Daughter of the God-King(114)

“He has left you?” It was asked with no real hope.

“Not yet, but I promise I will inform you immediately should it ever happen.”

Eugenie laughed her genuine laugh, and Hattie joined in. It was into this merry scene that Robbie appeared, opening the door and standing in bemusement on the threshold. The two women scrambled to their feet, Eugenie smoothing her hair with a graceful gesture and Hattie deciding it was not worth the attempt.

“Hattie.” Robbie came forward to embrace her. “Thank God.”

“I am sorry to have worried you,” Hattie said, disengaging from him and sliding her eyes toward the other woman with some significance—she didn’t want to discuss the latest turn of events before Eugenie; Hattie had duly noted that she did not know Dimitry’s true identity.

“Could you fetch me something to eat? I’m dashed sharp-set,” Robbie asked Eugenie with a smile.

“Eugenie is acting as my dragon,” Hattie said helpfully, and watched with interest while the other woman struggled to control her temper.

“She is not old enough,” Robbie offered promptly. “I shall have to chaperone the both of you.” For emphasis, he swatted Eugenie’s bottom as she walked through the door, earning a wicked smile for his action.

“Robbie; I am shocked,” remarked Hattie affably as he shut the door.

“I am the only one allowed to be shocked—I understand I am to wish you happy.”

With a broad smile she dipped a mock-curtsey. “You may.”

Brows drawn together, he stared in consternation. “How in the name of all that is holy did this come about?”

Hattie laughed at his professed amazement. “I fell violently in love one fine night—over the course of about ten minutes, I would gauge. It is my sincerest wish you suffer a similar fate.”

Shaking his head, he smiled and embraced her again, holding her close. “Then I am indeed happy for you.”

Hattie stumbled a bit, as the boat’s movement could be now felt. “Oh—we are away; do you need to leave?”

“I am to travel to Cairo with you. Berry—or whoever he is—was concerned you were worried about me.”

For some reason, this revelation brought a lump to her throat and she struggled not to cry.

He watched her with a thoughtful expression. “So—how much can you tell me?”

Reminded of her duties as a spy’s wife, Hattie offered delicately, “I believe he is an ally, and is involved in a livelihood that is similar to yours.”

“Yes.” He seemed relieved, and she had to smile; neither of them knew how much to reveal to the other. “And a good thing too—he has done us a huge favor.”

Tentatively, she suggested, “Drummond’s associate?”

“The very same; we suffered a breach of security a few months ago—one of our men had a wife in London who was selling secrets to the enemy. They used the information to send one of their best men to infiltrate our operations on the continent; we are lucky your husband put an end to it before more information was compromised.”

“A wife who was a traitor,” Hattie repeated in amazement, and then thought of her parents. And—now that she knew about this twist to the story—it would not be far-fetched to conclude that this was how Napoleon’s people were able to discover that her parents were secretly negotiating with the British; because of this treacherous wife. Which in turn meant they were summarily executed for their sins, with no mercy shown. “What happened to her—the wife who set this all in motion?”

“Dead.”

She looked up at him, stricken by these revelations, one after the other. “Let’s talk about something else, Robbie.”

But he bent to reassure her in a sincere tone. “Berry seems very resourceful, Hattie; I know it’s difficult, but I would have no fears on his behalf.”

Unable to suppress her pride, she disclosed, “He had something to do with Napoleon’s disastrous Moscow retreat, apparently.”

Robbie raised his brows. “Did he? I confess I am not surprised; we believe he is a member of the Hospitallers—the Order of St. John, and they are based in St. Petersburg.”

“What is that—a religious order?” She thought of the gold icon on the wall, hungry for any scrap of information he could relate.

“Well—yes, although with a military bent. They are otherwise known as the Knights of Malta—the organization includes what is left of the original Knights Templar, also. They’re rather mysterious, and”—here he tilted his head and glanced at her—“they are not always aligned with our objectives, I’m afraid. But all in all, they do good work, particularly in fighting the Barbary pirates.”