Charlotte’s mouth watered, but she vowed not to touch the tempting fare. Five minutes before she might have sold her soul for the chance at freedom. Now, faced with that prospect—however slight—she wanted no charity from these men. Death was preferable. The smell of warm bread and cheese assaulted her nostrils, and she clenched her fists in her skirts to quell the desire to snatch the tray and wolf down the food.
The servant set the fare on the table, then quickly retreated, closing the heavy cellar door behind him. Dewhurst stood beside the table, watching her. Middleton spoke, “Miss Burton, you must be hungry. Please eat.”
Charlotte shook her head. “I want nothing from you, except my freedom.”
“That might be arranged,” Middleton said. Charlotte glanced at Dewhurst. He looked bored and disgusted by her.
“If this arrangement involves me lifting my skirts for one or both of you”—Dewhurst gave her a derisive glance before turning away—“you might as well kill me now, for I’d rather die than allow one of you to touch me.”
“Miss Burton,” Middleton said in a soothing tone that didn’t fool her for a moment, “you wound us. We are not going to hurt you. In point of fact, we need your help.”
Charlotte scowled. George, but she wished they would take the bread out of her sight. The smell was making her dizzy. “I already told you. I am not a spy. Mr. Pettigru is not a spy. I don’t know anything, and if I did, I wouldn’t reveal it to you lying British bastards!”
“Lovely,” Dewhurst said, pulling out a chair from the desk and settling in it with a bored air. “We’re wasting our time here, Middleton.”
“Give it a chance, coz.”
Charlotte watched the exchange closely. Cousins. Yes, that would account for the similarities in their appearance, evident even though their mode of dress was centuries apart.
“Miss Burton,” Middleton said, “if you don’t wish to aid us, are you willing to cooperate to help Pettigru? You might be able to clear his name.”
Charlotte pushed a heavy lock of her hair behind her ear. The red tangle was free of its pins and streaming down her back. She licked her dry lips, eyeing the flagon of wine. “What would I have to do?”
Middleton waved his hand. “Merely act out a part in a small play. Have you ever been on the stage, Miss Burton?”
“No.”
“Ah, well, then this will be something new. We have reason to believe Pettigru will turn up again in London. If you were there as well, you might arrange to meet him, talk to him, help him clear his name.”
“Lure him out so you can hang him, you mean,” Charlotte shot back. Did they take her for a fool? She did not care if Cade was another Benedict Arnold. She would never betray her friend and countryman.
Middleton held up a hand. “I will not lie to you, Miss Burton. If Pettigru is guilty, then he will be tried, but with or without your assistance, we will catch him. That is inevitable. What is not inevitable is the matter of his guilt or innocence.”
Charlotte licked her lips again, and Middleton must have noted the gesture. He poured her a glass of wine and brought it to her. “I give you my word as a knight and an Englishman—” Charlotte snorted. “Very well, I give you my word as a man of honor that we will treat Mr. Pettigru fairly and take into account any evidence you find of his innocence.” He handed the glass to Charlotte. She took it, allowing herself a small sip. George, but the liquid felt good on her parched throat.
“What do I have to do, Mr. Middleton? You mentioned acting.”
“Ah, yes, but not in the theater. You will play your part on a different stage—that of the haute ton. What we propose”—he motioned to Dewhurst, who was sitting tight-lipped at the desk— “is for you to act as Lord Dewhurst’s wife—”
Charlotte’s jaw dropped. “What? His wife? Never.”
“No, no. It would be a counterfeit marriage, though you would have to give every appearance of it being genuine.”
Charlotte glanced at Dewhurst. His expression was dark. He didn’t want this any more than she. So why was he going along? “What exactly would I have to do?” Charlotte asked.
Middleton shrugged. “Live in Dewhurst’s town house, attend the social functions with him, play the dutiful wife. Pettigru knows my cousin’s identity now. He will be watching us, and when he sees you with Dewhurst, we do not think he can resist the dual temptation.”
“It seems too easy,” Charlotte said.
Dewhurst gave a short laugh. “It is anything but easy, Miss Burton.” He turned his full gaze on her, his green eyes hard and catlike in the dimness. “No one who knows me would ever believe I would marry a woman like you. You’re plain, uncouth, and completely without style. You’ll be tossed out of the first ballroom you step into and shipped back to the colonies.”
“The United States,” she corrected, venom rising in her blood. “And if you are so certain I will fail, then why are you going along with this asinine plan?”
He leaned back, silent for a long moment. “Are you a patriot, Miss Burton?”
She frowned. The answer seemed obvious. “Yes.”
“Then you understand what it means to love your country. I love my country, and I’ll fight for my country. Your friend killed my countryman today, and his actions will kill many more if he’s allowed to continue. Right now, you’re our best hope of catching him.”
