Page 64 of The Number of Love
Margot smiled. “As long as snarling back is acceptable.”
“No arguments from me. Though Camdenisan old friend of Lieutenant Elton, apparently—he’s actually the one who suggested I bring him into the fold. If you wish to be kind for his sake.”
Her brows lifted again. “And why would that affect anything?”
“Oh, no reason.” Lips twitching, Hall spun away. “Let me know how it goes. I’m off to meet with the press and convince them to stop lambasting my newest recruit.”
Margot shook her head and picked her pen up again. If the articles she’d read over the past few days were an indication of thejournalists’ inclinations, they weren’t going to be happy about letting their prize story go. But DID had the press corps wrapped around his finger. He fed them enough juicy tidbits that they wouldn’t nip at his outstretched fingers now.
Heaven knew these papers spread before her didn’t seem to have any hidden messages in them, just their overt ones. She kept looking for the telltale signs—letters too bold, or not aligned properly—that would alert an operative to a message, but thus far each oddity she had circled hadn’t followed up on its promise.
When the voices of the others began filtering back through the hallways, Margot folded up the newspapers with a sigh. She would keep looking through the old editions she had in a box at home. But for now, training. She certainly hoped this Camden fellow was a quick study.
She gathered up a few newly arrived encoded telegrams, today’s code, paper, and pencils. Then she aimed herself for the room at the end of the hall that had been a storage room. Margot tapped on the door and opened it, nearly dropping her supplies when the occupant all but leapt at her like a caged lion.
“Have you come to let me out of this prison?” He was tall, dark, and seething. Margot noted the features that would have made the secretaries go aflutter—the strong jaw, the chiseled lips, the clear blue eyes, et cetera. But they were secondary to what interestedhermore—the intelligence snapping in those eyes, and the bad attitude coming off him in waves.
This was sure to be fun.
She stepped into the room and set the papers and pencils on the scratched-up table that someone had shoved in here, up against the boxes of papers. There were no windows, just a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling and a lamp. She’d leave the door open. “I should think you of all people, sir, would recognize that this isfarfrom a prison.”
He snarled. Then drew in a breath and made a quick bow. “Forgive me, miss. You’ve probably come to bring me tea, or to see if I’ve anything for you to type up.”
One of these days, people wouldn’t just assume she was a secretary. Or a tea girl.
No, that was wishful thinking. People would always assume it. But maybe one of these days it would stop making her itch in protest. She spread her now-empty hands. “Do I look like I’ve come with tea?”
He folded his arms over his chest, still clad in the olive-green RFC pilot’s uniform. How odd it was to see olive green here, instead of naval blue. “You could have left your cart in the corridor. Heaven knows it wouldn’t fit in this cell.”
She motioned to the equally empty space outside the door. “There are no tea girls on our floor. And I am not a secretary.” She pointed to the chair obviously brought in with the makeshift desk. “Now sit down. Unless youwantto go to prison, you have a lot to learn.”
He scoffed.Scoffed. “And I suppose you’re going to teach me, darling?”
The admiral had said he wouldn’t mind if Margot snarled at him—she wondered how he’d feel about it if she employed a few of the moves Willa had taught her for self-defense. A knee to the groin might bring this chap down a much-needed peg.
She settled for a scathing look. For now. “I suppose that depends on how big an idiot you are. Sit.”
He sat, but with a smirk that said he was merely playing along for his own entertainment. “Right. Sitting. Now what? I suppose you’re going to bring in a typewriter and teach me how to type up a few papers while filing my nails?”
“Well, apparently, first I’m going to teach you how to avoid the firing squad.” She perched on the edge of the table and glared at him. “Admiral Hall has gone out on a limb, bringing you here when everyone in England is calling for a court-martial. I highly suggest you show your gratitude in some way other than by provoking every single member of his staff.”
The smirk died away into a glower. “I didn’t ask the admiral to fetch me from prison.”
“No. Drake Elton did. For some reason, he deems you a friend, whether you know the meaning of the word or not.”
“Elton?” He sat up straighter and looked genuinely struck. For a moment. Then the smirk reappeared, and he swept his eyes down the length of her. “Are you his sister? Dora, isn’t it?”
Men could be such imbeciles. “No. And no.” She picked up the tube she’d brought with her, opened it, and pulled out the intercepted telegrams within. “Are you ready to get to work, or do you need a few more minutes to prove yourself a reprobate?”
He waved a hand. “By all means, darling. Teach me something.”
He was about to learn hownotdarling she was. “That top sheet there has today’s code on it. Since you’re obviously so much smarter than a mere woman could possibly be, why don’t you just go right ahead and decode those telegrams?”
He sent her an arched look but picked up the day’s code and one of the slips of paper from the tube. “Might take some time, but infinitely doable.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Then you’ll be ready for your first night shift in a few days and will be able to do it in reverse—break the code with nothing to go on but the telegram written in it.” She pushed off the desk and gave him an empty smile. “Have at it, then. Cheerio.”
She pivoted to the door, fully intending to leave him to his own devices for an hour or two and see what came of it.
