A Spy's Devotion (The Regency Spies of London #1)(73)

Julia said, “That is kind of you,” in a bland voice. She was becoming quite good at this espionage thing, disguising her feelings and such.

She walked over and pretended to be interested in the food. She even lifted a piece of bread to her lips and took a tiny bite so he could see her chewing.

“I shall leave you to eat. But I am nearby . . . if you need anything.”

Of course, they both knew he wasn’t nearby in case she needed anything, but rather, in case she tried to escape. Julia nodded and watched him leave, hearing the key grating in the lock as he once again locked her in.

Julia took a larger bite of the bread to try to settle her stomach, but it only made her feel more queasy. She put it down and took a sip of tea—and realized how thirsty she was. She drank the entire cup and then poured herself another and drank it as well.

“Thank you, Uncle.”

She could do this. Her uncle thought she was a “good, sensible girl” and that all she could wish for was Mr. Edgerton as a husband. If he did not yet realize it, then he was about to discover that she was not the timid six-year-old he had brought home to be a companion for his own overindulged little girl.

Julia went and picked up the heavy iron cross. She went to the door that separated her room from Phoebe’s, since he might be watching her door, raised the cross, and whacked at the lock. It made a loud sound.

“God, please don’t let him hear. Please help me.”

She struck the lock again. Nothing happened. The lock was also made of iron, apparently, and her striking it with the cross was not having much of an effect.

Perhaps she could pick the lock.

She hurried to her dressing table and found a hairpin. She ran back to the door and stuck the hairpin in the lock. After jiggling it and forcing it past something that clicked, she felt the lock give way, and the door opened.

Her heart soared. She took the heavy iron cross with her and hurried through Phoebe’s room to her door. But when she tried to open it, it was also locked.

Again, Julia went to work on the lock with the hairpin. But after several minutes, she put down the cross so she could work the pin with both hands. Still, it did not open.

How late was it getting? Would she be too late to save Mr. Langdon? Her hands were sweating and she wiped them on her muslin dress.

Julia could feel her composure slipping as she worked more frantically at the lock. “God,” she whispered, “I know I rarely pray except in church. Perhaps it is wrong to only pray when I am in trouble, but I need help. Please, please do not let Mr. Langdon die.” She bit her lip as she kept working at the lock. She whispered in desperation, “Please help.”

An idea came to her to use two hairpins instead of one. Julia sprang up off the floor and ran to her dressing table to grab a second pin. She rushed back and continued working at the lock, this time using two pins. In less than a minute, she heard the telltale click as the lock opened.

She grabbed the iron cross off the floor, jerked the door open, and ran out into the corridor. Thinking to take the servants’ stairs at the back of the house, she turned to her right and saw her uncle standing just outside her door, his eyes wide.

“Get back here,” he growled.





CHAPTER THIRTY


Julia turned and ran toward the front stairs, her heart pounding sickeningly.

“Get back here, Julia!” Her uncle’s footsteps pounded behind her.

She clutched the heavy cross as she ran. Oh God, help me. I don’t want to strike my uncle with this cross, but please don’t let him catch me.

Her skirts were tangling around her legs and slowing her down. She could feel her uncle getting closer but did not dare turn around to look.

She reached the stairs and ran down them two at a time.

“You can’t get away.”

Julia imagined she felt his breath on her neck. She turned her head just as he lunged for her, his hands reaching.

She screamed, stepping quickly to the other side of the stairs.

Uncle Wilhern brushed against her arm as he lost his balance. He fell headfirst down the stairs. He finally came to rest at the bottom, lying on his side. His eyes were closed, and he did not move.

Julia ran the rest of the way down the stairs, avoiding his motionless form as she held up her skirt with one hand.

She darted out the front door and down the steps in the direction of the Langdons’ town house.



Julia knocked on the front door of the Langdon home while staring back down the street. She was breathing so hard, when the servant answered the door, she could barely speak.

“Is Mr. Nicholas Langdon at home?”

The servant, a middle-aged woman, stared at her with her mouth open. “No, miss. Mr. Nicholas has gone from home and did not say when he might return.”

“It’s very important.” Julia stopped to swallow past the dryness in her throat. “I need to speak with him, if he is at home.”

“Upon my honor, miss, he left just two minutes ago. He took the carriage. Old Bailey drove him.”

“Thank you.” Julia ran from the door, hurrying down the street to the next street over, where she could always find a hack for hire.

Oh, why had she not got there sooner? Why did he have to be gone?

She slowed, unable to run anymore. Soon she came upon a carriage and driver. “Please, sir, can you take me to Bishopsgate Street?”