Page 52 of One Thing Leads to a Lover

The boy’s heartfelt impulse—instinct, perhaps; Langley hadn’t any experience with the matter—to protect his mother from a scoundrel skewered through him like an expertly wielded lance. Christ. He needed to get out of this house before he did any more damage.

And the book in his hand was his ticket back to the world in which he belonged.

His grip on it tightened almost convulsively. The movement caught Jamie’s eye. Again the lad hesitated. Then, “Yes. You take it, sir.” As if relieved of a burden, he shoved away from the table and leaped to his feet. “Mama will be wondering where I am.”

“You wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.”

A quick nod, another glance at the book. “Thank you, sir.”

“Of course.”

He had every intention of letting the boy go. He had work to do, now. But while Jamie was still on the stairs, some contrary urge made Langley call after him to ask, “Did you see the man from the bookshop? When he was here, I mean.”

Jamie turned, a frown notched into the space between his eyes at the unexpected question. “Only a glimpse, sir. He was a dark-haired, older fellow. Like yourself,” he added, studying Langley’s face, his brow still furrowed. “Only not so tall. And no spectacles.”

“Good to know.” Langley managed a crisp nod, then gestured with the book. “I want to make sure it gets into the right hands.”

Jamie turned toward the stairs, then paused again. “Are you sure you won’t join us for luncheon, sir?”

“No, thank you, Jamie. I’ve a Latin lesson to prepare, remember?”

Another quick nod of understanding and the boy was gone.

Langley sat at the table and marveled at the object in his hand, at his fortune. He’d imagined quite another outcome. He’d expected his stay at Bartlett House to go on much longer.

Better, of course, that it did not.

Better for everyone.

He reached across the table for paper and pen, scratched out a quick note. Then he got up, tucked the book inside his coat, and donned his greatcoat. “Going out for a breath of air,” he explained to the indifferent footman as he strode through the entry hall and out the front door. With quick eyes, he found Lieutenant Eggleston standing guard across the way, dressed after the fashion of one of the square’s older residents, pretending to watch the birds on the green.

He approached the other man with an impersonal nod of greeting, feigning interest in a pair of doves. “Take this to General Scott,” he muttered under his breath a moment later, handing off the folded note. “I’ll wait here.”

For three-quarters of an hour, Langley strolled leisurely back and forth along the square, the book heavy against his ribs, glancing only now and then, and always with perfect indifference, toward the row of houses across the street.

He’d slipped into and out of so many roles, so many disguises in his life, never pausing, never looking back. Why should the present occasion be any different? Success at one mission meant moving on to the next. Scott’s best agent had got exactly what he’d come for.

Oh, yes. And a little more besides.

Lost in his thoughts, he nearly missed Eggleston’s return, as the man strolled by and a slip of paper fluttered from his kid-gloved hand to the ground. Langley pinned it with his toe, then bent to retrieve it. Just a few words, in General Scott’s improbably elegant copperplate.

My office, without delay.

Like any good soldier, Langley would accept his commanding officer’s order, of course. He would stop for nothing.

Not even goodbye.

Zebadiah Scott had never been a man of sentiment, not even when he’d rescued an urchin from the streets. He moved with deliberation, kept his mind on the endgame, and now Langley must do the same. From a few yards away, Eggleston had already resumed his guard duties, meaning Amanda was safe inside Bartlett House. Far safer, now that the codebook had been found.

Far safer without him.

As he crumpled the note, his eye caught another line of print, hidden at first beneath a fold. A sort of postscript. He had to read the words through twice to make sure he had not imagined them.

And bring the countess with you.

As he marched back toward the house, the note clenched in his fist, an uneasy breath shuddered from Langley’s chest. He did not dare to call it relief, not even to himself.

He was grateful, yes, for the chance to see her one last time.