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“Yes. For now.”
Bronwyn sighed. Not only was she already a criminal in the duke’s eyes, but now she’d be a fugitive as well. And nothing looked as guilty as someone who ran, even if they had legitimate reasons for doing so. “Very well. Tell me what to do.”
***
Gaze narrowed, Valentine stared at the captain, watching a trickle of perspiration meander down the man’s temple. His worry was also apparent in the lines of strain around his mouth and eyes that seemed to be in a constant flurry of movement over the dials and gauges of the engine order telegraph. “You mean to tell me we’ve been slowing for hours because of engine troubles? Will we be able to reach our destination?”
“We should, Your Grace,” the captain replied. “We’ll just pull in to port a bit later than expected. I’ve given the crew a bell to slow to half speed and sent men to check on one of the boilers. It’s been giving trouble since we left Philadelphia.”
Valentine glanced at Lisbeth and Rawley, who stood near the door listening to the update with matching frowns. “So I’ve heard. Very well. Keep me abreast of the situation, our position, and time of arrival.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Rolling his neck to ease the tension gathering there, Valentine moved past Lisbeth who followed him onto the open deck. Rawley strolled behind them but moved to another part of the deck to speak with one of the crew. “Do you suspect something, Val?” Lisbeth asked.
He shook his head. “We’re too close to England, and Rawley mentioned issues earlier. Likely just coincidence. Still, keep an eye on our bird.”
The ship troubles didn’t bother him. If anything, the delay gave him time to think about what he was going to do with Bronwyn. Valentine wasn’t stupid. He knew the moment they hit English soil, she would be seized and detained by someone whowasn’thim. The thought rankled.
Lisbeth had said she would do her best to ensure Bronwyn’s safety, but even he knew it was a man’s world in that office. The capture of the Kestrel would be a coup, propelling whoever took over to instant notoriety, and the newssheets would be in raptures. They already salivated at the thought of the man. The fact thathewas awomanwould rock London. It would be the scandal to top all scandals—DUKE’S SISTER EXPOSED AS INTERNATIONAL SPY.
Valentine rubbed at his chest, soothing the queer, piercing ache. Even if he believed her and somehow managed to help her to clear her name by proving she was a secret operative serving her country as she claimed, her reputation would take a thrashing. The newspapers would not be kind. They never were. And no doubt, some of his peers in the Lords would have a field day using the scandal to bring Ashvale low.
You could let her go.
He balked, blinking. Letting her go meant going against everything he’d been taught. Everything he’d ever fought for. But if he did, he could figure out her claims on his own, find out who her contact was, andthentake her into the Home Office when he had solid evidence. He knew Lisbeth would back him up, whatever he decided, but that meant putting her in an ugly position with her supervisors. She would have to lie to cover his tracks, and that did not sit well with him.
Walking over to the railing where Rawley was smoking a cheroot, Valentine studied the churning ocean. A storm was coming in, darkening the morning sky to an overcast, ominous gray. He was glad they’d escaped bad weather while in the middle of the Atlantic. Even on a ship of this size, those storms could be deadly.
“Did you find out who those men were from the tavern?” Valentine asked the silent man. “The ones after her, who hired them?”
Rawley nodded, flicking the burning end of his cheroot into the waves. “Some chatter, not much. They were local men, but the ones I questioned didn’t know anything. Low-end bully ruffians, if that. The big brute mentioned the name Lewis Payne.”
Lisbeth let out a sharp exhale and they exchanged a look. That was one of Lewis Powell’s many aliases. He was a dangerous man as well as a known entity from Sommers’s list of acquaintances. The plot was sprawling wider and wider, giving some veracity to the idea that Bronwyn might have been involved in something much bigger. He slid the page she’d had on her person from his pocket and studied the names. Brent Sommers. Lewis Payne. John Surratt. John Wilkes Booth.
A low sound emerged from Lisbeth’s throat. “If Payne is involved, this is beyond us, Val. I would need to get our superiors involved. He’s a piece of shit. While we were in Philadelphia, I found out that Lewis Payne was arrested for beating a maid who ousted him as a spy.” She frowned. “Coincidence? I think not. It has to be him.”
“We have no proof,” he said. “Beyond a cad’s word.”
“What do you mean to do?” The question came from Rawley, whose face showed concern, obviously for his cousin’s sister.
“If these men are after her, then we have to take her in for her own safety,” Valentine said, the pain at the base of his skull expanding to a deep throb. “It’s the only way.”
Lisbeth’s face pulled tight. “What if we don’t?” When he gaped at her, she lifted a palm and dragged him a few feet away, presumably out of Rawley’s hearing. “Hear me out. What if we let her go home, post a man on her heels at all times, and find out who her contact is.Whoeverthat is has to be the real ringleader, if there is one. She’s just a means to an end to someone. A homing pigeon.”
Valentine glared at his former partner, even though he’d had a similar thought just before.She’s the Kestrel, he wanted to shout. Bronwyn wasn’t a simple pigeon that someone had used to send a message. She was a bird of prey! The Kestrel had been setting the Home Office on its collective ear for months.
Lisbeth’s idea had merit—he didn’t want to expose Bronwyn to his peers or the presses—but Valentine couldn’t protect her without more resources. He glanced at Rawley, wondering if the man suspected his plan wasn’t to safeguard his cousin’s sister once they got to England, but to turn her in. However, the man’s face was unreadable. Valentine guessed he would not like it. Nor would Ashvale, for that matter. His best friend would be livid at such a betrayal.
Then again, neither of them knew of the Kestrel’s true identity.
Letting Bronwyn go, as slippery as she had been to track or catch in the first place, would be a mistake. He’d gotten lucky. He hadn’t caught her out of his own skill; it had been pure luck that events had unfolded the way they had. In his gut, Valentine knew that she would not let herself be entrapped a second time. She was much too clever for that, which meant that the minute he let her out of his sight, she was as good as gone. He had to do the right thing, and the right thing was trusting in the justice system. And protecting her as well, while he was at it. A tremor slid through the pit of his stomach.
“No,” he said. “It’s for her own sake.”
“Val,” Lisbeth said in a low, urgent voice. “Think about what you’re saying. She’s Ashvale’s sister. We can’t keep this quiet, even if we tried. There are too many eyes and ears, and someone will want to make a name for themselves over this. I know it.Youknow this. Would you put her through that?”
“I’ll reinstate my position,” he said, then he peered at her. “Would you really consider keeping this a secret? If it got out, you would be finished.”
