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Bernard’s expression darkened. “I wasn’t going to mention this, but you should also know I made a point of speaking on your behalf so that no one questioned your loyalties once they learned who you really are. That could have made things very difficult for you.”
Despite their parting, Sylvia believed Rafe when he said he would take care of everything. How dare Bernard take credit. How dare he act as if he had done her some kind offavor. Obviously, he had expected to find her in a vulnerable state. Grateful for whatever piddling assistance he planned to offer. But no matter what happened, she would never go to him again.
Sylvia had to take a few deep breaths before she could respond without screaming. “That was hardly a noble sacrifice on your part, considering it wasyouwho brought me into that mess in the first place,” she pointed out.
He cleared his throat. “I know you’re incredibly angry with me, and you have every right to be. But that doesn’t erase what we had together. I only wish you knew how much I still feel for you.”
At her lowest point, Sylvia would have done anything to hear those words from him. Now it was all she could do to keep from retching. He hadn’t listened to her at all.
The carriage came to a halt, and a footman promptly descended the front steps. Sylvia turned back to Bernard, who had begun to affect a pout. “I’m afraid that is your problem. Not mine. Good day.”
Sylvia then held her head high as she climbed down from the carriage and entered the town house without a backward glance. It was as if a millstone had been removed from her neck. She wasn’t just walking away from Bernard but from a part of her past she had held on to for far too long. And she had never felt so free.
Chapter Twenty-Three
After enduring a thoroughly dispiriting, mind-numbingly long meeting at Whitehall, Rafe made his way to his club, where Henry was waiting for him, having taken the train down from Glasgow. Rafe had no idea what had brought him to London, as Henry tended to avoid the city like the plague.
“I take it the meeting didn’t go well?” Henry asked as soon as Rafe found him tucked away inconspicuously in a corner.
He sat down heavily in a club chair and immediately waved the waiter over to order a very large whiskey. “No, it did not.” He then relayed that morning’s activities, including the revelation that Wardale’s blackmail scheme would be quietly swept under the rug.
“Well, that can’t have been much of a surprise,” Henry said with a shrug.
Rafe scowled at his nonchalance. “Actually, it was, rather.”
Henry chuckled. “Sometimes I forget you’re still an idealist.”
“I most certainly am not.”
Henry gave him a gentle smile. “You must be. Otherwise I can’t imagine why you’ve continued to do this work for so long. I know you aren’t a damn imperialist.”
Rafe sighed and took a sip of whiskey. “About that…I resigned at the meeting.”
Now Henry looked suitably shocked. “Really?”
“They accepted my proposal to form an elite group of agents, but not without my conditions. So I refused.”
Among them was the appointment of an independent inspector to oversee the new department, as Rafe argued that more oversight was needed to prevent corruption. The panel disagreed. “I thought we could usher England into a new age of intelligence, but I can’t live with myself if it only creates more opportunities for malfeasance.”
“See? Idealism at work.”
Rafe took another, larger sip. “Fine,” he grumbled into his glass. “If that’s what you want to call it.”
“It sounds like the stalwart Miss Sparrow had quite an impact on you.”
Rafe longed to disagree, but Henry had the right of it. Before he met her, he might have felt uncomfortable or even a tad guilty about his work, but he seriously doubted he would have taken such drastic actions. Instead, Rafe would have continued to delude himself into thinking that he alone could fix the Empire.
“Wilcox,” he muttered.
Henry leaned forward. “What’s that?”
“Her name. Her real name is Sylvia Wilcox. She lied about that. Among other things,” he couldn’t help adding.
Rafe had already related the broader points of Sylvia’s deception back in Scotland, but not the extent of the pain and humiliation it had caused him. Both of which he was now determined to forget, with mixed results.
“Ah. I don’t suppose she’s related to Lionel Wilcox?”
Rafe shrugged. “I’ve no idea.”
