Richard's damage control involved finding his contacts and interrogating each to learn who had talked. The representative of Saxony he wasn't worried about. Prince Albert's cousin was loyal without question.
"Perhaps someone from the northern states," he said on the way to another interview. "They were more likely to be compromised by Prussian spies."
They made direct visits where possible and requested meetings with others. By evening, Richard and Rebecca were exhausted and hungry.
All the running about had taxed Rebecca's nerves. Howl and White were similarly exhausted. They had preceded her to all their many meetings and nodded the all's-well to her from a distance as she stepped out of the coach ahead of Richard.
When the end of the day came, Rebecca slipped out to tell them. They were as grateful to hear it as she was.
Rebecca glanced at Richard as they rode back to his house. He sat up straight, head back against the cushions with his eyes closed. He had been a driven man all day. When he spoke, it was in flat polite words that didn't fully acknowledge her presence. Understandable, but it had bothered her as she had grown used to his lighter conversational style through the day. She pined for that casualness, the soft smiles, and courtesy.
Face it, Rebecca, the man could make a woman feel good just walking into a room and saying hello.
Did that come out of me?
Yes, it did. I'm doing it again, just as I did when we first met. Letting this man get to me and letting my mind run away with me. It feels so good inside to be admired by him. And it bothers me. It is plain he doesn't deal well with my chosen profession. Normally, that would end all consideration, but not now.
He will insist I give up the service. So, why? He is a danger to all I have built, and yet–I want this man, regardless–and that scares me.
Richard opened his eyes, checked their progress toward home. He had deliberately not been thinking of the work. The meditation allowed him to regain the right frame of mind to greet his daughters. They weren't home; but the effort was also required to be a decent host to Rebecca.
He glanced in her direction. This woman took the danger she had experienced last night far too lightly, or what putting a professional face on for his benefit. The very thought of what could have happened still sent a shudder through him.
That assassin got into my house and could have killed us both.
Richard turned to her. "Miss Fogg, about our conversation this morning; I was wrong to chastise you for your handling of the situation. You did what was right under the circumstances. I had no business taking a tone with you. The thought of the danger you faced and how close…"
His voice trailed off. Mental images of her lying dead came unbidden.
Rebecca gave him her exasperating, professional face. "There is no need. I deeply regret failing to keep the assassin from entering the house–a serious failure on our part. Steps have been made to change that. It is clear we are not dealing with a minor player, but a singularly accomplished professional."
"A professional who could have killed you last night," Richard said. "Should have if not for choosing to send a message."
Rebecca winced. There was protectiveness in his words and tone. That never sat well with her.
She considered her next words with care and then went for bluntness, anyway. "I am the protector here, Richard. As much as I appreciate chivalrous attitudes, in this situation you need to give way. It would make my job far more difficult for you to be thinking of protecting me while I protect you. I am not one of your daughters. I am a trained agent, and this is my job."
"Daughters?" Richard repeated in surprise.
Richard turned his head, looked at her with something between indignity and exasperation. More exasperation. Where did that come from?
My attitude toward her is protective, yes. Since the day she jumped in front of a knife for me, I've done my best to avoid putting us in danger again. But she can't possibly believe my feelings are… paternal? She isn't that much younger than me.
"Miss Fogg, my… interest in your safety may be misplaced under the circumstances, but it has nothing to do with… Damn it, woman." Richard's lips tightened, embarrassed at speaking to a woman with such poor language. He counted to three. "I was just concerned for you."
The carriage came to a halt in front of his house. Richard still felt rattled by Rebecca's comment. He threw open the carriage door to step out into the dark street and help her out. Halfway from rising, he recalled he wasn't supposed to do that.
Rebecca grabbed his arm and pulled him back into his seat.
"Richard."
Angry eyes nailed him in place. Rebecca maneuvered around him, stepping to the paving stones, and closing the door.
In the dark, quiet neighborhood street, George and Raymond were within sight. They both gave her the sign that all was clear. Raymond was on the far side of the street pretending to fuss over his horse's shoes and George was on horseback a half block behind her. He had followed them from town.
Raymond had already checked the house and grounds per their new security precautions and would stay in the area on watch with George all night.
Rebecca nodded to both men and reopened the carriage door.
She met Richard's descent into the street with a glare and proceeded him to the front door stiffly, intending to blister the man once inside. But she didn't get the chance.
Richard stepped into the house and took the stairs to his room double paced.