The de Valery Code (28 page)

His face blanched. “They’re not inside?”

“No.” She stepped down, her knees wobbly.

He scrambled up to where she’d just stood and looked for himself. “They’re not under the seats?” He removed both cushions and lifted the seats to the storage compartments.

Margery tried to see inside, but she couldn’t imagine how the books would have gotten there. They’d been on the seat when they’d departed the coach back at the church.

The church! Where the man from the Order had been sitting. Had he snuck into the coach and stolen the books? Margery’s insides shriveled as she contemplated the loss. The book was utterly irreplaceable—and the other book wasn’t even theirs to lose.

Craddock turned from the coach, his face white and his eyes distraught. “I’m so sorry, miss, they’re not here. I don’t know what to say . . . I take complete responsibility.”
 

“You were with the coach the entire time at the church, were you not?”

He nodded. “Indeed. We sat in the shade, as we are here, but I kept it in my sight at all times.”

Jane had come over to join them. “Except when I coaxed you to look at the baby rabbits beyond the hedge.” She looked even more distressed than her brother, likely because she was afraid of failing at this opportunity to act as lady’s maid. “It’s all my fault, miss.”

Margery sought to console them both. “It isn’t, nor is the fault Craddock’s. The people who stole them were assiduous in their methods. We should have provided a better defense.” She was quite furious with herself for not carrying the book with her, as she’d done for so many days. Now that they’d solved the code, she’d gotten lazy. And that laziness had cost her.

She turned and went back to the cottage.

As she stepped into the cool interior, both men looked over at her.

Septon stood. “Let me get the ale.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Margery said, her tone deceptively even while her insides were a tumultuous mess. “Mr. Bowen, I’m afraid the manuscripts have been stolen.”

Chapter Sixteen

After obtaining a pair of adjoining rooms at the Bear and Hound, Rhys paced his chamber. He could hear Margery and Jane moving about next door, but he wasn’t as concerned for their safety now that the Order had obtained what they wanted.

Yet he found himself wanting to comfort Margery about her book.

The look on her face when she’d come back into Septon’s cottage had nearly sent him running to her side. She’d appeared agitated, alarmed, and . . . defeated. He knew how much the book had come to mean to her, and he was damn well going to get it back for her.

Septon had been horrified by the loss. He’d felt bad for Margery, but his distress came from a purely academic place. Losing both de Valery manuscripts was a blow to the collection and study of antiquities. Rhys didn’t want to contemplate how distressed Lord Nash would be when he learned his family’s treasured book was gone.

And they were no closer to finding the treasure. Without it—and the book—Margery’s quest to improve her fortune would end in failure. Regardless of what she said, Rhys believed she needed that treasure for financial purposes. If she had to return to Gloucester empty-handed, he wasn’t sure what he might do. He doubted her pride would allow him to simply give her and her aunts money, but he couldn’t see them suffer because he’d failed to keep their manuscript safe.

He held out hope that they’d find the treasure and that it would be worth something. He only prayed it was enough to compensate for the loss of the book, though he doubted anything would ever come close.
 

The sound of a door closing jolted him. It had come from Margery’s room. He went to the adjoining door and knocked. A moment later, Margery answered.

“Is everything all right?” he asked, trying to peer around her. “I heard a door.”

Margery’s gaze was guarded. “Yes, Jane has gone to fetch water.”

For a bath. He tried not to think of her peeling her gown away to reveal all of the tempting delights beneath. “I wanted to apologize again for the loss of your book.”

“It’s not your fault. I blame myself for not keeping it with me.”

Her unfaltering accountability never ceased to amaze him. “I’m going to get it back.”

Her lips formed a sad smile. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I have grave doubts as to the likelihood of that happening. I only wish we didn’t have to inform Lord Nash that his book has been stolen. He’s going to be devastated.”

“No more than you,” Rhys said softly. “I know how much it meant to you.”

She kept her chin up, but he sensed the depth of her disappointment was far greater than she would admit. “It was a valuable piece. Irreplaceable.”

“If you would allow me, I would compensate you for its loss.”

Her eyes widened briefly. “No, I couldn’t let you do that. As I said, it wasn’t your fault.”

He wanted to argue, but he’d had enough of arguing with her, particularly when their fortunes had taken such a downturn. “Will you be ready in an hour to depart for Septon’s?”

She fidgeted with the edge of the door. “I’ve decided to take dinner here.”

“You have?” He leaned against the doorframe. “But what of researching Anarawd?”

“I’m quite fatigued from the journey, and losing the book has just . . . well, it’s taken a bit out of me, I’m afraid.” She offered him a weak smile. “No, please don’t worry—I can see that you’re considering it—worrying, I mean.”

He stepped away from the jamb and toed the threshold. “I don’t think you should be alone.”

“I shan’t be. Jane will stay with me. Besides, it’s not as if the Order cares about me any longer. They have what they wanted.”
 

“I still have the glass.” He patted the front of his coat and felt the interior pocket that held de Valery’s brother’s device. “They might come after it. I’m going to leave Craddock here to watch over you and Jane. I’ll walk to Septon’s, it’s not far.”

“If you insist.”

“I do. Insisting is one of the things I do best.”
 

Her head snapped up, a glint of humor lighting her eyes, but it was gone too quickly.

“It’s strange to not be spending the evening together,” he said.

Her eyelids fluttered. “Yes, I suppose it is. After so much time in each other’s company.”

For ten days, they’d spent an inordinate amount of time together, particularly since they’d started this journey as strangers. They were far from that now. “I’m sorry about what happened today, but I don’t regret this expedition, and I hope you don’t either.”

One side of her mouth turned up. “No.”

A ridiculous warmth spread in his chest. He leaned close so he could bask in her scent and her heat. “And it’s not over yet. We’re going to find the treasure.”

She looked up at him, her eyes dark and sultry. “I almost believe it when you say it.” Her voice was pitched low, and it did strange and marvelous things to his groin.

He lifted his hand to touch her cheek. “Margery.”

She evaded his touch, not jerkily, but with a slow, smooth movement that ended in a head shake. “Rhys, I think we both know what will happen if you touch me. We’ll kiss and things will . . . progress. Jane will be back at any moment.”

Did that mean that if it weren’t for Jane, Margery would invite his kiss? It didn’t matter. They’d agreed to keep their hands off each other.
 

He took a step back and schooled his features. She was too alluring, too seductive, and he was far too susceptible to her charms. “I didn’t mean to overstep. I only meant to console you. Have a pleasant evening—I’ll see you for breakfast and we can discuss what Septon and I uncover.”

She arched a brow at him. “
If
you uncover anything.”
 

Cheeky thing.
“I’ll see you in the morning.”

With a slight nod, she closed the door. Rhys stared at the wood. It seemed as though their exciting adventure—and their partnership—had come to an end. Though he knew it would happen, he hadn’t expected the hollow feeling expanding inside of him. The manuscripts weren’t the day’s only, or even worst, loss.

Margery turned from the door and urged her rising ardor to cool. The slightest provocative look, the hint of a touch . . . these were things that shouldn’t elicit such a strong response. However, it seemed she was utterly vulnerable to Rhys’s seductive power.
 

Keeping him at arm’s length not only kept with their agreement, it was
necessary
. It was also an excellent reason for not accompanying him to Septon’s tonight.

Though it paled next to her primary reason for staying at the inn: she didn’t think Septon would help them find Anarawd in some book. Her intuition said the answer to the mysterious name was in the church, precisely where the other clues pointed them. She considered going there to investigate the interior further, but had no notion of where to start.

Besides, there was the issue of the Order perhaps watching it. How sinister was this group that they had members protecting key places—de Valery’s house and the Caerwent church? Since de Valery’s house had yielded the cipher glass device, she had to assume the church contained something of equal importance. Yes, the church was critical to the puzzle.

Perhaps the inn’s staff might be able to provide some information about the church or about Anarawd. After tidying up with Jane’s assistance, Margery went downstairs.

The inn offered a small, well-appointed dining room for its guests. Margery arrived just before dinner was due to be served.

The innkeeper’s wife, Mrs. Powell, greeted her with a welcoming smile. “Good evening, Miss Derrington, I’m so pleased you’ll be joining us for dinner. There will be one other attendee, I hope that’s all right.”

“Then I shall have company,” Margery said. “I wondered if I might ask—”

“And here he is.” Mrs. Powell looked past Margery. “Good evening, my lord.”

Margery turned to make the other guest’s acquaintance and nearly fell over in shock. “Mr. Digby.”

Tall, with queued brown hair graying at the temples, he wore a muted costume of dark brown relieved only by his ivory shirt and cravat. He bowed gracefully over her hand. “Miss Derrington, this is an unqualified boon. I was so disappointed that you weren’t in Gloucester. To find you here . . . Well, I am the luckiest man in Britain.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the edges.
 

“I’m pleased to see you, as well, Mr. Digby.” She wasn’t really, since he’d foiled her investigative plans. Now, she’d have to reserve her questions for Mrs. Powell for another time.

Beneath his widow’s peak, his brow gently creased. “I was sorry to hear your aunt was ill, but so relieved that she was recuperating.”

Was she? Now that was welcome news. “Thank you for telling me. I haven’t received a letter from them, so I’ve been anxious to hear how she’s doing.” Margery felt a pang of remorse over not returning to Gloucester to check on her aunts. When had she become so selfishly driven? No, that wasn’t fair. She was undertaking this entire expedition to solve their financial woes.

“Then I’m doubly glad to have found you,” he said.

“How fascinating that you already know each other,” Mrs. Powell interrupted. “Would you both care to sit? Dinner is ready.”

“Yes, of course,” Margery said with an apologetic smile.

Mr. Digby went to the long table, where there were two places set—one at the end and one to the right—and held out a chair for Margery. After she was seated, he took the place at the head.

Mrs. Powell bustled from the dining room, presumably to fetch their first course.

“I owe you an apology, Miss Derrington.”

Margery snapped her gaze to his. He had brown eyes, akin to a light sherry, not dark and earthy like Rhys’s. “You do?”

“I think I perhaps came on a bit too forcefully in our earlier communications. I was, quite simply and perhaps embarrassingly, swept away by your charms.”

Oh dear. Margery wasn’t sure she liked how this was going. She began to wish she’d gone with Rhys. “That’s . . . all right.”

Digby turned himself toward her. “There was actually a reason behind my initial visit to Gloucester and to my seeking you out at the assembly.”