His hands were lifting the hem of her dress, caressing her thigh through the paper-thin material, when he heard the sprinkle of laughter.
“I hate to interrupt, cher, but I have something I know you will want to see.”
Alex looked up to see Camille standing in the doorway, waving a paper. “I knocked,” she explained, shutting the door. “But no one answered.” She gave them a playful look. “Now I see why.”
Alex glanced from the paper to Camille’s face. Despite her light tone, he knew her well enough to see that whatever news she brought was deadly serious. As he loosened his hold on Lucia, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled.
LUCIA MOVED OUT OF Alex’s embrace slowly. He was staring at Camille and seemed to have almost forgotten her. Camille would have to interrupt the first time Alex had shown any interest in her in days. The French woman was probably congratulating herself on her timing. But Lucia was careful to mask her irritation when she turned to face Camille, and she stayed close to Alex. No matter what he said, she didn’t trust the woman.
“What have you found?” Alex asked Camille.
“A message.” She waved a paper to and fro, smiling too widely—like a dog with his bone. “From Mr. Dashing.”
“How?” Lucia jumped forward, barely restraining the urge to snatch the paper from Camille’s hand. “What does it say? Is John well? Safe?”
Camille clucked. “Patience, Lucia.” She wagged her finger. Lucia wanted to break it.
“Stop playing games,” Alex said. He held out his hand, but Camille evaded him. Holding the paper aloft, she crossed the room leisurely and sat on the couch, stationing herself in front of the crossed swords. She made a show of adjusting her cloak and gown. Lucia clenched her fists behind her back. She was on the verge of tearing the woman’s eyes out.
Finally Camille said, “It was given to me only this morning by one of my contacts.”
“What’s the date?” Alex asked.
Camille glanced at the letter, still keeping its contents to herself. “Two days ago.”
Despite her annoyance, Lucia’s knees went weak with relief, and she had to grasp Alex’s arm to keep from stumbling. John was alive. Alive and well. Only two days ago he had penned a message!
“I hope you are familiar with Shakespeare,” Camille added, sitting back on the couch cushions and making a show of pondering the letter’s contents. Lucia frowned, and beneath her hand, she felt Alex stiffen. He seemed to be tiring of Camille’s game as well.
“Why?” he said.
“Because—” Camille waved the paper again. “This appears to be a passage from one of his plays.”
Alex stomped to the couch. “Let me see.” He held out his hand, and Camille hesitated only a moment before handing him the letter. Lucia rushed to his side, peering over his shoulder to read. It was John’s handwriting. His words and from his own hand. He was alive.
“Why didn’t he use the code?” Alex said, shaking the paper. “What is this supposed to mean?”
“Perhaps there’s a new code,” Camille said silkily.
“Based on Shakespeare? Middleton does most of our decoding, and Sebastian only knows the love stories. I’d believe it if this were Romeo and Juliet, but this . . .”
Love stories? Code? Lucia had been too overwhelmed to read the missive closely, but now she said, “Let me see, Alex.”
He handed her the letter and she pursed her lips as she read lines from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar.
You all do know this mantle . . .
Look, in this place ran Cassius’ dagger through;
See what a rent the envious Casca made;
Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb’d,
And as he pluck’d his cursed steel away,
Mark how the blood of Caesar follow’d it,
As rushing out of doors, to be resolved
