A Spy's Devotion (The Regency Spies of London #1)(76)

“You must go.” Julia tried to sound as urgent as possible. “My uncle may try again to kill you.”

“Won’t he also come looking for you?”

“Yes, but he won’t kill me.” He will only force me to marry Mr. Edgerton. “You are the one in danger.”

“I do not think he will attempt to kill me a second time in one night. But I must go now and speak to the constable. I saw some men overcome our shooter and capture him, just after the second shot.”

“Oh. But what if—”

“Do not worry.” He grabbed her uninjured hand and held it firmly between both of his. “I shall return for you very soon. First I must make sure your uncle is arrested—tonight, so he cannot harm you or me again.”

“But you do not know who else may be out there, trying to kill you.”

“Hush, now.”

She was so aware of his bare hand holding hers. What did he mean by it? For him to hold her hand without gloves . . . it was very improper. But she suddenly didn’t care, for the first time in her life, what was proper or improper. She loved this man with all her heart.

But that was precisely why she should not allow him to hold her hand. He could not marry her, after all.

He seemed about to say something else when a knock came at the door.

“Nicholas?” came a man’s voice from behind them. “I heard you—or a lady—were shot. What has happened?”

Mr. Wilson came toward them, his eyes roving from Mr. Langdon to Julia lying on the settee.

“This lady, Miss Grey, was hit by a shot fired at me, I’m afraid.” Mr. Langdon looked down at her, his expression very serious. “But now I must go and see what I can do to have our assailants arrested. Would you stay here while I’m gone and make sure the lady is safe?”

“Yes, of course.”

Madame Bartholdy was standing over Julia, smiling. “You should rest, my dear. The surgeon said to give you a few drops of this to help you sleep.” She held a small bottle and a glass in her hand.

Julia tried to catch a last glimpse of Mr. Langdon as he walked out the door. God, keep him safe.





CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE


Julia awoke to a bit of light spreading on the floor from some unseen window. Where was she? She recognized the Bartholdys’ sitting room and realized she was lying on their settee amidst a comfortable cocoon of blankets. Then the events of the day before came back to her.

Her side pained her a bit as she sat up. But it was only a flesh wound, the surgeon had said. Her finger was still wrapped in the bandage Nicholas Langdon had tied on and did not hurt at all. But she must have dropped her cross when the bullet had hit her finger. She wished she could have it back, wished she had not dropped it, but at the time, it was the last thing on her mind.

Had Mr. Langdon and the police apprehended the men responsible for shooting at him, including her uncle?

“I have to go.” Julia pushed herself up, feeling the pull of the bandage on her side and a twinge of pain.

“Where are you going?” Madame Bartholdy sat up straighter from the armchair where she sat covered with a thin blanket. She smiled pleasantly.

“Madame Bartholdy. Thank you for caring for me last night and staying with me. I seem to have slept all night. Do you know if Mr. Langdon was able to . . .”

Footsteps sounded in the corridor, and then the man in question stood in the doorway.

“Miss Grey, Madame Bartholdy,” he greeted them politely. He turned to Julia with a slight crease in his forehead. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“I am very well, thank you. Just a flesh wound.” She smiled.

“I retrieved this for you. At least, I think it is yours.” He held out her heavy iron cross.

“Oh yes! Thank you. It belonged to my parents. I brought it with me to use as a weapon, in case I needed it.”

He reverently laid it in her lap. “I thank God that you did. It saved my life.”

Julia caressed the cross. It was not decorative or beautiful, just a plain iron cross, but tears pricked her eyes at how grateful she was to it for saving Nicholas Langdon’s life.

“And you?” she asked. “How did you fare last night?”

He looked a bit rumpled and was still wearing the same clothes he’d had on the evening before.

“I was able to convince the War Office that it was time to apprehend the man behind the shooting last night. However, Mr. Wilhern was not at home when they went to arrest him. He must have fled. They will keep looking for him. But they were able to capture the man who fired the shots. They have also arrested the four men listed on Mr. Wilhern’s note, who were booked on the ship with false identification as soldiers bound for the Peninsula. Their plan to assassinate General Wellington has been thwarted, thanks to you, Miss Grey.”

His gentle smile warmed her heart. “And thanks to you, Lieutenant Langdon.”

“And I am alive thanks to you, Miss Grey.”

“I shall go check on breakfast.” Madame Bartholdy stood, smiling, and left the room.

Now that they were alone, Julia was not sure where to look or what to do. The last thing she wanted was for Mr. Langdon to feel obligated to her in some way. But how could she say so without sounding very rude?

“I need to go.” Julia threw off the blanket covering her but then remembered she was not suitably dressed, as her dress had a gaping hole in the side. She made sure the shawl was wrapped around her middle. “I do not want to be a burden to the Bartholdys.”