Page 69

“Then, allow me to prove myself now!” Tresham cried, dropping to his knees. “If I am lying, may God strike me down before you.”

His plea ascended upward through the trees. A bird took flight in a flutter of wings, and then there was nothing but the hiss of wind cutting through branches.

Guy looked to Catsby. He was eyeing his cousin narrowly. Tresham’s head was bowed, as though awaiting his end. Was this merely theatrics, or was the man’s faith in God so great that he would commend his soul to Him in this way? Guy did not know him well enough to make a fair assessment. But Catsby did.

Guy waited, watching Catsby for a signal. A creature shuffled through a bush behind him, and the sound seemed to rouse Catsby from his pondering. He squared his shoulders and met Guy’s questioning gaze with another slight nod.

“Get up, Tresham,” he ordered, sliding his sword back into its sheath.

Tresham’s head bobbed up, the look in his eyes a mixture of doubt and relief.

“Up, I said.” Catsby moved forward and offered his cousin his hand.

Tresham took it and staggered to his feet. Not bothering to brush the twigs and dead leaves from his knees, he stumbled back a pace. “You have judged fairly,” Tresham said. “You need never fear my breaking my oath.”

“If you hear of anything that would lead us to the traitor, I would have you come to me straightway,” Catsby said.

“Understood.” Tresham took another step back, and Catsby grunted.

“You are free to go, cousin.”

Tresham needed no second invitation. He swung around and hurried away through the trees. Catsby and Guy watched him go.

“You believed him?” Guy asked.

“I did.” Catsby’s jaw tightened. “But if I am correct, that means there is another deserter amongst us.”

“It matters not.” Guy sheathed his sword. “We move forward regardless of the whispers abroad. No one has visited the undercroft since Cecil read Monteagle’s note. We have only four days more until it is over.”

Catsby clapped a hand on Guy’s shoulder. “Four days and you shall be hailed as the man who saved England.”

A spark of pride lit Guy’s chest. He would light the fuse and then disappear. Until the government was fully overturned, it was the way it must be. But when word spread of what he had done, no one—not even a king—would have the power to prevent his name from being spoken in awe-filled whispers.

Simon entered his sister’s London townhouse with newfound eagerness. It had been three days since he’d kissed Isla at St. James’s Park. Three days since she’d given him reason to hope that his feelings for her were reciprocated. And three days of coming to love her even more than he had before. Allowing himself to nurture rather than suppress his feelings had somehow seemed to encourage Isla to do the same. And although the fear that she would suddenly disappear still lingered, it was muted by the knowledge that if Isla were given the choice, she might yet stay.

“Good day, Grantham.” Simon handed his hat and cloak to Maidstone’s manservant. “Is Maidstone about?”

“No, my lord. Although I believe he is expected back within the hour.”

Simon was fairly certain that his brother-in-law had gone in search of Suffolk. Martha continued to be the most vocal regarding her desire to know that Cecil was acting upon the information hidden within Isla’s letter, and so Maidstone had pledged to obtain answers today. His assurance had cut Martha’s pacing to a minimum last evening, but if it were to stay that way, the gentleman would need to deliver.

“What of my sister and Miss Crawford?” he asked.

“I believe Miss Crawford is in the parlor, and Lady Maidstone is abovestairs, my lord. Would you have me send someone to fetch Her Ladyship?”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”

A few moments alone with Isla would be welcome. If he knew his sister—and he did rather well—she would not give them long before she made an appearance.

“Very good, my lord.”

Leaving Grantham to take care of Simon’s outerwear, Simon moved swiftly down the narrow passage to the parlor. The door was open, so he walked in. Isla was standing at the window, gazing out at the rainy day. She was dressed in a green gown with lace at her neck and the ends of her sleeves. Her hair was piled atop her head in tiny ringlets, and as he watched, she absently reached up to tuck an errant curl behind her ear.

“I believe you may be the most beautiful young lady in London,” he said.

“Simon!” She swung around, her lips curving into a welcoming smile. “When did you arrive?”

“Just now.” He crossed the short distance between them in a few long strides and wrapped her in his arms. “I missed you.”