Page 56 of A Courtship of Conspiracies
She waited for him to explain, but he offered nothing. She touched her hair, but nothing seemed to be out of sorts. At last, he slid one of the papers toward her. She forced herself to lean in. Their shoulders brushed, and only then did she realize how close they had become.
“The aliases and shipment entries tell us two things,” he said, tapping the parchment with his finger. “First, this is no minor enterprise. There are far too many names. And second, the scale of goods and money suggests the involvement of men far above common smugglers. If they truly are aiding France, then they are traitors of the highest order.”
“You mean . . .” Her voice trailed off.
He nodded with a grim expression, running a hand through his thick brown locks. “The ledger indicates involvement by tradesmen, merchants, and men with influence in society, possibly even within Parliament. The information also suggestsblackmail and political coercion. We will have to discover the identities behind some of these names to know just how high the treachery goes, but I fear their circle is much larger and more influential than we believed.”
“Then we cannot keep this to ourselves. These papers need to reach someone who can act on them.” She realized with horror what it would mean if the decoded pages fell into the wrong hands.
“I agree. First, we finish—or rather, you finish—decoding these papers, and then I will take them to someone who can help us.”
“Who?”
He hesitated. “I wish I could say, but I am not at liberty.”
The pieces aligned with unforgiving clarity. She could no longer dismiss the lockpicks, the practiced search of the manager’s office, his knowledge of smuggling and traitors, or the unnamed ally he refused to explain. James was not an earl who had stumbled into a dangerous affair. He had been trained for this.
He was working for someone powerful. A high-ranking government official perhaps or someone connected to the war effort. Whoever it was possessed enough authority to command James’s silence.
The exact name hardly mattered now because the shape of the truth was clear. James was a spy.
It should have surprised her. Instead, it made far too much sense. Her growing feelings for James had kept her circling reality instead of recognizing that she was not the only one in the room with a secret.
“Very well,” she said as she turned back toward the papers. She could not demand his confession while she still kept truths of her own hidden. If James chose to confide in her, to trust her, it would be his choice.
“I noticed a word at the bottom of several pages that isn’t included in the columns,” James said.
She followed his gesture to the name. “Arcadia,” she read aloud. “What does that mean?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure, though it carries a ring of familiarity.”
“Arcadia is a mythological place,” came a familiar voice from the doorway. Aunt Edith strode into the library, walking toward one of the bookcases and trailing a finger along the leather bindings before stopping on a large brown volume with cracks along the spine. She slid it from the shelf and carried it to the table, setting it before them as she flipped the pages.
“Ahh, here it is. You seem surprised an old lady would know such a thing, but you forget that Lord Hawthorne was a great fan of Greek mythology, and we read his collection together several times over.”
“What can you tell us about it?” James asked.
“Arcadia was seen as a utopian ideal.” Edith pointed to the page that described it. “A place of harmony and simplicity, untouched by corruption.” She turned the page, her expression pensive. “Though it was always just a vision. A land of order and beauty that never existed in truth.”
She looked back and forth between Kate and James. “Why are you wondering about Arcadia? I would have thought the two of you had better things to do than discuss mythology.” She winked and walked back toward the bookcase.
Arcadia. The name lingered unpleasantly in Kate’s mind as she thought of the snake and oak leaf, a symbol of harmony concealing the poison beneath.
She gathered up the papers with care before her aunt could see them and placed them in her leather pouch before joining Aunt Edith on the sofa.
Now that she knew what James truly was, it seemed more likely he would understand her desire to continue her work. But would he accept it? Understanding her secrets was one thing. Binding his life to them was a different matter entirely.
The quiet warmth from the fire and James’s nearness should have offered comfort. Instead, unease settled over her. She had let him get closer than she ever intended, and when James finally knew her full truth, she was no longer certain her heart could escape unbroken.
Chapter 19
James
James strode from room to room, his worry mounting with every passing second. The housekeeper and maid he questioned did not know Kate’s whereabouts, only that she had left her chambers hours ago. He knew his fear was irrational, but the dread refused to lift. He had always been driven to protect her, but never more so than after their time in the library the previous night—especially now that he knew who she truly was.
He opened the door to the drawing room, but only a hollow stillness greeted him. He continued down the passage, a knot tightening in his gut. He reached for Henry’s token in his pocket, its familiar weight a reminder of what was at stake. It was proof that a single mistake could cost everything. Losing Kate was a price he could not—and would not—pay.
He strode through the portrait gallery, passing the gilt-framed paintings without seeing them. The morning room had been empty earlier, but he held a desperate hope that either Lady Hawthorne had arisen or that Kate had miraculouslyappeared. He tamped down a swell of frustration as he found the room just as vacant as before.
