Page 79 of Almost a Bride
Roselyn waited for him to deny it, but when she saw the pain in his eyes, she enveloped his hand with her own and held it tightly to her face. “Spencer,tell me!”
Across his face flashed more emotions than she’d ever seen from him. There was a war inside him, and she so wanted to be one of the victors. She held her breath, keeping his warm hand in hers, begging him with her silent gaze to finally tell her the truth.
“There is such danger to you,” he whispered, drawing her up against him.
She looked up into his face, clasping his shoulders in her hands. “Please, tell me. I can’t go on thinking what I’m thinking.”
When he released her to pace away, she felt cold with fear. Did she really want to hear all of this? Could she even believe him after all his lies?
But he’d been worried about the danger to her…
He gave a tired sigh. “ ’Tis a long story. Seat yourself and I’ll try to explain.”
There was only one stool, so he took that and she perched on the end of the bed.
“I’m not certain where to begin.” He ran his hand down his bearded chin and closed his eyes.
Roselyn held her breath. Below her she could hear the boisterous noise of a party, while outside the open window came the clanging of bells from the docks. But when Spencer began to speak, all of that faded away beneath the images conjured by his words.
“This last year and a half, I’ve been a spy.”
She closed her eyes and felt despair tighten her throat and sting her eyes.
“Before my father died, the queen approached him about sending one of his sons to Spain. Since I speak Spanish more fluently than Alex, he asked me to do the queen’s bidding.”
She opened her eyes, feeling hope flood through her.
“It gave me a reason to escape London; our botched wedding was proving too much to deal with.”
When she tried to offer an apology, he raised a hand. “That’s behind us now; let me finish. You have to understand what it felt like to be an asset because of my heritage, and not scorned. I thought maybe I could prove myself to everyone at court, to be of use for something besides a scandal.”
“Oh, Spencer,” she whispered. “Idounderstand what you mean.”
“I sailed with Admiral Drake early last year, and while he raided the Spanish coast, I was left off near Cadiz. I spent the next year among the soldiers of the armada. They were a sad, desperate lot, with not enough food to eat or garments to wear. When we sailed up the English Channel, I had already planned to leave the ship near Wight, to bring my information to London. But on the journey, the other British spies began to turn up murdered.”
Roselyn felt a lump of fear in her chest at the thought of what he must have gone through. But still, her doubts would not leave her.
“The murderer was Rodney Shaw, the last British spy but for me. On board ship, I discovered his plot to blame me for everything. He and his henchman beat me, but before they could kill me I threw myself overboard.”
“And washed up on Wight,” she murmured. His story fit perfectly—too perfectly? She didn’t dare bring up the pouch. How could she hand it over if she wasn’t certain of his loyalty—certain of him?
“Needless to say,” he continued dryly. “You and I did not get along. At first I couldn’t trust you with this—and then later I realized I couldn’t put you in danger by telling you.”
“But I was always suspicious,” she said coolly. “When you were delirious, you spoke in Spanish.”
“My mother is Spanish—why should this alarm you?”
“You wanted no one to know where you were; you didn’t even want me to send a message to your family.”
“But—”
“And you wanted to remain with me, a woman you despised, in a humble cottage instead of at the grand manor you considered yours by betrothal contract.”
“I never despised you,” he said softly. “It just took me a while to get over my anger.”
Spencer studied Roselyn’s calm eyes by candlelight. She’d become a part of him, someone he would sense even in the dark, even when he was lost.
“You stayed in my cottage,” she continued. “Why?”
