She glared at him over his hand. Yes, Blake thought, she would be a fidgeter. He moved his other hand to her upper arm and held firm, determined to keep her still. He didn't care if she had
bruises for a week; there was no telling what Prew-itt would do if he found his wayward ward hiding behind a sofa in the drawing room. After all, when Caroline had run away, she'd effectively taken her fortune with her.
Prewitt yawned and stood up, and for a moment Blake's heart raced with hope. But the blasted man just crossed to the side table and poured himself another brandy.
Blake looked at Caroline. Hadn't she once said Prewitt never overindulged in spirits? She shrugged, clearly at a loss as to what her guardian was doing.
Prewitt sat back down on the sofa with a loud grunt, then muttered, "Goddamn that girl."
Caroline's eyes widened.
Blake pointed to her and mouthed, You?
She lifted her shoulders and blinked.
Blake closed his eyes for a moment and tried to figure out who Prewitt meant. There was no way to be certain. It could be Caroline; it could be Carlotta De Leon.
"Where the hell could she be?" Prewitt said, followed by a swallowing sound that had to be more brandy.
Caroline pointed to herself and Blake felt her mouth form the word, Me? under his hand. He didn't respond, though. He was too busy focusing on Prewitt. If the traitorous bastard discovered them now the mission would be ruined. Well, not entirely. Blake was certain that he and James could easily apprehend Prewitt that night if the need arose, but that would mean that his co-conspirators might go free. Better to be patient and wait out the next three weeks. Then the espionage ring would be closed down for good.
Then, just when Blake fielt his feet start to fall asleep under him, Prewitt plunked his glass down on a table and strode from the room. Blake counted to ten, then removed his hand from Caroline's mouth and heaved a sigh of relief.
She sighed, too, but it was a quick one, followed by the question, "Do you think he was talking about me?"
"I have no idea," Blake said honestly. "But I wouldn't be surprised if he was."
"Do you think he discovered James?"
He shook his head. "If he had, we would have heard some sort of commotion. That doesn't mean we're safe yet, though. For all we know, Prewitt is taking a leisurely stroll down the hall before entering the south drawing room."
"What do we do now?"
"We wait."
"For what?"
He turned sharply to face her. "You ask a lot of questions."
"It's the only way to learn anything useful."
"We wait," Blake said with an impatient exhale, "until we get a sign from Riverdale."
"What if he is waiting for a sign from us?"
"He's not."
"How can you be certain?"
"Riverdale and I have worked together for seven years. I know his methods."
"I really don't see how you could have prepared for this particular scenario."
He shot her a look of such irritation that she clamped her mouth shut. But not before rolling her eyes at him.
Blake ignored her for several minutes, which wasn't easy. The mere sound of her breathing excited him. His reaction was completely inappropriate under the circumstances, and one with which he had no experience, even with Marabelle. Unfortunately, there seemed to be nothing he could do about it, which pushed his temper even further into the vile.
Then she moved, and her arm accidentally brushed against his hip, and-
Blake absolutely refused to let that thought go any further. Abruptly he took her hand and stood. "Let's go."
Caroline looked around in confusion. "Did we receive some sort of sign from the marquis?"
"No, but it's been long enough."
"But I thought you said-"
"If you want to be a part of this operation," he hissed, "you need to learn to take orders. Without question."
She raised her brows. "I'm so glad you've decided to let me participate."
If Blake could have torn out her tongue at that moment, he would have done it. Or at least tried. "Follow me," he snapped.
Caroline saluted him and then did a little tiptoe march behind him to the door. Blake thought he deserved a medal for not picking her up by the collar and tossing her out the window. At the very least, he was going to demand some sort of hazard pay from the War Office. If they couldn't give him
money, there had to be some small property somewhere that had been confiscated from a criminal.
Surely he deserved a little something extra for this mission. Caroline might be rather delightful to kiss, but on assignment she was bloody annoying. He reached the open doorway and motioned for her to stay behind him. Hand on gun, he peered into me hall, ascertained that it was empty, and stepped out. Caroline followed without his verbal instruction, as he knew she would. That one certainly needed no prodding to step out into the face of danger.
She was too headstrong, too careless. It brought back memories. Marabelle.
Blake squeezed his eyes shut for a split second, trying to drive his late fiancee from his mind. She might live in his heart, but she had no place here, this night, in Prewitt Hall. Not if Blake wanted to get the three of them out alive.
Marabelle's memory, however, was quickly put aside by Caroline's incessant poking at his upper arm. "What now?" he snapped.
"Shouldn't we at least get the paper and quills? Isn't that why we came here in the first place?"
Blake flexed his hands into tense starfishes and slowly said, "Yes. Yes, that would be a good idea." She scurried across the room and gathered her supplies while he swore at"himself under his breath. He was getting soft, growing weak. It wasn't like him to forget something as simple as a quill and ink. More than anything he wanted out of the War Office, away from all the danger and intrigue. He wanted to live a life where he didn't have to worry about seeing his friends get killed, where he could do nothing but read and raise lazy, spoiled hounds and-
"I've everything we need," Caroline said breathlessly, breaking into his thoughts.
He nodded, and they made their way into the hall. When they reached the door to the south drawing room, Blake tapped seven times on the wood, his fingers finding the familiar rhythm he and James had worked out years ago, when they were both schoolboys at Eton.
The door swung inward, just a fraction of an inch, and then Blake pushed it open far enough for him and Caroline to squeeze through. James had his back to the wall and his finger poised on the trigger of his gun. He breathed an audible sigh of relief when he saw that it was only Caroline and Blake entering the room.
"Didn't you recognize the knock?" Blake asked.
James gave a curt nod. "Can't be too careful."
"I'll say," Caroline agreed. All of this spywork was leaving her stomach rather queasy. It was exciting, to be sure, but nothing in which she'd wish to participate on a regular basis. She had no idea how the two of them had lasted this long without fraying their nerves completely.
She turned to James. "Did Oliver come in here?"
He shook his head. "But I heard him in the hall."
"He had us trapped for a few minutes in the east drawing room." She shuddered. "It was terrifying."
Blake shot her an oddly appraising look.
"I brought the paper, quills, and ink," Caroline continued, depositing the writing equipment on Oliver's desk. "Shall we copy the documents now? I should like to get going. I really had never intended to spend so much time at Prewitt Hall again."