Page 79

He was compromised, and that was compromising Lavinia, but he didn’t want to let her go. Not yet.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he finally said. “But I don’t want her to be hurt.”

“That is a risk in every operation, and you knew that when you agreed to take on this mission.”

He almost protested that the only reason he’d taken on the mission at all was because McKenzie, the only other option for a handler, was too much of a drunk to run anyone, but that wasn’t entirely true. He could’ve dug his heels in. He could’ve fought, pointing out all of the things that made him unsuitable to be Lavinia’s handler. The very things he was battling with now that they were lovers once again.

“The thought of her anywhere near Wark makes my skin crawl,” he said.

Gillie gave him a long, hard look, as though she could peer into his soul and see beneath all the layers even he wasn’t brave enough to look under.

“We are a week out from the prince’s ball. I cannot have you distracted by worrying about Lavinia. I like her as much as the next woman, but her first responsibility is to the mission. You should be able to order her to stand next to Wark’s side and seduce every last piece of information out of him if that’s what’s necessary.”

He focused a hard stare on the carriage door. If he kicked it, would the wood shatter before it broke his bones? Perhaps the broken bones would be good, a temporary relief from the truth he knew he needed to acknowledge and the pain that would come in its wake.

“Can you do that, Andrew?” Gillie insisted.

“No, I can’t bloody well do that and you know it,” he ground out.

His liaison nodded. “I didn’t think so. You know what you need to do for the good of everyone involved.”

Take Lavinia off the operation. Walk away. Cut the ties that bound them together.

“I don’t know if I can,” he said, his whole body sagging under the truth of that.

“It’s the best way to keep her safe, Andrew, and you know it. Your decisions have made her as compromised as you are, and she has none of the benefits of your training,” said Gillie, pulling herself up into the cab and shutting the door. “End things now or risk putting her in even graver danger.”

He stepped back as Gillie called Mrs. Sullivan’s address up to the driver, and watched her rumble off.

Moira smiled when Miss Gibson walked into the room in an ugly olive-green dress punctuated with wide brown bows that picked up the fabric to reveal a cream underskirt. The young woman with masses of curling red hair might try to hide behind loud clothing and a sometimes-sharp tongue, but Moira could see straight through her charade. The why, however, was still a mystery.

“Miss Gibson, what a pleasure,” she said. “What can I do for you today?”

Miss Gibson, however, looked past her shoulder at the painting that she’d propped up on the armchair to view. The young woman nodded at it. “I like that.”

“I do too. It’s by a young Englishman named Walter Sickert. He shows promise.” She smiled. “But I gather you didn’t come today to view my newest purchase.”

Miss Gibson pressed her lips together. “No. I came to ask whether you could secure two invitations to the prince’s ball in seven days’ time.”

Moira gave a laugh but the young lady didn’t join her. “Oh, you’re serious.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I was just going to have a cup of tea. Would you like to join me?” Mrs. Sullivan gestured to the tea cart, and Miss Gibson took a seat.

“I know it’s a tall order. I only hoped that—”

“When we first met, Miss Gibson, I wondered what our relationship would be. I’ve been contacted by the War Office several times, and Home specifically as well. Naturally, I’m happy to do whatever I can for my country and my adopted city. Edinburgh has been good to me since I moved here after my husband’s death.

“I tell you this,” Moira continued as she handed the young lady a cup of tea, “because there have been liaisons with Home whom I’ve helped because of duty and those I’ve helped because it gave me pleasure to assist a friend. I hope that you might consider me a friend, for that’s how I feel about you.”

Miss Gibson let out a long, slow breath, then took a sip of tea. “I admire you a great deal, Mrs. Sullivan. Your connections—”

“Oh, let’s not speak of connections. Anyone can cultivate those so long as they’re persistent and pleasant, and as a matchmaker both traits are vital for success. Possessing a great deal of money helps as well.”

Miss Gibson laughed. “I suppose it does.”

“I’ll do what I can to secure you the invitations. It may take me a day.”