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“Are you still determined to quit, then?”
“You have to ask?”
“I think he means yes,” James said to Caroline. “Although with Ravenscroft, one never knows. He has an appalling habit of answering questions with questions.”
“Yes, I'd noticed,” she murmured.
Blake pushed himself off the wall. “James?”
“Blake?”
“Shut up.”
James grinned. “Miss Trent, why don't we retire to the drawing room? The tea ought to restore your voice at least somewhat. Once we have you speaking without pain, we ought to be able to figure out what the devil to do with you.”
Blake closed his eyes for a moment as Caroline trailed after James, listening to her raspy voice as she said, “You should call me Caroline. I've already given Mr. Ravenscroft leave to do so.”
Blake waited for a minute or two before following, needing a moment of solitude to sort out his thoughts. Or at least to try. Nothing seemed clear where she was concerned. He'd felt such a rush of relief when he'd found out that Carlotta De Leon was not really Carlotta De Leon.
Caroline. Her name was Caroline. Caroline Trent. And he wasn't lusting after a traitor.
He shook his head in disgust. As if that were the only problem facing him just now. What the hell was he supposed to do with her? Caroline Trent was smart, very smart. That much was abundantly clear. And she hated Oliver Prewitt enough to help bring him to justice. It might take a little convincing to help her get past her distaste for espionage, but not much. Prewitt had, after all, ordered his son to rape her. Caroline wasn't likely to turn the other cheek after something like that.
The obvious solution was to keep her here at Seacrest Manor. She was surely full of information they could use against Prewitt. It was doubtful that she was privy to his illegal dealings, but with the proper questioning, he and James could unearth clues that she probably didn't even realize she knew. If nothing else, she'd be able to give them the layout of Prewitt Hall—invaluable information if he and James decided to break in.
So then, if she was such a good addition to their team, why was he so reluctant to ask her to stay?
He knew the answer. He just didn't want to look deep enough within his soul to admit it.
Cursing himself for seven different kinds of a coward, Blake turned on his heel and strode out the front door. He needed some air.
“What do you suppose is keeping our good friend Blake?”
Caroline looked up at the sound of James's voice as she poured his tea. “He certainly isn't my good friend,” she replied.
“Well, I wouldn't call him your enemy.”
“No, he isn't that. It's just that I don't think friends tie friends to the bedpost.”
James choked on his tea. “Caroline, you have no idea.”
“The point is moot, anyway,” she said, glancing out the window. “He's walking away.”
“What?” James shot up from the sofa and crossed the room. “Bloody coward.”
“Surely he's not afraid of me,” she joked.
James turned his head to look at her, his eyes boring into her face so sharply she grew uncomfortable. “Perhaps he is,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.
“My lord?”
James shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts, but he didn't stop staring at her. “I told you to call me James.” He grinned mischievously. “Or ‘dear friend’ if you think James is too familiar.”
She let out a ladylike snort. “Both are too familiar, as you well know. Given my remarkable predicament, however, it seems silly to split hairs over such a matter.”
“An eminently practical woman,” he said with a smile. “The very best sort.”
“Yes, well, my father was in trade,” she quipped. “One must be practical to succeed in such endeavors.”
