moving parts, and they had to split up to stop them all.
Every piece of information Rivers had gathered could cost lives. British lives. Allied lives. Men like Freddie, serving at the Front. Men like the patients in this very house, who’d already given so much.
