A Spy's Devotion (The Regency Spies of London #1)(90)

Nicholas rejoined the party as if nothing had happened, but forcing himself to be cheerful seemed impossible . . . until he thought of Julia, waiting for him in the garden in the morning.

He went through the motions of dancing with girls who smiled and prattled, went through the eating of dinner and the conversing with dinner partners, but as soon as he was able, he left the party. He found Smith talking with another valet, and they both trudged up to his room, which, with only one candle between them, was quite dark.

“Shall I light more candles for you, sir?”

“No, thank you, Smith. I only want to find my bed. But I must be up before eight in the morning.” He yawned as Smith helped him off with his boots. “If I miss my nine o’clock meeting, I shall never forgive myself.”

He lay down on the bed, groaning, and forcefully expelled the thought of Henrietta and Edgerton from his mind. Sleep soon fell over him like a warm blanket.





CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN


“Sir, wake up.”

“Is it eight already?” Nicholas sat up and rubbed his face. He had to wash and—

“Sir, you must see this.” Smith thrust a letter in front of his eyes.

He took it, his eyes immediately drawn to the signature, Julia Grey. He read its contents by the candle Smith held beside him and the light coming through the window. The further he read, the more his heart pounded.

“Sweet saints in heaven.” Nicholas sprang out of bed and ran to the window, flinging aside the drapes. The sun shone dimly through the clouds. “Dear Lord, what time is it?”

“Eight o’clock, sir.”

“No!” Nicholas grabbed a shirt and started dressing. “Go down and have a horse saddled and ready for me. And ask which direction the carriage went that was carrying Miss Grey.”

“Yes, sir.”

He had planned to dress carefully this morning, but now he had no thought for anything except speed. He had to catch up to Miss Grey.



Julia clutched her parents’ Bible to her chest as the carriage took her farther and farther away from Donnerly Hall and Mr. Langdon. Hadn’t he read her letter last night after the ball? Did he not want to speak to her before she left? Perhaps he had not awakened in time. Julia had delayed as long as she could, but the carriage driver seemed eager to get her on her way. No doubt the man wanted to get back to sleep off the drink he’d imbibed at the servants’ own impromptu party the night before.

Eventually she had been forced to get in and let him drive her away. Did Mr. Langdon not care? Had her letter repulsed him with its effusion of sentiment?

Surprisingly, she didn’t regret having given him the longer, more honest and direct letter. She was glad he knew how she felt about him . . . how much she loved him.

She marveled at what she had done. The old Julia would have been lightheaded and faint at the thought of writing such a letter, of flouting society’s rules and laying bare her heart. And though he may reject her love, she still did not regret what she had told him. He was a respectable man who would not take advantage of her, and she saw nothing wrong with being so straightforward, even if society strictly forbade such declarations from a woman.

To take her mind off Mr. Langdon, her aching heart, and her nervousness at the new position and school she was traveling to, Julia opened her Bible and began to read. After a few chapters, she leaned back against the seat. Since she had been so alone in the Athertons’ home, without a friend to talk to, she had formed a habit of pouring out her heart in prayer.

“I don’t know what is ahead for me, but I pray you will make me strong enough to bear it.” She missed Phoebe so much. “I still love my cousin and hope she will forgive me someday,” Julia whispered into the empty interior of the coach. “I still want her to be happy.”

And she wanted Mr. Langdon to be happy too. “Even if he doesn’t love me, even if he’s supposed to marry someone else, I still want you, God, to make him happy.”

The next moment, Julia heard fast hoofbeats that did not belong to the horses pulling her carriage. They were coming closer and seemed to be coming from behind, finally drawing alongside the carriage. A male voice shouted something, and her carriage began to slow. Then it stopped.

She looked out the window. No one was there. She reached toward the door latch. Just as she leaned her weight against the handle, the door swung open. Julia fell forward.

Hands caught her upper arms before she could fall very far, and she stared into the warm brown eyes of Nicholas Langdon.

“As I told you before,” he said, his chest rising and falling, “I must speak with you.” His jaw and chin were shaded by a day’s growth of beard, which, if possible, made him even more handsome.

The look on his face was so serious, she was suddenly terrified he was about to tell her he was marrying Mrs. Tromburg. He still held her arms so that they stood facing each other in the middle of the dusty road, closer than propriety allowed. Her heart seemed to stick in her throat.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the carriage driver staring down at them from his seat.

“When you told me you were going to become a governess,” Mr. Langdon said, his eyes intently focused on her, “I planned to come and find you just as soon as the War Office released me. I knew they would want me to report everything that had happened, and after I was able to help them apprehend your uncle, Edgerton, and the men they were sending to kill General Wellington, I would be free to come to you. But testifying took longer than I thought, your uncle fled the country, and they wanted to give me a promotion. There were endless meetings and talk of giving me a position at the War Office. Finally, the Prince Regent asked to meet with me.”