But James put up a hand. “We've all day to badger her into submission.”
Caroline gulped. She didn't like the sound of that.
The two men left the room, and she jumped up, splashed some water on her face, and donned shoes. It felt heavenly to get up and stretch her muscles. She'd been stuck in bed for the past two days and was not used to such inactivity.
Caroline righted her appearance as best as she could, which wasn't saying much, as she'd been wearing the same clothes for four days. They were horribly wrinkled, but they looked clean enough, so she arranged her hair in a single thick braid, then tested the door. She was delighted to see that it was not locked. It wasn't difficult to find her way to the staircase, and she quickly ran down to the ground floor.
“Going somewhere?”
She looked up sharply. Blake was leaning insolently against the wall, his sleeves rolled up and his arms crossed. “Tea,” she whispered. “You said I could have some.”
“Did I?” he drawled.
“If you didn't, I'm sure you meant to.”
His lips curved into an unwilling smile. “You do have a way with words.”
She offered him a too-sweet grin. “I'm practicing. After all, I haven't used any for days.”
“Don't push me, Miss Trent. My temper is hanging by a very slender thread.”
“I rather thought it had already snapped,” she retorted. “And beside that, if I'm to call you Blake, you might as well call me Caroline.”
“Caroline. It suits you much better than Carlotta ever did.”
“Amen to that. I haven't a drop of Spanish blood in me. A touch of French,” she added, aware that she was babbling but too nervous in his presence to stop, “but no Spanish.”
“You've quite compromised our mission, you realize.”
“I can assure you it was not my intention.”
“I'm sure it wasn't, but the fact remains that you're going to have to make amends.”
“If my making amends will result in Oliver spending the rest of his life in prison, you can be assured of my complete cooperation.”
“Prison would be unlikely. The gallows are a much more distinct probability.”
Caroline swallowed and looked away, suddenly realizing that her involvement with these two men might send Oliver to his death. She detested the man, to be sure, but she couldn't like being the cause of anyone's demise.
“You'll need to discard your sentimentality,” Blake said.
She looked up in shock. Was her face that easy to read? “How did you know what I was thinking?”
He shrugged. “Anyone with a conscience faces that dilemma when they first start in this business.”
“Did you?”
“Of course. But I outgrew that quickly.”
“What happened?”
He cocked a brow. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“Not half as many as you did,” she returned.
“I had a government-sanctioned reason to be asking so many questions.”
“Was it because your fiancée died?”
He stared at her with such furious intensity that she had to look away. “Never mind,” she mumbled.
“Don't bring her up again.”
Caroline took an unintended step back at the harsh pain in his voice. “I'm sorry,” she murmured.
“For what?”
“I don't know,” she said, hesitant to mention his fiancée after the way he'd reacted the last time. “Whatever made you so unhappy.”
Blake stared at her with interest. She seemed sincere, which surprised him. He'd been something considerably less than polite to her during the past few days. But before he could think of a reply, they heard the marquis enter the hall.
“I vow, Ravenscroft,” James said, “can't you see your way to hiring a few more servants?”
Blake cracked a smile at the sight of the elegant Marquis of Riverdale balancing a tea service. If I could find another I trust, I'd hire him in a minute. At any rate, as soon as I'm done with my duties at the War Office, the discretion of my servants will no longer be quite as paramount.”
“Are you still determined to quit, then?”
“You have to ask?”
“I think he means yes,” James said to Caroline. “Although with Ravenscroft, one never knows. He has an appalling habit of answering questions with questions.”
“Yes, I'd noticed,” she murmured.
Blake pushed himself off the wall. “James?”
“Blake?”
“Shut up.”
James grinned. “Miss Trent, why don't we retire to the drawing room? The tea ought to restore your voice at least somewhat. Once we have you speaking without pain, we ought to be able to figure out what the devil to do with you.”
Blake closed his eyes for a moment as Caroline trailed after James, listening to her raspy voice as she said, “You should call me Caroline. I've already given Mr. Ravenscroft leave to do so.”
Blake waited for a minute or two before following, needing a moment of solitude to sort out his thoughts. Or at least to try. Nothing seemed clear where she was concerned. He'd felt such a rush of relief when he'd found out that Carlotta De Leon was not really Carlotta De Leon.
Caroline. Her name was Caroline. Caroline Trent. And he wasn't lusting after a traitor.
He shook his head in disgust. As if that were the only problem facing him just now. What the hell was he supposed to do with her? Caroline Trent was smart, very smart. That much was abundantly clear. And she hated Oliver Prewitt enough to help bring him to justice. It might take a little convincing to help her get past her distaste for espionage, but not much. Prewitt had, after all, ordered his son to rape her. Caroline wasn't likely to turn the other cheek after something like that.
ames put up a hand. “We've all day to badger her into submission.”
Caroline gulped. She didn't like the sound of that.
The two men left the room, and she jumped up, splashed some water on her face, and donned shoes. It felt heavenly to get up and stretch her muscles. She'd been stuck in bed for the past two days and was not used to such inactivity.
Caroline righted her appearance as best as she could, which wasn't saying much, as she'd been wearing the same clothes for four days. They were horribly wrinkled, but they looked clean enough, so she arranged her hair in a single thick braid, then tested the door. She was delighted to see that it was not locked. It wasn't difficult to find her way to the staircase, and she quickly ran down to the ground floor.
“Going somewhere?”
She looked up sharply. Blake was leaning insolently against the wall, his sleeves rolled up and his arms crossed. “Tea,” she whispered. “You said I could have some.”
“Did I?” he drawled.
“If you didn't, I'm sure you meant to.”
His lips curved into an unwilling smile. “You do have a way with words.”
She offered him a too-sweet grin. “I'm practicing. After all, I haven't used any for days.”
“Don't push me, Miss Trent. My temper is hanging by a very slender thread.”
“I rather thought it had already snapped,” she retorted. “And beside that, if I'm to call you Blake, you might as well call me Caroline.”
“Caroline. It suits you much better than Carlotta ever did.”
“Amen to that. I haven't a drop of Spanish blood in me. A touch of French,” she added, aware that she was babbling but too nervous in his presence to stop, “but no Spanish.”
“You've quite compromised our mission, you realize.”
“I can assure you it was not my intention.”
“I'm sure it wasn't, but the fact remains that you're going to have to make amends.”
“If my making amends will result in Oliver spending the rest of his life in prison, you can be assured of my complete cooperation.”
“Prison would be unlikely. The gallows are a much more distinct probability.”
Caroline swallowed and looked away, suddenly realizing that her involvement with these two men might send Oliver to his death. She detested the man, to be sure, but she couldn't like being the cause of anyone's demise.
“You'll need to discard your sentimentality,” Blake said.
She looked up in shock. Was her face that easy to read? “How did you know what I was thinking?”
He shrugged. “Anyone with a conscience faces that dilemma when they first start in this business.”
“Did you?”
“Of course. But I outgrew that quickly.”
“What happened?”
He cocked a brow. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“Not half as many as you did,” she returned.
“I had a government-sanctioned reason to be asking so many questions.”
“Was it because your fiancée died?”
He stared at her with such furious intensity that she had to look away. “Never mind,” she mumbled.
“Don't bring her up again.”
Caroline took an unintended step back at the harsh pain in his voice. “I'm sorry,” she murmured.
“For what?”
“I don't know,” she said, hesitant to mention his fiancée after the way he'd reacted the last time. “Whatever made you so unhappy.”
Blake stared at her with interest. She seemed sincere, which surprised him. He'd been something considerably less than polite to her during the past few days. But before he could think of a reply, they heard the marquis enter the hall.
“I vow, Ravenscroft,” James said, “can't you see your way to hiring a few more servants?”
Blake cracked a smile at the sight of the elegant Marquis of Riverdale balancing a tea service. If I could find another I trust, I'd hire him in a minute. At any rate, as soon as I'm done with my duties at the War Office, the discretion of my servants will no longer be quite as paramount.”
“Are you still determined to quit, then?”
“You have to ask?”
“I think he means yes,” James said to Caroline. “Although with Ravenscroft, one never knows. He has an appalling habit of answering questions with questions.”
“Yes, I'd noticed,” she murmured.
Blake pushed himself off the wall. “James?”
“Blake?”
“Shut up.”
James grinned. “Miss Trent, why don't we retire to the drawing room? The tea ought to restore your voice at least somewhat. Once we have you speaking without pain, we ought to be able to figure out what the devil to do with you.”
Blake closed his eyes for a moment as Caroline trailed after James, listening to her raspy voice as she said, “You should call me Caroline. I've already given Mr. Ravenscroft leave to do so.”
Blake waited for a minute or two before following, needing a moment of solitude to sort out his thoughts. Or at least to try. Nothing seemed clear where she was concerned. He'd felt such a rush of relief when he'd found out that Carlotta De Leon was not really Carlotta De Leon.
Caroline. Her name was Caroline. Caroline Trent. And he wasn't lusting after a traitor.
He shook his head in disgust. As if that were the only problem facing him just now. What the hell was he supposed to do with her? Caroline Trent was smart, very smart. That much was abundantly clear. And she hated Oliver Prewitt enough to help bring him to justice. It might take a little convincing to help her get past her distaste for espionage, but not much. Prewitt had, after all, ordered his son to rape her. Caroline wasn't likely to turn the other cheek after something like that.