Raven watched Heloise closely as she stepped into the library the next morning, interested to see how she was going to react. She lingered uncertainly by the door, obviously eager to escape. Her cheeks were flushed—embarrassment for last night, or fury at his behavior? Either way, it didn’t matter. The messages he’d received at breakfast had changed everything.
He held up the first of them. “From Castlereagh. The French have officially proposed the prisoner swap they discussed in that first message you read in England.”
Heloise’s face lit up in a smile, her nervousness forgotten. “That’s wonderful!”
He lifted his hand to forestall her celebrations. “It would be, except for one minor problem. Their agent, the Baker, is dead.”
“Dead? How?”
“He managed to get himself killed during an escape attempt a few days ago. He clearly hadn’t heard his release was imminent. It’s damned inconvenient.”
“The death of another human being isn’tinconvenient,” she admonished sternly. “It’s tragic.”
Raven rolled his eyes. “There you go, feeling sorry for the enemy again. The man was a sadistic bastard. He got what was coming to him.”
She scowled and he felt his heart lighten. It was nice to be back on their old footing.
“As soon as the French discover he’s dead they’ll kill Kit in retaliation. For all we know, there could be a message on its way to Savary right now telling him the news. They have their spies in London, as we have ours in Paris.”
Heloise’s brow wrinkled. “So what will you do?”
“Castlereagh’s replied to the French, agreeing to the swap.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Even though the prisoner they want is dead?”
“How many people know what the Baker looks like? Savary does, and so do a few of the other French agents, but none of them will be present at the handover. Do you think the guards making the exchange will be able to identify him? Because that’s one of the good things about us spies. Very few people know our faces.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Kit’s going to be at that church in the foothills of the Pyrenees in three days. I’ll go to the rendezvous point and pretend to be the Baker, under British escort. When we get close enough, we’ll ambush the guards and rescue Kit.”
Heloise frowned. “Who are you going to use to help you? Scovell’s men?”
“No. A group of gypsies who know the land better than anyone. I’ve worked with them before. They’re good fighters.”
She nodded.
“You need to pack your things.”
Her face fell. “Are you sending me back to England?”
Was that disappointment he heard in her tone? Or eagerness? He shook his head. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying where I can keep an eye on you. I had another letter this morning, from your brother Richard. Edward Lamb’s murder apparently had all the hallmarks of a kill by a French agent named Georges Lavalle. From the intelligence he’s received, Richard thinks Lavalle’s already left London with orders to come after you.”
Richard’s note had merely confirmed what Raven had already gleaned from the agent he’d killed in his garden, but seeing the threat in writing had hardened his resolve.
Heloise opened her mouth to argue, of course. “But—”
“I’ve had run-ins with Lavalle before. His code name’s the Butcher.” Raven watched her throat work nervously.
“Why the Butcher?”
“Because he’s good with a knife.” He paused to let that sink in. Heloise shivered. Good, she was scared. He needed her to be on alert. Maybe now she’d take the threat to her life seriously, instead of gallivanting off on sightseeing trips.
“You’re lucky Lavalle was sent after Edward first and not you. He wouldn’t have missed that shot through the window, not at such close range.”
He couldn’t tell what she was thinking from her expression. Was she disappointed to not be going home? Angry at his order? Or was she glad that her adventure was continuing?
“The good news is, I doubt Lavalle will be able to work out where you’ve gone. Even if he suspects you’re with me, he won’t be able to discover our destination.”