With Anthony Graylocke about to kiss her, Charlie’s heart, already stirred from his tale of derring-do, skipped a beat. She licked her lips, trying to diminish the sudden tingle that rose in them. She didn’t want it to interfere with the sensation of his mouth on hers.

In her mind, she was on a ship in the middle of the Caribbean, her pulse pounding from the new sights and smells and possibilities. She could only too easily imagine Anthony’s tale ending differently, perhaps trapping them on a deserted island instead of being cooped up in this musty cellar. If they were stranded, with no hope of rescue, would she give in to the passion she’d found in his arms?

She leaned closer, hoping to meet him partway, but he stopped an inch from her mouth. He cleared his throat and pulled away. “Forgive me. It’s… hot in here.” He stood, stretching out his legs. As his shadow fell over her, Charlie recalled that they weren’t trapped on a deserted island. They weren’t even on a ship, let alone one bound for exotic new locations. They were stuffed into this cramped hideaway with no chance of adventure.

What was it about him that caused her to lose her senses? She’d been courted before—more than ever now that her sister had married into the Graylocke family. She’d always been able to resist them. A well-formed man didn’t turn her head… challenge did. Perhaps that was what Anthony encapsulated. Kissing him was daring. It felt exotic. It made her body come alive and her senses more acute.

Clearly, he was able to resist her, unlike all those young fops constantly at her heels, yammering on about how her beauty gave them heart palpitations. What codswallop. Anthony hadn’t tried to seduce her with flowery words or vows of undying admiration. Except for their one kiss, Anthony hadn’t tried to seduce her at all.

He didn’t now, either. In fact, he didn’t so much as glance at her as he stretched. Had she been mistaken in thinking he wanted to kiss her? Perhaps he’d merely been shifting position and her eager response had scandalized him. She felt a fool.

Needing something to do to distract her from the scalding heat in her cheeks, she tugged the letter to Madame Renault out of her bodice. Since their contact in France had fled and they would be unable to deliver the letter, there could be no harm in her opening it to see what Lady Graylocke had wished to say. She slid her thumbnail beneath the seal, breaking it as she opened the envelope.

Angling the paper to catch more of the light as Anthony stretched out his arms, Charlie frowned. This letter wasn’t written in English. It wasn’t even written in French—she might have been able to read it, or at least enough of it to decipher the meaning of the letter. No, the jumble of script on the page didn’t resemble any language that she knew. Her heart froze with the realization that it could be written in code.

No. Impossible. Lady Graylocke didn’t even know about the British spy network, and Morgan had been adamant not to tell his mother too much about their true purpose in France. Perhaps someone had switched letters and replaced Lady Graylocke's original with this one.

Considering the letter had been inside her bodice for the better part of their journey, she doubted it could have happened then. Maybe before, when she thought it was locked in the trunk. But she wondered who… and why.

It seemed very unlikely, but perhaps this was some kind of shorthand that only duchesses or those connected to powerful families knew. Not for the first time since her dear friend had married, Charlie wished that Lucy were close by. She would have loved Lucy’s advice right about now.

Perhaps she didn’t have to wait to talk to Lucy. Anthony was also a Graylocke. He would know whether or not his mother was more involved in the spy network than she appeared. Charlie folded the letter and stood, dusting off her rump as she did. “Anthony—”

Her breath caught as he turned. The space in the hidden room was so narrow that his arm brushed against her as he did. Her breath hitched at their close proximity. Kiss me.

“Yes, Charlie?”

Accepting that she may have said that out loud, she licked her lips and tilted her face up just in case his answer had been an acquiescence.

Wait. What am I doing? She swallowed hard and stepped back, as much as the room allowed. Not far, indeed. She opened her mouth to ask about his mother, but footsteps caught her attention. “Do you hear something?”

He raised his finger to his lips to indicate for her to remain silent. She did, straining her ears.

Yes, definitely footsteps. Anthony heard them, too. He pushed up his shirtsleeves, his muscles bunching as if he intended to jump to violence if the wrong person opened the door.

The door swung open to reveal Madame Estreux, Mama, and a younger, thin man. Charlie quickly shoved the letter into her bodice again. “Did you find something?”

Mama nodded. “A man matching your father’s description left on a ship bound for Portugal two days ago. If we have any hope of catching him, we must hurry.”