Page 119 of The Bachelor Spy
He’d had to trust her to God so many times before. Every day he’d spent at the Front, helpless to ensure her safety. With every adventure she’d stumbled into—Egypt, Venice, Scotland—he’d learned the hard lesson that Grace belonged to the Almighty first.
Grace was ultimately His.
In life or death.
Joy or sorrow.
Frederick had to trust the Lord.
Even now.Especiallynow.
Brandon appeared, looking decidedly un-butler-like. He wore a work coat instead of his livery, had rope coiled over one shoulder, carried two lanterns in one hand and a walking stick in the other, and—Frederick noticed with grim satisfaction—had a heavy wrench from the garden shed tucked into his belt.
The sight almost made Frederick smile.
“Ready, Brandon?”
The butler’s eyes met his, and Frederick saw the same fierce determination he felt burning in his own chest.
“Ready, my lord.”
Chapter 17
Blake had donned his black wool suit.
Double-breasted. Comfortable. Classic.
Much more suited to his usual style.
And perfect for blending into the darkness of the surrounding forest. Besides, it helped camouflage his guns too. Both of them.
Clever that.
He’d long since left the scattered—and mercifully few—search parties behind. The ruins were too dark and deep in the forest for any of the usual men to venture here at night. Outside the family, few even knew about the ruins.
Unless, of course, someone had a specific purpose for being there.
And from what he’d gathered only a few days before, someone had found a very specific purpose. He’d bet his Chelsea boots Smith was that someone.
The ruins loomed ahead, broken gray walls silhouetted against the moonlit sky like jagged teeth. Three stories of crumbling stone—a testament to centuries of grandeur reduced to romantic decay. Precisely the sort of place poets waxed eloquent about and spies used for clandestine meetings.
Blake preferred the former use, personally. Poetry rarely involved people trying to kill others.
Though admittedly, some of Byron’s romantic entanglements came close.
He paused at the forest’s edge, scanning for movement within the darkened windows, listening for voices within the abandoned halls.
There.
A flicker of light inside. Not a lantern, but something smaller. A shielded torch, perhaps?
Carefully, he circled the eastern side of the ruins. No sign of anyone outside keeping watch. Ah, they wanted this to be a very intimate meeting.
Fewer people, fewer possibilities for mistakes.
Highly confidential.
Hmm … Germany must have sent one of their favorites to meet Smith.
