A Spy's Devotion (The Regency Spies of London #1)(57)

“Yes, of course. And I . . . I do not want you to think that I . . . well, that I would not be accommodating to the two of you living near each other.”

The awkward look on his face was actually the most earnest one she had seen, and it stirred a strange mixture inside her, of pity, guilt, and horror—pity that he obviously wanted to marry her so much, which could never happen. Guilt that she was flirting with him while hoping to turn him in to the authorities for treason to the Crown. And horror at the thought of putting herself in this man’s power, of marrying a man who seemed to have no qualms about betraying his own country.

Julia did not reply, pretending to be too abashed.

Her uncle jumped in with some comments about the weather and the roads, and eventually Julia nearly forgot the paper in her bodice, though it was sticking her in the side.

The visit seemed to be winding down. Mr. Edgerton stood. “May I call for you tomorrow? I should like to take you riding in my new curricle.”

Julia hesitated. It was the last thing in the world she would want to do, but at the moment, she could hardly think past getting this note read and returned and reported to Mr. Langdon.

“If my uncle does not object, I accept.”

A smile spread over Mr. Edgerton’s face, making him look boyish—a great contrast to the fact that he was betraying king and country for money.

Now that he was leaving, Mr. Edgerton moved slowly, taking Julia’s hand and kissing it. She kept her facial expression steady so as not to cringe.

“Until tomorrow,” he said, no doubt thinking he looked and sounded gallant.

As soon as he and her uncle left the room, Julia moved to the doorway and passed out behind them. They went toward the front door and she crept back toward her uncle’s study.

She could not let him catch her in the study, so she ducked into the sitting room. Snatching the note out of her bodice, she unfolded it and quickly scanned it.

Names. She had to write these down. She scurried to the tiny desk in the corner of the room and jerked open the drawer, taking out the inkpot, pen, and a sheet of parchment. Quickly she wrote down the four names, deeming them the most important information, and then tried to quickly convey the rest of the information in the paper—mainly the ship’s name and date of departure.

Julia’s hand trembled as she folded the paper again and hid it against her skirt. She stepped back to the door and looked out. Her uncle was nowhere to be seen. But he could appear at the end of the corridor at any moment. Her heart stole her breath the way it was pumping so hard, but she dashed out into the corridor and slipped into her uncle’s study, running to the desk and laying the now wrinkled and creased paper where she had found it.

Her heart pounded even harder as she made it to the doorway. Footsteps sounded at the end of the corridor. She skittered back toward the sitting room and rushed inside.

Her uncle was coming down the corridor. Had he seen her? She couldn’t imagine he missed seeing her. She grabbed the paper she had copied the information onto and tried to fold it, crumpling it in her haste, and shoved it into her bodice. Was her uncle coming into the sitting room? Would he ask her what she was doing? Or would he go into his study and see the paper and know that she had read it?

Her stomach churned at the thought of her uncle coming and finding her here, demanding her to tell him what she had done.

What should she do? Should she calmly leave the sitting room and go up to her room? Or should she hide herself here and hope he had not seen her?

She waited, listening. Only silence filled her ears. Finally, footsteps sounded just down the corridor. Her uncle was leaving his study. Were the steps coming closer? Or moving farther away?

They were moving away. She stepped to the doorway and peeked out. Her uncle’s steps were fast. Was he angry? Did he realize someone had seen the incriminating paper?

Julia waited until he was out of sight and quickly hurried up the stairs to her room and closed the door behind her.

She placed her hand over her bodice. If she hid the paper in her room, her uncle could search and find it. But if she kept it in her bodice . . . surely he would not search her person. Her face burned as she remembered the way he had beaten his horse, the rage in his eyes. Would he look at her the same way? Would he realize she’d had just enough time to find the paper, read it, copy it, and replace it in his study? Would he be up here in her room to question her at any moment?

If only she could run and give the note to Mr. Langdon before her uncle could find it.

Not knowing what else to do, Julia threw herself across her bed and squeezed her eyes shut. “God help me,” she whispered. Who else could help her? Who could she turn to? Mr. Langdon was a respectable man. If she ran to his home right now and begged him for shelter, both their reputations would be ruined. He’d have to turn her away. His mother and sister would be horrified, and Phoebe would never forgive her.

And how would Phoebe feel when she realized Julia had been spying on her father? Her father would be tried for treason. He could be hanged. Phoebe’s future would be ruined.

Tears squeezed out the corners of her eyes. No, she could not cry. She had to get this paper to Mr. Langdon. As soon as she thought it safe, she would have to walk to the park and put it into the knothole in the oak tree.

A knock came at her door. She sat bolt upright, placing her hand over the paper in her bodice. “Yes? Come in.”

Her uncle opened the door. “Julia?”