“I like this one better,” Raven murmured. “Hold still.” He leaned forward and caught her chin between his fingers. “You have some on your lip.”
Heloise sat paralyzed as he casually traced the contour of her top lip with the pad of his thumb, under the guise of friendly, impartial help. Her heart rate doubled.
“There.” He leaned back, licked his thumb clean, and turned to Scovell with a bland, innocent smile. “Delicious.”
Scovell, thankfully, was too busy drinking his tea to notice the shocking intimacy of Raven’s gesture. Heloise tightened her fingers on the handle of her teacup. The wretch turned her brain to mush. Even worse, he knew it.
“Raven explained the situation to me,” Scovell said heartily. “I must say, I think your determination to find your missing colleague is commendable. And I do indeed have several messages written in the same code you’ve cracked, which we could decipher together.” He smiled eagerly. “I’m extremely keen for you to show me how you did it. This code has been annoying me for months.”
Heloise nodded, grateful for the distraction. “I’m as eager as you are to read them, Major. We’re hoping one of them might contain another mention of Kit Carlisle.”
—
The library of the palace filled Heloise with instant envy. She craned her neck to take in the wall-to-ceiling shelves and the pierced metal rail that ran around the balcony of the second tier. The familiar scent of leather bindings and dust lingered in the air and made her feel instantly at home.
She walked over and touched an astrolabe—a scale model of the solar system with concentric brass rings and tiny metal balls depicting the planets in orbit around the central sun—and set it in motion with a light touch of her hand. The planets started to swing and circle one another like dancers in a graceful celestial waltz. It reminded her of the Ancient Egyptian story of the sun and the moon, chasing each other around the heavens. According to legend, they were doomed lovers who never met except for a few stolen moments at dusk and dawn. The thought was depressing. That was just like her and Raven, always destined to be on opposing paths.
“We have eight messages awaiting translation.” Scovell handed her a pile of papers and she glanced down eagerly.
“Can I have a pencil and paper?”
“Of course.” Scovell hastened to make room at a handsome bureau plat and pulled out a chair for her. He dragged another over and positioned himself next to her. Raven took up residence in a comfy-looking wing armchair some distance away and sprawled at his ease, watching them.
Heloise began scribbling notes, and Scovell watched closely.
“I am in awe of your skills, my dear,” he said.
Heloise blushed. “I’ve only built upon the methods I learned fromyourwork.” She glanced at Raven and saw him roll his eyes at what he no doubt considered a nauseous display of mutual admiration. She bent to the paper once more. “It takes a certain fiendish brilliance to come up with a code as ingenious as this. I have a great deal of respect for whoever it was, even if they are, technically, the enemy.”
Raven’s jaw clenched. “You admire some cross-eyed French linguistic freak?”
“Speaking as a fellow freak, yes.”
“Well, you’re never going to meet him, whoever he is.” Raven snapped. “Get back to work.”
Chapter 19
Raven sprawled in his chair and watched the unlikely duo at the desk. Scovell, blustery and gray-haired, Heloise, petite and perfect. Both equally brilliant.
They were clearly having a wonderful time debating the pros and cons of something called multiple substitution. They kept muttering words like “polyalphabetic cypher” and “anagramming” and he had absolutely no idea what they were talking about. He wasn’t usually the stupidest person in the room, and the feeling of being excluded stung. He drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair.
Heloise’s face was animated as she explained her workings and the old man was leaning toward her, enraptured. He had no interest in her except as a fascinating colleague, but Raven still wanted to throw him out the window.
Come to think of it, he hadn’t liked the way that young soldier, Canning, had looked at her, either. The randy little sod probably hadn’t seen a decent woman in months. Raven frowned at the rush of possessiveness that filled his chest. Heloise needed to be protected. She was under his aegis, his responsibility.
He remembered with awful clarity the way she’d looked when he’d pulled her from the river; her face pinched and pale, her eyes dazed and far away, still lost in remembered horrors. Something raw and painful had stirred in his chest then, too, as he’d held her. He’d been seized by a sudden urgent tenderness, a need to comfort and protect. To give it all, his strength, his warmth, his life, whatever she needed to make her better. He shook his head. What was she doing to him?
He watched as she bit her lower lip in concentration. Naturally that made him think about kissing her. She’d taste of rosewater, like that pink lokum. He tapped his thigh, impatient with himself. He needed some air.
He stood and strode to the door. “I’ll leave you to it.”
Neither of them looked up. He suppressed a growl, even though he knew he was being churlish. He’d brought her here to read the codes, as much as to keep her safe. He couldn’t complain when she actually did it.
He headed out into the city and spent a couple of hours reacquainting himself with old haunts, making contact with a couple of informants. He was on his way back to thepalaciowhen he saw the bookstore. Buying her a gift was ridiculously impractical. But he’d seen it in the window and known instantly that she’d want it. And that had been reason enough.
In the courtyard he met Scovell, who told him Heloise was still ensconced in the library. She was so absorbed in her work that she didn’t hear him push open the door. He leaned on the doorframe and watched her in silence. Dust particles danced in the rays of light that slanted in through the windows. The pink-gold tinge gilded her hair and caressed the curve of her cheek, as if even the sun felt compelled to touch her.
Heloise, of course, was oblivious to the picture she made, head down, studying. He could hear the faint scratch of pen on paper as she made her copious notes. She made a small huff of frustration and crossed something out with a vicious swipe of the pen, then balled the paper in her fist and groaned.