“I would never employ the help of a traitor!” Cyprian’s nostrils flared and the muscles in his red face twitched. “State your business before I have you thrown out.”
Nathaniel kept his eyes locked with Cyprian’s until the man stepped back and sat in his chair. Nathaniel all but growled. “Tell me of the missing powder.”
Cyprian’s eyes grew wide, when suddenly a hard laugh burst from him, scraping up Nathaniel’s spine. “You believe I know something?” He laughed again, tossing his head back. “You came here hoping I’d provide you with information, hmm? You must be desperate.”
“Determined.”
“Your determination seems to be putting you at risk.” He gestured toward Nathaniel’s face. “Awful business. It seems a miracle you escaped alive.”
The flicker of pleasure in Cyprian’s eyes cultivated the hedgerow of thorns burrowing in Nathaniel’s chest. “Disappointed?”
“Perhaps.”
Keeping his fists tight, Nathaniel stepped ever closer. The look of satisfaction in Cyprian’s face could not be masked by the indifference he struggled to maintain in his stern mouth and vacant eyes. The man knew something, though proving such would be more difficult than Nathaniel had hoped. “You know who attacked me.” A statement, not a question.
“Are you accusing me?”
“Should I be?”
Cyprian lunged. “How dare you speak to me that way!”
“Your protestations testify against you, Wythe, not in your behalf.” He replaced his hat on his head and turned toward the door.
Rounding the table, Cyprian followed. “If ‘tis information you seek, why do you not ask that little dark-haired sprite?”
Nathaniel spun around. “What?”
Cyprian chuckled again, this time louder and with a smirk that made Nathaniel’s fists ache. “She is a Tory, is she not? Why not ask her what’s happening to your precious munitions. She surely knows as well as anyone.”
Nathaniel lunged and jerked Cyprian at the collar, relieving the tension in his fingers as he clasped the fabric tight around Cyprian’s throat. Holding the man near his own face, Nathaniel spoke through gritted teeth. “Never speak of her again.”
Cyprian’s expression hardened. “I’ll do as I please.”
The war that raged in Nathaniel’s mind and muscles played out in his hands as he gripped tighter, until Cyprian’s face turned a deeper red and his eyes bulged. Nathaniel didn’t release. How dare the man insinuate he knew anything about Kitty! How dare he speak of her so flippantly!
When finally reason tore through the curtains of rage, Nathaniel released him with a shove and charged out the door.
Cyprian’s voice trailed after him. “She’s using you, Smith! Do not trust her, believe me!”
Nathaniel tore through the tables toward the freedom of the front door.
He’d sooner believe the devil.
***
Cyprian seethed. Smith was all righteous, pious indignation. Telling him how to raise his son, telling him he cared about Camilla. All the while accusing him of the very crimes to which he would never confess, no matter how true. The crimes he committed to protect the people he loved.
He snatched the bottle of opium from his desk drawer and held it up to the light. His nostrils flared. Almost gone. He closed his eyes as a painful sigh left his lips. Camilla, my love, I will obtain more, I vow it.
Shoving the precious medicine in his pocket, he bound out the side door of his office and raced toward the house behind the tavern. He charged up the stairs and stopped the instant he reached the room.
Beside the bed stood Jacob, Camilla’s hand in his, sorrow and longing in the boy’s eyes crushing the very bones in Cyprian’s chest. As if he feared what his father might say, Jacob pulled Camilla’s hand to his chest and spoke with brows raised in worry. “I didn’t want her to be lonely, Father.”
Body motionless, Camilla’s mouth bowed slightly and the look of exhaustion in her grey face kicked the composure out from under him.
Cyprian pointed at the door behind him. “Didn’t I tell you to attend your duties at the tavern?” He neared, and Jacob cowered closer to the bed. Looking between his wife and son, Cyprian quieted. “Can’t you see your mother needs rest?”
“Cyprian, please.” Camilla’s gentle reprimand stayed Cyprian’s next words. She cupped Jacob’s hand and smiled at the son she’d prayed for, for so many years. “Jacob brings peace to me, as he has done since the day I bore him.”