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Chapter Six
Will paced his chamber and glanced at the clock on the mantel again. It was half past ten. Bridget had written that the Innishfree meeting was set to convene at midnight—of course—in the cellar of a shop not far from the palace. He didn’t need to leave until quarter after eleven. That would give him plenty of time to find a place to watch and record the men and women who went in and out.
He didn’t expect Lady Averley to attend. A countess would never be found in a shop cellar with a group of Irish radicals. But she must have a contact somewhere. After the conversation at dinner this evening, he no longer had any doubts she was a sympathizer. She’d been so bold in her questioning of Palmerston, the queen had to step in. Not that Will could blame Emily for berating the Foreign Secretary. The Irish landowners were almost all English and almost all entirely absent from their lands and tenants in Ireland. They cared little to nothing for the people. Palmerston thought nothing of evicting them or sending them overseas, away from all they’d ever known.
Truth be told, Will didn’t like it any more than Lady Averley seemed to, but the difference was he didn’t condone violence. If the separatists wanted independence, then that was their fight, but he couldn’t allow them to hurt the queen or any of her subjects in their quest to obtain it.
Will glanced at the clock again and sighed. It was twenty-five to eleven. He might as well go now. He was wearing a hole in the rug as he paced.
He donned his greatcoat and tucked his hat under his arm, then slipped out of his room and made his way silently to the closest exit. He had made sure the prince added royal guards to every entrance and exit so they were guarded continuously. One of Will’s first tasks upon arriving at the palace had been to assess the security and make suggestions to improve it. As he made his way through the dark palace, he saw no servants whatsoever and made another note to tell the prince to ask the chief of staff to schedule several footmen to monitor the palace corridors all night. That way if one of the queen’s enemies managed to slip through the royal guards, he would be intercepted inside.
But even as he had the thought, he realized that nothing could save the queen if the danger was within the palace. That was why he must deal with Lady Averley.
He finally reached the exit and made his way into the cool night air. The guard at the door grumbled—something about lovers and rendezvous—but Will ignored him and started across the lawn. He planned to exit through a garden gate and then make his way toward the meeting place. He didn’t wish for anyone to see which direction he went or to know he left the palace grounds. He couldn’t trust anyone, and this way anyone who saw him would assume he was only out walking among the plants and flowers. Will wasn’t certain if the guard could see him in the dark, so he didn’t start right for the gate. He made a pretext of walking in the other direction and would circle back using the hedges as cover.
But he hadn’t walked for more than a moment before he caught sight of something pale in the half moonlight. Not something, he corrected. Someone.
Emily Blythe-Coston. Lady Averley herself.
Will stopped in his tracks, but it was too late. She turned and spotted him. And then she went rigid as well.
Will didn’t have time to think about what she was doing out here or to consider how convenient it might be that she was out and about on the same night Innishfree held a meeting. She was meeting someone, and he’d stumbled onto that rendezvous. He should have listened to the guard.
Will reached into his pocket and felt for his dagger. He had another in his boot, but this one was just as sharp. He clutched the handle, tense and ready for the attack. Lady Averley’s shoulders went down, and she seemed to relax.
“You frightened me,” she said. “I heard a sound and thought—” She waved a hand as though what she had thought was too silly to say.
Will could fill in the rest of the sentence for her. She’d thought he was her contact from Innishfree.
“I’m sorry to intrude,” he said, his voice as smooth as silk. “I needed some air. I’ll leave you to your evening.” He’d slip out of sight and watch who she met with.
“You think I’m meeting someone,” she said.
Will clutched the dagger more tightly. He couldn’t let her know he knew she was a traitor. “The guard did say something about a lovers’ rendezvous. I shouldn’t have come this way.”
She shook her head and then looked up, seeming to study the moon. “I do not have a rendezvous. I also needed air.”
He didn’t believe her. If he’d been caught in her position, he’d say the same thing.
“We can breathe the air together, if you like,” she said. “There’s a bench just over there.”
Will had not been expecting that. He’d expected her to try and get rid of him. Why was she inviting him to stay? Was her meeting over? Had he been too late?
“I’d like that,” he said, keeping his hand on the dagger. He followed her to the bench and waited until she sat before looking about and joining her. One of the garden walls was behind them,so he was in little danger of an attack from behind. What was she playing at?
“Do you believe in Fate?” she asked.
Will raised a brow. “Not really. I believe men make their own fate.” And that’s why he wasn’t about to let himself be murdered tonight.
“I don’t either, but sometimes I find it difficult not to believe. I was thinking of you just now,” she said.
Will’s grip on the dagger loosened, and he had to remind himself to keep hold of it.
“And then you appeared. Is that coincidence or is it Fate?”
“Good question,” he said, aware she could be speaking to lull him into a false sense of security. But he was on alert, and he heard nothing, saw nothing out of the ordinary. What if shewassimply taking in the air? “What were you thinking about me?”
She gave a small, feminine shrug. She was still wearing the pink gown she’d worn at dinner. She’d taken her hair down, though, and it fell over her shoulders like moonlight. It wasn’t as long as was the fashion. Many women never cut their hair and grew it to their knees. But Emily’s hair didn’t even reach the middle of her back. It was sleek and straight. Will imagined if he touched it, it would be soft and fine like silver thread.
