She’d always hated the damp, dark cellar. Her heart raced and her palms sweated. She shuffled past the barrels to the back where the wine bottles were. The endless rows filled her with dread. Dusty containers lined the walls eight rows deep. Dirt and dust filled her lungs and made her cough.
Something creaked in the room, and she darted a look around seeing nothing but glass and wood. Trying to ignore the despair the rows conjured, she eyed the towering racks and hurried to the fourth row. In the middle of a sea of white bottles was a green one. The relief that poured through her made her tremble so that she had to set her taper on the shelf. It was just as well. She needed her hands free. She closed her fingers around the green bottle, and after a moment she managed to open it and turn it upside down. Inside the empty bottle the smooth edge of a rolled up piece of paper protruded.
Grabbing the edge of the scroll, she tugged it out. For a moment, she eyed the paper, suspended between duty and curiosity. If she was going to risk her life and betray her king, she wanted to see exactly what he had written. After unrolling the paper, it shook as she brought it close to read. The first lines were the king’s mad statement about the angel visiting him, just as her father had said. Her scalp tingled as she read the king’s disturbing words. She moved her gaze down the paper. The distinctive slanted scrawl of her father’s handwriting leapt out at her and made her gasp. Trembling, she moved her finger along the first line.Primary Code of the Network Language.
She traced the second entry. “QOTM”and“AKUXMK.” The code made no sense to her, but after reading further, she thought she had it. Her father had always made her solve elaborate puzzles he’d created and for the first time ever she was glad for it. This was not a complicated puzzle. The English word was written below the coded word which represented it. The coded word was her father’s handwriting, but the decoded word was not.
She rubbed the paper between her fingers as she thought. Why had Father created ciphers for the king? Not enough sleep and lack of food sent a wave of exhaustion rolling through her that left her dizzy. For one bleak second, she thought she might swoon, but after a moment the spinning stopped, and she once again composed herself to study the paper.
Blast her father.
Her belly clenched in denial but the truth was in swirly dark ink before her eyes. Father had not told her the whole truth. He’d not said a word about being involved in creating a code for the king. Dizziness overwhelmed her again. She squeezed her eyes shut, breathed deeply and reached a steadying hand toward the shelf. Gripping the wood so tight her fingers ached, she swayed as wave after wave of nausea consumed her. Sweat, damp and sticky, trickled down her sides and covered her brow.
If Father had omitted part of the truth, what else might he have lied about? Her mother’s voice, bitter and accusing, filled Madelaine’s head. How many times had her father returned from a long trip only for her mother to scream that he was lying about where he’d been, what he’d been doing. For years, her parents had scurried off to the garden to argue in private, only they were never alone.
Madelaine’s secret hiding place had been in the garden. By the age of ten, she knew Mother thought Father was in love with someone else and that he secretly went to meet her time and again. And Madelaine would never forget the awful day her Mother had begged him not to go on the trip he had planned. She promised to be sweeter, more loving and make Madelaine a better, more dutiful daughter.
Her mother’s pleas had fallen on deaf ears. He’d left, not to return for two months, and the beatings while he was gone had been the worst Madelaine had ever received. But the beatings paled in comparison to the guilt that ate at her. She vowed to be a better daughter, one that would not cause her mother heartache and make her so angry that she fought with Father. She vowed to be the kind of daughter Father would want to come back to.Thenhe would stay with them.Thenhe would love them.
But when he came back from his trip, he’d sought her out instead of Mother. That had been the best and worst day ever. He’d taught her a new way he’d learned to shoot his bow, and she’d eagerly gone with him for the better part of a day into the woods to hunt and shoot. Abby and her mother had even joined them for a time, which had never happened before and never happened again. When they’d all returned to the house, her mother had been livid beyond reason and had smacked Madelaine across the face with a hairbrush.
Madelaine opened her eyes and rubbed her cheek, which throbbed as if just freshly hit. She could see her parents standing before her as if time had not moved forward a single second, minute, hour or day. Father grabbing Mother’s arm as she raised it to strike again, and Mother’s stricken face before she fled the room—those memories never faded. Abby and her mother had scurried off to the kitchen when Father had commanded them to go. Madelaine had crawled into bed early that night and prayed things would be better on the morrow, but the next day her parents barely spoke, and her mother made sure she knew it was all her fault.
Madelaine kneaded her fingers into her aching head. In her heart, she didn’t believe her father betrayed her mother, nor was she sure he had really loved her. What was he doing all those times he was gone? Was a glimmer of the truth here in this paper?
Her pulse raced as she read the next two lines written by the king’s hand. “King George III’s personal spies and missions,” she muttered aloud. Disbelief caused her to laugh nervously. Head of circle of six– Fifth Duke of Ashdon– mission– deliver message to Nelson regarding the movement of Napoleon’s fleet across the Atlantic.
Dear God! Grey’s brother was a spy, or did this note refer to Grey’s father? It must have been written before Grey’s father’s death. Madelaine pressed a hand to her head as her thoughts spun. The circle of six held no meaning for her, but if Grey’s father had been a spy that could explain why Grey had been held at arm’s length all his life. She became excited thinking of how happy Grey would be to know his father really had loved him and had only tried to protect him, but then she remembered she had to avoid Grey, and even if she did see him at Court, it wasn’t as if she could tell him what she knew.
Unless—All the air in her lungs swooshed out in a rush. Did he already know?Was he a spy as well?The paper crumpled as she curled her fingers into a fist. Her blood rushed to her temples. Had Grey lied to her?
Flashes of his injuries skimmed through her thoughts. Cuts, scrapes, and fresh scars that seemed too harsh for a mere equerry filled her with doubt. She couldn’t consider that he might have lied. Because if he was the king’s man, then did that mean he had used her to get to her father? Ruthlessly, she shoved the doubt away and hugged herself.
Yet the doubt was relentless, like a driving rain that wouldn’t let up. It bore into her, chilling her skin and froze her all the way through. Gulping, she forced herself to look at the paper once again. Her heart pounded as she read each line while holding her breath and praying she’d not see Grey’s name, yet praying she’d find answers.
Her hopes rose as she read through the names and the missions—Lord Gravenhurst and Grey’s brother were on the list with missions by their names, but Grey was not mentioned. The next name caused her to bite down hard on her lip, her stomach pitching.
She blinked, yet the name was still there. Her father was a spy for the king. Had he always been? It explained his long absences and why he could never tell Mother where he was or what he was doing. How horrible for Mother and him. Madelaine groaned.
Her parents had barely stood a chance at happiness with this secret between them. Maybe her willful ways had been one thing too many between her parents. She had to make amends for her part in driving her parents apart. She had to do her Father’s bidding and trust him. Didn’t she? Doubt warred within her. The king believed he could depend on her father, and her father was betraying the king. Instinct made her want to know more, but what would she do if what she learned made her think her father was wrong? Could she still do what he demanded? It was better to never know, to not have to decide.
A scratching noise behind her made her jump. Whirling around, she grabbed the taper off the shelf. Light flickered in front of her, illuminating the distance from her to the stairs. There was no one there, yet her skin prickled. How long before Grey caught up with her, or worse his brother or Lord Gravenhurst? She might be able to convince Grey of her innocence, but his brother and Lord Gravenhurst wouldn’t listen to a word she said, especially since she’d wounded Grey’s brother. And then another thought struck. Somewhere out there was a murderer and it wasn’t her father. Fear stilled her breathing altogether. She listened to the silence.
A clanking, as if a bottle had been tipped over, resounded. Every instinct she possessed urged her to flee but first she needed the money her father had hidden. She snatched the bottle up, expecting to find money in it, but the bottle was empty.
Her hands flew from bottle to bottle in search of the money as her heart slammed painfully, making her chest ache. She tried to calm herself, to order her thoughts, but it was impossible as fear clawed its way up her insides and choked her. Her hands shook. She could hardly grasp the bottles. In the blackness, she could have sworn she heard a man’s voice.
Wildly, she gazed around at the shadows, the walls, the hundreds of bottles. Were the walls closer, the shadows darker, the bottles multiplying? She jerked away from the shelf desperate to run upstairs to the open space and light.
Her shoulder bumped a bottle on the edge of the shelf as she turned. The bottle teetered before toppling to the ground. Shards flew and crackled on impact with the hard floor. To her left, the distinct sound of feet shuffling pierced through her fear. An icy chill coursed down her spine. Automatically, she lifted her boot to get the dagger she’d stolen. She felt around for where she’d made a slit on the outside of her boot for it, and then froze. Her heart plunged. Damnation. She’d left the dagger buried in Grey’s brother’s shoulder.
Twenty-Four
Disbelief held Grey immobilized in the shadowy corner of Stratmore’s cellar. His blood rushed violently through his veins. He’d risked his career as a spy, his relationship with his brother and his honor by placing Madelaine above the king, and he’d judged her wrongly. He’d risked his heart, a foolishness he’d sworn never to do after a lifetime of building defenses around it. And what had he exposed himself for? Not the angel he’d imagined but a clever viper.
She stood with the wide-eyed stare he imagined most traitors would have when caught red-handed. Except she was the most beautiful traitor he would probably ever come up against. Her gaze swept over the darkness as her hand moved and her skirts fell back down around her ankles. His fingers tingled in remembrance of just how silky her skin was. He gritted his teeth.
She hadn’t seen him yet. He saw the king’s paper. She’d known exactly where to find it. Invisible bands wrapped around his heart and squeezed what was left of the useless thing. She’d played him for a fool with her innocent smiles and clear brown eyes, and he’d nearly killed himself to get here and protect her, even after she’d stolen away like a guilty person would. He hadn’t wanted to believe it possible.
