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“Because I agree that she is the only one of us who can manage it. With political unease and distrust rampant amongst our peers, neither you nor I could leave the table only to return moments before or after the reading of the letter without arousing the suspicion of all.”

Simon’s jaw tightened, his expression grim. “But Isla is—”

“An extraordinarily resourceful young lady,” Martha supplied. “Look at how much she has overcome and accomplished since she arrived.” She stepped closer and placed a comforting hand on Simon’s arm. “I appreciate your wish to spare her, but if we are right, she was sent here for a reason. For this reason. It is her role to fulfill.”

“And if something goes wrong?”

“We assist her,” Martha said.

“How?”

“We will all need to do what we can to deflect attention away from her—and her absence.”

“And what of her safety when she is gone from us?” Simon asked.

“If she has not reappeared by the time the servants bring in the last course, one of us shall go after her,” Lord Maidstone said.

“Can you manage the assignment in that amount of time, Isla?” Martha asked.

It was an impossible question to answer.

“That is my hope,” Isla said.

Simon’s concerned eyes met hers. “You are sure of this?”

Sure that she could manage it? Not at all. Sure that she must be the one to try? Absolutely. “Yes,” she said.

“Very well.” His verbal agreement notwithstanding, he had yet to relax his stance. “What more need we discuss?”

“Nothing,” Martha said, a hint of pride in her voice. “Isla is ready. Not only does she look the part, but she has not used an unfamiliar word since she walked into this house. For her own peace of mind, however, I have suggested that she remain close to you or me for the duration of the evening.”

“Good,” Simon said. “That portion of the plan I can wholeheartedly endorse.”

Twilight was the perfect time of day for work of a clandestine nature. There was sufficient light to allow Guy to see his way, yet the oncoming darkness concealed his features from any possible passersby. He preferred to roam the city streets at this tenebrous hour on most occasions, but it was especially important when he was approaching a building he intended to demolish.

A young man drew closer, two small dogs at his heels. His rapid footsteps and occasional yank on the leads in his hand suggested that he felt no particular affection for the creatures. A servant tasked with walking his mistress’s pets, Guy surmised. The poor fellow was undoubtedly anxious to complete the assignment and return to the warmth of his master’s house. Just as well. With a fixed destination in mind, the servant would pay little attention to Guy.

Regardless of the young man’s seeming disinterest, however, Guy angled his face away as they passed each other. Cecil’s spies were everywhere. If Guy could pass as Percy’s manservant, one of Cecil’s men could most certainly assume the role of a dog walker. Guy turned the corner, grateful when the echo of footsteps continued in the other direction. One of the dogs yapped. Guy sneered. The poor sap. If walking spoiled pets was a regular assignment, he should look for another position.

Another few yards and Guy had reached the first structure in the jumble of buildings that made up the Palace of Westminster. The London landmark had been a symbol of political power for centuries, yet he would level it. Guy’s pulse quickened. With one small flame, he intended to bring the English government to its knees.

A feeling of power, hot and heady, licked through his veins. He picked up his pace, passing the shadowy form of two more buildings before reaching the one that housed the House of Lords. Voices reached him. He stopped. Where were they coming from? Keeping his steps steady and even, he continued forward. It must not appear that he had any particular interest in the building ahead. Or in the two men conversing near the main door.

A muttered curse passed Guy’s lips. He had been gone from London long enough that it was imperative that he check on the condition of the gunpowder. Coming here alone had been a risk—one he had been willing to take for the sake of expediency—but he could not access the undercroft beneath the Lords’ Chamber without alerting the men to his activity. No matter the inconvenience, he would have to return later. The last thing he needed was one—or both—of them asking what he was about.

Tugging the brim of his hat another half inch lower, he continued past the two men, past the other palace buildings, and on to the road that led to the docks. If the men had noticed him at all, they would assume he was heading for the bawdier nightlife beside the river. Few gentlemen who frequented the docks at night wished their identity known. His lack of greeting would likely be accepted and shrugged off.

The exhilarating buzz of expectancy defused inside him, leaving him angry. There was no way of knowing how long those gentlemen would loiter outside the House of Lords. Guy would need to circle around to reach Percy’s rented house by another route. It was one more in a seemingly never-ending stream of precautions and aborted efforts. He uttered a grunt of frustration. The razing of the palace buildings could not come soon enough.

Chapter 14

Candles illuminated the windows of Monteagle’s manor. Up ahead, another carriage pulled forward, stopping opposite the front doors. Simon watched as a couple descended. It was too dark to identify them, but based on the gentleman’s bearing, Simon judged him to be older than those riding in the Maidstones’ carriage.

The journey to Hoxton had been excruciatingly long. Simon could have traversed the thirty furlongs to the Monteagles’ elegant house on the outskirts of the city in less than half the time had he been riding Blaze. But he’d had no desire to exchange his place beside Isla in the carriage for his saddle. The two of them sat opposite Maidstone and Martha, and although Martha had done an admirable job of maintaining small talk for most of the journey, they had now lapsed into a silence born of anxious anticipation.

Isla’s voluminous skirts covered a great deal of the seat. If her stiff posture was any indication, she did not find her attire overly comfortable. Simon, however, could find no fault with it. Her appearance in the parlor this evening had quite literally taken his breath away. If Maidstone had not unwittingly given Simon a moment to collect himself by greeting her first, Simon would have been proved a complete simpleton. Even now, he marveled that he had managed to string more than two words together so soon after his lungs had suspended their normal operation. He shook his head slightly. Perhaps the greater wonder was that Isla seemed completely oblivious to her exquisite appearance.

He glanced at her. Moonlight coming in through the window painted her face paler than usual, but she wore a look of quiet determination.