Blake put his finger to her lips. "He'll know what to do. Now hush, he's coming in."

Caroline clenched her teeth to keep herself from squeaking with fear as she listened to the sound of Oliver's shoes clicking down the hall. What if James hadn't heard him enter? What if James had heard him but wasn't able to hide in time? What if he was able to hide in time but forgot to close the door?

Her head ached with the myriad possibilities for disaster.

But Oliver's heels weren't clicking toward the south drawing room. They were clicking right to­ward her! Caroline stifled a gasp and nudged Blake in the ribs. He made no response save for the tight­ening of his already stiff posture.

Caroline glanced over to a side table, her eyes falling on a decanter of brandy. Oliver liked to take a glass up with him to bed. If he didn't turn around while pouring he wouldn't see them, but if he did...

Thoroughly panicked, she yanked on Blake's arm. Hard.

He didn't budge.

With frantic motions she poked at his chest and then pointed at the brandy decanter.

"What?" Blake mouthed.

"The brandy," she mouthed back, furiously jab­bing her finger at the decanter.

Blake's eyes widened, and he looked quickly around the room, searching for another hiding place. The light was dim, though, and it was hard to see.

Caroline had the advantage, however, of know­ing the room like the back of her hand. She jerked her head to the side, motioning for Blake to follow, and crawled behind another sofa, thanking her maker all the while that Oliver had chosen to lay down a carpet. A bare floor would have echoed her every movement, and then they would have been lost for sure.

At that moment Oliver entered the room and poured himself a brandy. A few seconds later she heard his glass thunk down on the table, followed by the sound of more brandy being poured. Caro­line bit her lip in confusion. It was very unlike Ol­iver to drink more than one glass before bed.

But Oliver must have had a rough evening, for he sighed, "God, what a disaster."

And then, horror of horrors, he flopped his body directly onto the sofa behind which they were hid­ing and plopped his legs down on the table.

Caroline froze. Or she would have, she thought wildly, if she wasn't already paralyzed with fear. There could be no doubt about it.

They were trapped.

pal-li-a-tive (noun). That which gives superficial or temporary relief.

A kiss, I am learning, is a weak palliative when one's heart is breaking.

-From the personal dictionary of

Caroline Trent

Blake clamped his hand over Caroline's mouth. He knew how to be quiet; he'd had years of experience in the art of keeping oneself ut­terly silent. But God knew what Caroline would do. The crazy woman might sneeze at any moment. Or hiccough. Or fidget.

She glared at him over his hand. Yes, Blake thought, she would be a fidgeter. He moved his other hand to her upper arm and held firm, deter­mined to keep her still. He didn't care if she had

bruises for a week; there was no telling what Prew-itt would do if he found his wayward ward hiding behind a sofa in the drawing room. After all, when Caroline had run away, she'd effectively taken her fortune with her.

Prewitt yawned and stood up, and for a moment Blake's heart raced with hope. But the blasted man just crossed to the side table and poured himself another brandy.

Blake looked at Caroline. Hadn't she once said Prewitt never overindulged in spirits? She shrugged, clearly at a loss as to what her guardian was doing.

Prewitt sat back down on the sofa with a loud grunt, then muttered, "Goddamn that girl."

Caroline's eyes widened.

Blake pointed to her and mouthed, You?

She lifted her shoulders and blinked.

Blake closed his eyes for a moment and tried to figure out who Prewitt meant. There was no way to be certain. It could be Caroline; it could be Carlotta De Leon.

"Where the hell could she be?" Prewitt said, fol­lowed by a swallowing sound that had to be more brandy.

Caroline pointed to herself and Blake felt her mouth form the word, Me? under his hand. He didn't respond, though. He was too busy focusing on Prewitt. If the traitorous bastard discovered them now the mission would be ruined. Well, not entirely. Blake was certain that he and James could easily apprehend Prewitt that night if the need arose, but that would mean that his co-conspirators might go free. Better to be patient and wait out the next three weeks. Then the espionage ring would be closed down for good.

Then, just when Blake fielt his feet start to fall asleep under him, Prewitt plunked his glass down on a table and strode from the room. Blake counted to ten, then removed his hand from Caroline's mouth and heaved a sigh of relief.

She sighed, too, but it was a quick one, followed by the question, "Do you think he was talking about me?"

"I have no idea," Blake said honestly. "But I wouldn't be surprised if he was."

"Do you think he discovered James?"

He shook his head. "If he had, we would have heard some sort of commotion. That doesn't mean we're safe yet, though. For all we know, Prewitt is taking a leisurely stroll down the hall before enter­ing the south drawing room."

"What do we do now?"

"We wait."

"For what?"

He turned sharply to face her. "You ask a lot of questions."

"It's the only way to learn anything useful."

"We wait," Blake said with an impatient exhale, "until we get a sign from Riverdale."

"What if he is waiting for a sign from us?"

"He's not."

"How can you be certain?"

"Riverdale and I have worked together for seven years. I know his methods."

"I really don't see how you could have prepared for this particular scenario."

He shot her a look of such irritation that she clamped her mouth shut. But not before rolling her eyes at him.

Blake ignored her for several minutes, which wasn't easy. The mere sound of her breathing ex­cited him. His reaction was completely inappropri­ate under the circumstances, and one with which he had no experience, even with Marabelle. Unfortu­nately, there seemed to be nothing he could do about it, which pushed his temper even further into the vile.

Then she moved, and her arm accidentally brushed against his hip, and-

Blake absolutely refused to let that thought go any further. Abruptly he took her hand and stood. "Let's go."

Caroline looked around in confusion. "Did we re­ceive some sort of sign from the marquis?"

"No, but it's been long enough."

"But I thought you said-"

"If you want to be a part of this operation," he hissed, "you need to learn to take orders. Without question."

She raised her brows. "I'm so glad you've de­cided to let me participate."