Page 79 of After the Spy Seduces

On the ship, the sailor let go of the lad and reached for his own spyglass hanging from a leather belt loop at his side. He pulled it open and looked across the harbor, his gaze coming to rest on Kit.

Kit put down the spyglass and picked up the lit lantern burning its small flame at his feet. To make a show of exactly how real his threat was, he flicked open the small glass door, then reached inside his jacket and withdrew the diary. He held it up over his head, to be certain that the sailor recognized it. Then he placed it into the flame, letting the edges of the pages singe brown before pulling it away and beating out the flames against his thigh.

If you do not agree, I will burn the diary, and then you will never have what you want. You will never discover who in the French court is sending information to England.

Kit tucked the diary back out of sight, lowered the lamp, and picked up the spyglass once more. Once more keeping an unmoving watch. Onboard the ship, the sailor lowered his glass and hurried away toward the stern, down the stairs, and below deck.

A short time later, he returned. He held a message in his hand that he shoved at the boy, then pointed at the pier in Kit’s general direction. The lad nodded, tucked the note beneath his cap on his head, and headed back down the rope ladder to his little boat, to begin the long stretch of rowing back across the harbor to the docks.

Kit lowered the spyglass, smacked it with his palm to retract it, and tucked it into his breast pocket, not bothering to look through it again as he waited patiently. His heart pounded off the seconds with dread, although he forced himself to not show one bit of emotion on his face.

Bring Miss Morgan to the old boathouse at midnight for the exchange. I will not negotiate other terms. The diary for the woman. That is all.

After an interminably long wait, the boy reached the pier, right where Kit was waiting, his stance wide-legged beneath his caped greatcoat, his left fist pressed into the small of his back. He didn’t move, not even to reach a hand to help the boy onto the pier when he tied the boat to the iron ring between Kit’s feet.

You know who I am and what I am capable of doing. You also know that I am a dead man with nothing to lose. Do not cross me.

The lad panted hard, exhausted and out of breath from the exertion of rowing, as he climbed up onto the pier. He yanked off his cap and handed the message to Kit. He didn’t bother to pull back his hand, waiting for Kit to place the sovereign coin onto his palm.

The lad closed his fist around the coin, gave the brim of his cap a tug of appreciation for payment as he returned it to his head, then walked away, shrugging out his tight shoulders as he went.

Kit broke the wax seal on the note, unfolded it, and read the short message. They had agreed to his terms.

Crumpling the note in his fist, he threw it into the harbor. He turned on his boot heel and strode off, down the long pier toward the village. He didn’t look back.

If you harm her in any way, I will slaughter you. Every last one of you.

Chapter 25

In the dim light of a candle lantern that swayed slowly in time to the ship’s gentle rocking, Diana slipped the tip of the knife into the narrow gap between the door and the frame.

Undoubtedly, this wasn’t at all the way that Kit had expected her to make use of his knife. Not to wiggle it into a latch but to slice it into a man’s gut. And yet…

“A woman has to do what a woman has to do,” she whispered and slid the knife along the side of the door, feeling for the cabin hook on the other side.

In this case, a woman working to free herself.

When one of the men who had shoved her into the cabin brought her dinner several hours later—a dinner she took one glance at and had no intention of eating—she listened carefully to the door when it closed. Not the clink-click of a padlock locking her inside, but the clank-clink of a falling hook. Which told her that a cabin hook secured the door, the kind she remembered on the doors of the ship from India. The kind of hook-and-eye latch that could be pried open if she could just lift the little arm out of its eye, if she could slip something between the door and the frame to hold it open.

So she’d been patient and bided her time, until the right moment came to free herself.

Just as she’d listened carefully to the sound of the door when it had closed, she’d also listened to the sounds of the ship around her. The sun had set nearly six hours earlier—she’d kept track of time by the tolling bell of the parish church, which could just barely be heard across the water—and in that time, the ship had grown quiet and still. Only the occasional groan of boards, flapping of sailcloth, and the slapping of waves against the hull broke the evening calmness. Even the sailors had all settled below deck for the night, retiring to their bunks and hammocks. No one stood in the gangway, guarding her. Why would they? Where could she possibly have gone?

But she’d had all day to make plans, to run through scenario after scenario. And now it was time to act.

This ship was similar to the one her family had traveled on from India, and during those long weeks when she’d had nothing to do but mourn John’s death, feel sorry for herself, and pace the length of the ship while her belly grew beneath her dress, she’d come to know that ship well. She could still remember where the crew kept the rope ladders they used to climb on and off the ship and to the little dinghies tied to the side of the boat or trailing behind the stern. She also knew where the crew stood to keep watch across the water and how to sneak around those places without being seen, not wanting to draw any more attention to herself then as possible.

Once she was free from this cabin, she would let down one of those rope ladders and climb down, cut free with the knife the dinghy tied below, and simply drift away into the darkness. By the time they realized she was gone, she’d be back on dry land.

“With Christopher,” she whispered. Because this wasn’t only about saving herself any longer. It was also about saving the people she loved. Which now included him.

Ding!The blade hit the bottom of the latch.

Holding her breath, she placed both hands on the knife handle and raised it straight up, slowly feeling the little iron hook lift from its catch on the other side of the door. With one hand keeping the knife in place, holding the hook freely in the air, she slowly opened the door. Silently, one painfully slow movement at a time, she carefully pushed the door open as she withdrew the knife in equal measure to keep it from jamming in the doorframe.

When the blade slipped free, the hook fell against the door with a soft jangle.

She froze. She strained for any sound that anyone was there in the gangway. But she heard nothing except the rush of blood pounding in her ears with every frantic heartbeat.