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“Whose carriage is this? I’m not letting you go alone. You didn’t even collect your cloak. You’ll catch cold.”
She pulled the clasp of the necklace loose. “I don’t want your diamond.”
She flung the necklace at him and he caught it before it hit the ground and tucked it inside his pocket.
“That’s not what I was concerned about. You’re angry. You have every right to be angry.”
“Feeling things so deeply is a curse, Raven. I wish I had your ability to disconnect from your emotions, truly I do. But my highs have always been very high, and my lows very low. And my trust, twice betrayed, is lost forever.”
“Please allow me to explain.”
“I have to go. This is Lady Catherine’s carriage.” She pulled a note from her bodice and handed it to him. “Lady Catherine is ill and has something she wants to tell me urgently. I must go to her immediately.”
“Are you sure that this is her handwriting?”
“I think I know one of my oldest friend’s handwriting. I recognize the distinctive cramped lettering. She’s in trouble and I must go to her. She means more to me than our quest.”
“Indy, you asked me to trust you, and I did. Now I’m asking you to trust me. Allow me to come with you, please. I may be able to help Lady Catherine. It’s late, and you’re alone. Please accept the help of a friend.”
“A friend?” she asked bitterly.
“Business associate, then. Allow me to accompany you, and you may send me on any errands Lady Catherine may require.”
Indy shivered, her shoulders hunching in the cold air. “You may come as my associate.”
They walked together to the carriage. “Are you Lady Catherine’s groom?” Raven asked the young boy waiting by the carriage.
“Aye, sir. She said I was to bring the lady to her. She didn’t say anything about a gentleman.”
“This is the Duke of Ravenwood and he’ll be accompanying me,” said Indy.
“How long is the ride to Lady Catherine’s estate?” Raven asked.
“No more than a half hour,” said the groom.
They climbed into the carriage.
Raven removed his coat and set it around Indy’s shoulders. She didn’t push it away, so he took that as a hopeful sign.
They rode through the Paris streets in silence this time. Indy sat next to him but she was a world away.
If he tried to explain his interrogation of Margot, he’d open himself up to having to explain that other time, so long ago, in the garden.
She was angry, and her anger was an offering, a way out.
The easy way out. The selfish way.
He had to tell her. He had to confess his secret. She deserved an explanation for why he’d chosen his family, and service to his country, over her love.
He must find the words, must suppress the conditioning that screamed inside his head that an agent never confessed, never admitted to anything.
“She means nothing to me, Indy,” he said softly.
“She used to be your lover.”
“Yes, she did.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that?”
