Page 63 of Love Abandoned

A tinge of bruising was evident beneath her makeup, but it did not look fresh. “Has she raised a hand to you again?” he asked, anger beginning to grow once more.

“No. She’s limiting my freedom and searching the rooms. She suspects I am holding out on her. Which, of course, I am.” Her smile was not reflected in her eyes. “And I’m being watched. I climbed out a window and snuck through the side lane early this morning.”

Richard weighed telling her those men who watched her were with the Home Office but decided against it. The less she knew, the better until he drew from her the information he needed to keep her out of prison and end his involvement in this little spy ring.

He waved the paper at her. “Patricia, where are you getting this information?”

She threw her hands, palms up, into the air as though she had no idea what he was talking about.

He wanted to throttle her for her dismissiveness. Did she take none of this seriously? “I’ll have his name or you will be at Bridewell before week’s end.” It was all he could do to refrain from raising his voice at her.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she said, unruffled, brushing at her skirts. “I know you too well to believe you’d do anything of the sort.”

“I wouldn’t dare, but those receiving the information have promised to see it done if I do not provide your source.” He softened his voice. “I cannot stop them from following through with their threat.”

Her face crumbled, all bravado dropped. He could once again see the young woman who had brought such light into his life when there had only been darkness. She had comforted him as he’d come to grips with the loss of his mother. He’d felt less alone in the world. He could not let her go to prison.

He got down on one knee, in front of her, and took her hands in his. “Please, Patricia, let us end this now. Who is he?”

“I don’t know,” she said, her eyes brimming with tears. “Truly. I have seen him clearly only once, when he came to Mrs. Tate’s. Tall, dark-haired. Dark eyes, I think. French. His accent was thick…yes, French, I’m sure of it.”

“He came to Mrs. Tate’s?”

“Once. Never again. But like you, he didn’t want what I was offering. Only wanted me to pass on information.”

“Why you?”

“He didn’t say. I didn’t ask. It seemed easy money.” Patricia shrugged, obviously unconcerned about why he’d chosen her. “He said to pass it on to a lord, suggested considering one of my old protectors. I thought of you immediately.”

“If he doesn’t come to Mrs. Tate’s, where do you meet?”

“Nowhere. Everywhere. The market. A side street. A tavern. He finds me. Always.”

“But you must know where to find him. How do you give him the money?”

“I don’t. He told me to charge for it. But he doesn’t collect. Ever.”

Richard stood. He believed she was telling the truth. He rubbed his forehead. What to do now? Would the Home Office accept her explanation? He doubted it. Which meant she remained in jeopardy.

“Think, Patricia. There must be something more you know. Something I can give these people so they don’t put you in Bridewell.”

She shook her head. “I wish there were. I’ve no idea who or where he is.” A single tear ran down her cheek, and Richard knew he must do something. He could not throw her to the wolves, even if the wolves believed they were doing it for a higher cause.

“You cannot go back to Mrs. Tate’s. It is my people watching you, and they’ll not let you slip by them again. Do you have somewhere safe you can go? Somewhere, hopefully far away, not connected to you?”

“Yes. I have long planned for such an eventuality. And I have my money, the money you gave me.”

“I will get you more.”

He walked over to the safe and opened it. The charity money remained uncounted. It had been next on his list. He reached beyond it and grabbed the servants’ wages and Elizabeth’s pin money, making note of the amount. He’d replace it later this week when he went to the bank. He turned and handed it to Patricia, who dropped it in her reticule and got to her feet.

“Thornwood, I’m sorry to have dragged you into this, but…” She wiped at her eyes. “It seemed a way to dig myself out of the life I had buried myself in.” She threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Thank you. I’ve never forgotten you. I never will.”

He stepped back and took her hands in his. Her red hair escaping her bonnet, her powdered cheeks streaked with tears, she was still a beautiful woman, and a likable one despite her attempts at tough bravado. He wished her well in life. “Reinvent yourself. Far away.” He leaned down to look directly in her eyes. “I mean it. Far.”

Patricia touched his cheek with her gloved hand, and he covered it with his own. “Stay safe, Patricia,” he said quietly.

“Richard?”

Both their heads swung toward the doorway. Elizabeth stood there, paler than he’d ever seen her, rigid as a statue. She looked at the two of them and at the safe beyond before returning her shocked stare back at them. Then she turned and left.

He could only imagine what she thought of their little tableau.Damn and blast.What the devil was he to do now?

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