“No talking until we’re inside.” He grabbed her hand and started pulling her toward the house, his pace so brisk she had to run to keep up with him, two strides for every one of his.
“Someone tried to shoot you!” Heloise panted, frantically scanning the undergrowth. “What if they come back? What if they try to shoot someone else?”
Raven frowned at her over his shoulder. “They’re gone. And I said no talking.”
A crowd had gathered on the terrace to watch the fireworks; a collective murmur of “ooh” and “aah” accompanied each pyrotechnic burst. No one appeared to have heard the shots. Even if they had, Heloise thought wildly, the sound of a pistol discharging probably wasn’t unusual enough to warrant comment at one of Raven’s unholy gatherings.
“This way.” Raven located a door beneath the curving terrace stairs and bundled her into the dark interior. Without letting go of her hand he marched along a corridor in what was clearly the servants’ domain. Heloise ducked her head as they encountered two liveried footmen bearing trays of champagne, but they merely nodded and continued as if there was nothing unusual about their master dragging a terrified woman behind him.
A narrow set of stairs and another dim corridor. Heloise could hear the muffled noise of the party from behind the wooden panels as they passed a series of closed doors. More stairs, then Raven pulled her into a richly decorated hallway.
The change from undecorated service area to opulent main house was disorienting. All was luxury, as befitted the residence of his grandfather, a duke. Heloise caught a brief glimpse of her own startled reflection, all huge eyes and disordered hair, in a gilt-framed mirror as they strode along.
Raven finally halted. Without relinquishing his hold on her wrist he thrust open a door and pulled her into the room beyond. Heloise took one glance at the giant four-poster bed and distinctly masculine furnishings and spun on him with renewed alarm.
“Good God, is this yourbedroom?”
Chapter 6
“Of course it’s my bedroom,” Raven closed the door and dropped her wrist as if she were hot coals.
Heloise rubbed the red mark he’d left and glared at him, then lurched back against the door as he planted his hands on either side of her head and leaned in close.
“Don’t pretend you haven’t been desperate to see it for years.”
Blood rushed to her face at his insolent challenge. She could hardly look at him, considering what they’d just been doing. God, if they hadn’t been interrupted—
He smiled that maddeningly perceptive smile of his—the one that suggested he knew her every secret and found her mildly amusing. She wanted to throw something at him.
He pushed away and strode over to the fireplace and she dragged in an unsteady breath. The flare of a taper briefly illuminated his face as he lit an oil lamp on a side table then turned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, why don’t you explain why someone just tried to blow my head off?”
Heloise stared at him in astonishment. “I have no idea.”
He raked a hand through his dark hair. “Wherever you go, disaster follows.”
She gasped at that blatantly unfair accusation. “Why would it have anything to do with me?You’rethe spy. This isyourhouse. Of the two of us, you’re far more likely to have incited someone to murder.”
He shook his head.
“Did you see whoever it was?” she asked.
“No. It was a man, but he rode off before I could get a good look.”
Heloise frowned. “But you must have been the target. Other than my family and a few close friends, hardly anyone’s aware I even exist. Why would someone try to shoot me?”
He leveled her with a piercing glance. “I have some bad news, I’m afraid. Castlereagh was here earlier. Your colleague Edward Lamb was murdered last night.”
All the blood leeched out of her face in a cold wash. She clapped a hand over her mouth. “What? No.” Her legs buckled and she leaned back against the door for support, afraid she was going to pass out. “Edward can’t be dead. I only saw him a week ago and—oh God—”
Edward was like a brother to her, a kindred spirit. A fellow code breaker, Edward met up with Heloise whenever she visited Castlereagh in London and talked for hours, engrossed in codes, arguing over possible solutions. Theirs was a friendship based on mutual respect. The image of his earnest, bespectacled face with its broad, scholarly forehead filled her mind and she clutched her stomach as a tight ball of grief settled in her chest. Dead? A sob rose in her throat. Oh God. It was like losing Tony all over again.
Raven poured a glass of water from a pitcher and held it out to her wordlessly. She took it, but her hand was shaking so much the rim of the glass chinked against her front teeth when she tried to drink. She took a deep breath. “But why would someone want to kill him? Or me, for that matter?”
He regarded her as if she were dim-witted. “God, Heloise. Don’t you realize how valuable you are?” He rubbed his forehead. “Any British asset’s an automatic target for the French. You think England’s problems have disappeared just because Bonaparte’s been exiled again?” He leaned back against the corner of a desk. “We’re still at war, Hellcat, even if it’s not official. Believe me, there are always people prepared to do whatever it takes to ensure sensitive information stays secret.”
Heloise gulped as the full implications of that sunk in.
“Why did you come here tonight?”