He had a carriage waiting and instructed the driver to take them to Freddie’s town house to retrieve Addy and then to the docks. Charlotte gave the driver the directions, and when the carriage was under way, Cade sat back and gave her a hard look. “I must be frank with you, Charlotte, and I can tell this is not information you will welcome.”
“What is it?”
“It concerns your—Dewhurst.”
She nodded, encouraging Cade to continue. “He was right. I am a spy, and at this moment I’m in possession of a file of codes which could turn the tide of world events.”
“What do you mean?” Charlotte gaped at him. “Which codes?”
“The codes the British generals are using to cipher their missives to one another. With this information, the French can decode the British army’s secrets. The French generals will know troop movements, supply lists, battle plans.” Cade smiled triumphantly. “Our friends the British are doomed. And therein lies American victory. But first we have to deliver the ciphers, and we must sail for France tonight.”
“But—” Charlotte did not continue. She could not. Her throat had constricted, closing her airway tight. Though she had no loyalty to England, there was something patently unfair about this strategy. It seemed like cheating to steal the Brits’ own codes and use them against them.
If Cade succeeded in delivering the codes, would that guarantee France victory? What would that mean for Lucia and Lord Selbourne, Sebastian, Lydia, poor Wilkins, even Mrs. Pots? And what would it mean for Freddie? How could she be part of something that might destroy the lives of so many people she cared about and the man she loved? But how could she choose between her enemy and her friend?
“I know you want to return to Charleston, and we will,” Cade was saying. “First I must deliver these documents, and then I’ll take you and Addy home again. Ah”—he peered out the windows of the carriage—“we’ve arrived.”
Charlotte looked out the window as Dewhurst’s town house came into view. How could she tell Cade that she was already home? How could she let him go, knowing that those codes might hurt the people she’d come to love?
“Dewhurst isn’t exactly a pauper, is he?” Cade said, staring at the house. “Does he keep banknotes lying about?”
“I—I don’t know,” Charlotte stammered, sickened at the idea of taking Freddie’s money.
“What about jewelry? Something we can sell for a quick profit?”
Charlotte bit her lip. “I don’t feel right taking his money, Cade.”
“But you told me he promised you a thousand dollars. He owes you a bauble of some sort at the very least.”
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I couldn’t take that. Not now.”
The carriage slowed, and when it stopped Cade fixed her with a hard look. “Why not? What’s happened to change your mind?”
“I just”—Charlotte twisted her fingers in the satin of her gown—“I don’t think it’s right.”
“Is that so?” Cade’s face contorted into a rictus of rage that she didn’t recognize. She realized he frightened her now. “Charlotte, I don’t have the time or leisure to play the sympathetic friend. These codes”—he patted his breast pocket— “won’t wait for your lust for Dewhurst to run its course.”
“Cade!” Charlotte shrank back from the ice in his tone. What had happened to the man she’d known in Charleston? The sweet-natured, brotherly friend?
“I saw you dancing with him, Lottie. And I saw him drag you from the ballroom. You followed like a bitch in heat. If you want to spread your legs for a British bastard, that’s not my affair, but for God’s sake, at least take the money you’re owed for it.”
Without thinking, Charlotte slapped him. Hard. She was immediately shocked at her action, then regretted not hitting Cade harder when he only laughed. He grasped her elbow and pushed her out of the coach. “Slap me all you like, Lottie, when we’re in Paris. Right now, you’ve ten minutes to collect your maid and money.”
“Stop it, Cade.” Charlotte struggled to free herself, but Cade marched resolutely up the walk. “I’m not going with you. I’m not going to Paris, or Charleston, or anywhere with you!”
“Oh, yes, you are.” They reached Freddie’s door, and Cade hauled her up against him. “You know I have the codes. Do you think I can leave you here alive with that information? You’ll come with me because if you don’t, I’ll have to kill you.”
Charlotte made a strangled gurgle of surprise.
Cade put a hand on the back of her neck. “Now, don’t make a scene. Get Addy, get the money, and we get out. No one will be hurt, unless you decide to play the heroine.”
Charlotte looked into his face and knew he was capable of inflicting the pain he promised. Who was this man? Certainly not the same boy who’d rescued her kitten from a tree when she was five or danced with the wallflowers at balls. Something in Cade had changed, hardened him. Whatever it was, she was obligated to protect the innocent bystanders. She couldn’t allow Mrs. Pots, Wilkins, even Hester to get in Cade’s way. Thankfully, Freddie had given most of the staff the night off.
With a last look at Cade, Charlotte opened the door and peered into the foyer. It was empty and only dimly lit. The staff had not anticipated their master and mistress would return so early and would probably not think to light the chandelier for several more hours.
Charlotte motioned to Cade to follow her across the foyer and up the stairs. She prayed none of the staff would be curious enough to venture out of the servants’ quarters to investigate who was home, and she was thankful Cade was silent and moving as stealthily as she. They climbed the stairs, and Charlotte led Cade to her own bedroom. Addy sometimes sat in the rocking chair by the window and sewed when Charlotte was away. Her maid didn’t feel easy around the other servants and valued any time alone.
When Charlotte opened her door, she breathed a sigh of relief to see Addy was indeed inside. Her maid turned to see who had entered, and Charlotte had to shush her with a finger to her lips. Only when Cade was inside and she’d closed the door did Charlotte speak. “Addy, quick, get our things together. We’re leaving.”
