Johnny had nodded and asked if she would show him how to throw a knife. She said she would when he was older. Much older.
She would miss Johnny and Wilhemina and Ada, who was certainly going to be let go. Lucy would even miss Mrs. Cox and McAlpin. But she’d been eager to return to the Farm because she’d stupidly believed somehow, against all reason, Duncan would be here.
Stupid, stupid, she told herself. Of course, he wasn’t here. Duncan wasn’t in Building D. He wasn’t at the Farm, and he wouldn’t ever be here again. Not like before. Not like all the months they’d spent training together. He’d return briefly, but she’d most likely be on her own assignment. She’d return temporarily, but he’d be away. Someday their paths might cross, but by then they’d be like strangers, awkward and stilted. He’d have a wife. She’d have a lover.
They’d both have what they wanted. They’d both be unbelievably happy. And that was why she was crying right now. Because she was happy. So very, very happy, damn it!
***
“CLEVER OF YOU TO SUSPECTthe factory owner of framing the union,” Uncle Winn was saying. “Was it you or Mr. Slorach who surmised the truth?”
Lucy glanced out the window to her right. The weather was cloudy and promised rain. In the distance, she could see several agents slogging through one of Mr. Fog’s evasive maneuvers courses. She’d have been out there herself if Uncle Winn hadn’t wanted to see her for debriefing. Thank God he had. She was still sore from her battle with Vanderville.
“I can’t remember who initially mentioned it, but we both came to that conclusion.”
“Very diplomatic.”
Lucy shifted her attention back to Uncle Winn. “Is it? I’m not trying to be diplomatic. Does it really matter who first voiced the theory?”
Uncle Winn sat back and steepled his fingers. “No, but most agents want to claim as much credit for success as possible. And the sabotage of a plot to kill the prime minister’s son is certainly a success. As I recall, even before you left for the mission, you mentioned how counterproductive it would be for workers seeking to organize for rights to anger one of the key men most able to give them the means to organize.”
“Well, people don’t always do what’s in their best interest,” she said.
“You sound as though you speak from experience.”
Lucy straightened. “Do I?” Was she speaking from experience? Would she be feeling this longing—she couldn’t think of another word to describe it—for Duncan if she hadn’t taken him to her bed? Was he right to suggest they should never have become intimate? She hadn’t understood why he wanted to break off a perfectly enjoyable coupling. But then she’d never continued to think about a man after they’d parted. She’d never before been distracted thinking about his kisses or the way he stroked the back of her knee or how his voice sounded when he whispered her name.
“—from what I understand of Vanderville. Would you concur?”
Lucy raised her brows, having heard nothing of what Uncle Winn had been saying. “Concur? Yes, yes, of course.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Take today to write up your report,” he said. “I have Mr. Slorach’s, and I’d like yours as well.”
“Duncan sent his report?” Quite suddenly, she wished she could see it. She wondered if he said anything about her.
“It arrived this morning. I’d like to compare them and ask you if I have any questions or need clarification. Can you have yours to me before supper?”
What else did she have to do? “Yes.” She rose, and Uncle Winn followed. “You’re dismissed, Lucy.”
“Uncle Winn?” She paused at the door and looked back. “Do you have another mission in mind for me? If not, I wondered if I might go to London to visit my parents for a fortnight.”
“I do have you in mind for something, but if there’s a delay, you should certainly visit Adrian and Sophia. Give me a day or two, yes?”
“Thank you.”
She returned to her chamber and sat at the desk to begin her report. Unfortunately, the desk overlooked the grounds. She loved her parents and missed the ordered chaos of their home, but her reasons for visiting were not wholly unselfish. She couldn’t imagine sitting here for weeks staring at the bunk house where Duncan wasn’t sleeping or gazing at the archery field where he'd bested her before they’d been given their mission at Pembroke Lodge.
She’d been so annoyed to be paired with him on a mission. She’d so wanted to prove herself and feared he would overshadow her. He was such an accomplished agent. But Duncan was never a selfish agent. Lucy imagined if she got her hands on his report, it would be filled with praise for her. He always built her up.
And for someone who was supposed to be one of the Crown’s premier agents, she was completely oblivious. How had she not known Duncan was in love with her? Even if she accounted for the fact that he was careful not to show his feelings at the Farm, once they left for the mission, all the signs were there.
He'd known she detested mornings. He remembered she didn’t like to eat in a traveling coach. He knew the tea she liked and brought it with him. So many small things that proved he had paid attention to her for months and cared about her preferences.
And then there’s been the big things—like the way he’d cared for her after the fight with Vanderville. He’d been so gentle with her, undressing her and bathing her and...well, best if she didn’t think too much about how else he’d taken care of her.
All these years she’d been attracted to the rakes and scoundrels. But it wasn’t because they were the sort of men sheliked. They didn’t remember the tea she liked or that she became nauseous in a moving conveyance. She was attracted to those sorts of men because they didn’t want marriage or commitment, and she didn’t want any man holding her down and keeping her from her ambition to be a Royal Saboteur.
Well, now she was a Saboteur, and she didn’t want to waste time on scoundrels who didn’t look at her like she was the most beautiful creature on earth and kiss her as though he would die without if he didn’t feel her lips right that moment.
