He became quiet earlier as they ate. She wasn’t stupid, either, and she knew it was because he had suspicions about her. Hell, she had her own about him. It shouldn’t matter that he didn’t trust her. He was right not to trust her. Normally she wouldn’t care what he thought of her, but she no longer looked at Wardens as her enemy. How could she when the Company so brutally betrayed Robert? They’d betrayed her, too.
If nothing else, all these years as a spy had taught her something important—regimes changed. Ideals changed. There was no such thing as an agency or government or political party that had only the good of the people in mind. You gave your loyalty to the right people at the right time to achieve your goal, and the rest was up for negotiation.
Wolfred seemed to be a good man. She’d always thought of herself as a good woman. A good agent, risking her life for a better world, because she believed that one person should not have all the power over the people, that people shouldn’t suffer and starve so that another might indulge himself in luxury. She might still subscribe to such naive beliefs if the people she belie V="-one powerved in hadn’t allowed her brother’s murder to go unpunished—and if she hadn’t experienced such kindness at the hands of a Warden. Evelyn Stone had had a more profound effect on her than she would ever know. Her world was no longer black and white, good and bad.
Alastair Payne did not see her as good. She was still his enemy in his eyes. That was for the best, because he was too handsome, too witty and too dangerous for her to play with.
Some time after they finished eating, she reclined on the chaise near the window and watched darkness fall over the countryside as they raced across it. She nodded off and didn’t wake up until the car was shrouded in darkness.
From the stillness around her she deducted that the earl was asleep as well. She could probably sneak out if she wanted. She’d jumped from trains before. She could make her own way to the house party and slit Howard’s throat in his sleep.
But the Doctor might get away, and she wanted that weasel to pay for what he had done to Huntley. She wanted to make certain Wolfred took him back to London so Luke could have a go at him. So, even though her head was screaming at her to escape, she found herself listening to her heart.
And then she found a pair of glowing eyes watching her in the dark.
“Hell’s bells!” She pressed a hand to her chest.
“Apologies,” came Wolfred’s voice. There was a scratching sound, and then a match flared. The burning tip was put to an oil lamp on the wall, and soft golden light illuminated that corner of the car. He turned to face her, a slightly abashed expression on his face.
“I sometimes forget about them.” He gestured to his eyes. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Claire felt like an idiot for having been frightened. “Obviously I forgot as well.”
He actually smiled. “Yes, I assumed as much from your reaction. ‘Hell’s bells,’ was it?”
“It was my grandmother’s favorite saying.” Now, why had she just confided that?
“She must have been an interesting woman.”
“That’s one way to put it. And she was.” That was all the thought she was going to allow herself. If she started thinking about family, she’d remember how alone she was in the world, and then she’d either start crying or fly into a fit of rage over the injustice of it. Neither was something she wanted to do in front of this man.
“My maternal grandmother used to like to say ‘balls’ whenever she was agitated. I don’t know where she learned it. Mortified my mother, but gave me and my cousins something to snicker at.”
Claire smiled—more at her mental image of Wolfred as a child than at the story itself. She imagined him with a huge head of thick, curly red hair and a face full of freckles—and a missing front tooth. “Is she still alive?”
“Yes. She’ll be two and eighty in December.”
“Just a few months then. Impressive that she’s lived to such an age. You’re lucky to still have her.”
“Stubbornness and sherry make a great preserver. I am lucky, except for when she harps on me about grandchildren.” He moved away from the wall, graceful despite the train moving beneath his feet. “As though the eleven she has weren’t enough.”
“I can’t imagine having children, let alone grandchildren.” Too late she regretted the words. She’d never had a problem with being too candid before. What was it about first Dr. Stone and now this man that made her so careless with her words?
Wolfred seated himself in a wingback chair not far from her—the spot where she assumed he had slept while she napped. “No. Our line of work makes that difficult.”
“But you don’t need to do this,” she reminded him—once again being careless. “You are rich enough on your own. People like me, this is all we have. And how could I be so cruel as to bring a child into this life? I’d have to leave it with someone, and that’s no way to be a mother.”
“Do you want children?”
She turned her head. “Doesn’t every woman?”
“No. Nor does every man, I’d wager. Though it is bred into most of my social sphere that it’s one’s duty to produce heirs, propagate the line and all that.”
Her gaze returned to him, against her better judgment. He was watching her with an expression that looked a bit too much like pity. Had he been closer, she might have pinched him. “Of course, it’s different for you as a man. You could father a dozen children and still run off whenever you wanted.”
He nodded, infuriatingly unprovoked. “I could, but I wouldn’t. I remember what that was like. I saw little enough of my own father.” He tilted his head. “What is it about me that puts you on the defensive? I realize we have been conditioned to be enemies, but I’ve never met anyone who seems to want to fight me as badly as you.”
It was a simple question, asked without an ounce of emotion, save for curiosity; yet it was like a hard slap to the forehead. “I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “I suppose I feel as though you judge me.”
“I suppose I do. We’re predisposed to it, are we not? You’re Company and I’m Warden. Puts us at opposite ends.”
“But I’m not Company, not anymore.” It was important that he know that.
“Forgive me if I don’t quite believe that just yet.”
She shrugged. “That’s fair, I suppose. I don’t completely trust you, either.”
“We’re going to need to trust each other a bit, aren’t we, though?” A crease appeared by his mouth as his lips lifted to that side—a self-deprecating little smile if she’d ever seen one. “Can you do that?”
“If you can.” She felt as if she were ten years old again, and she and Robert were daring each other to see who could climb higher in the tree in their backyard. The thought of her brother was enough to strengthen her resolve. If nothing else, she could trust this man to get her to Howard, and that was all she needed. And he could trust her to help him find the Doctor.
Th [no ll she earl watched her closely, scrutiny in those strange eyes of his that sometimes lit up when the light caught them a certain way. “I believe I can.” He offered his hand. “Shall we shake on it?”
For a second, Claire actually hesitated. It wasn’t a complete lie—he could truly trust her to a point. It didn’t make her an awful person. She slid her hand into his. His fingers were firm, warm. When they closed around hers, they felt . . . odd. Human, but something more. She took his hand in both of hers, then turned it over so she could peer closely at his palm.
The scars were no bigger than a thread, and so well healed that they barely stood out against his skin. She traced one of them with the tip of her finger, curiosity getting the better of her. There wasn’t even a ridge.