The Bachelor

by Jeffries, Sabrina

  Malet glowered at him. “You wouldn’t dare, Major.”

  Joshua fixed a deadly gaze on Malet. “I believe I’ve already proved once today that I will dare a great many things.”

  The Frenchman reached inside his coat. Without even turning his head from Malet, Joshua half-cocked the pistol he held to the Frenchman’s knee. “That would be unwise, monsieur.”

  Hearing the sound, the fellow blanched and pulled his hand out empty. “This was the fellow you fought with? A major?” the Frenchman hissed at Malet. “Gah! You have to be the most incompetent English soldier I’ve ever met. No wonder you were cashiered!”

  “Ticktock, gentlemen,” Joshua said. “Either make the decision now or I will make it for you.” And to emphasize his determination, he half-cocked the pistol aimed at Malet’s knee.

  Joshua was itching to shoot Malet, and not in the knee either. But he figured that Fitzgerald wouldn’t approve of that method of settling the situation. And Joshua really did wish to prove himself worthy of the post Fitzgerald was offering him.

  So he shifted his gaze to the Frenchman. “The document, sir. Give it to me now, and I will let you leave.”

  Not that it mattered. If Dick the Quick was as fast as his name attested, he was somewhere in the tavern waiting for this to be resolved so he could follow the Frenchman. Joshua knew he couldn’t keep control over two men in a public place, but he didn’t have to. Malet was the traitor.

  Still, that didn’t mean he wanted to watch the French spy go free. And that was where Dick came in. He could tell Joshua exactly where the man was residing, and Joshua would pass that information on to Fitzgerald.

  The Frenchman sighed, then shoved the sheaf of papers at Joshua.

  “Go on, then,” Joshua said, but didn’t move his pistol until the spy rose and headed for the door.

  Then he slipped it into his coat pocket and steadied his other pistol between Malet’s legs. “I suggest, sir, that you hand me the purse and come with me. Or you will have a very unhappy future.”

  Malet looked fit to be tied, but he handed over the purse, which Joshua slid into his coat pocket. And when Joshua rose and stood behind him with his pistol against the man’s neck, Malet knew he had no choice but to stand and go with Joshua.

  No one could see the gun Joshua held on Malet, and even if they could, they wouldn’t care. Malet had obviously chosen a rather low tavern so that no one would notice what he was up to with some Frenchman. That worked in Joshua’s favor. He could use his cane to walk with one hand while holding the pistol in Malet’s back with the other.

  “Where are you taking me?” Malet asked.

  “To a friend of mine, who will be delighted to hear that I’ve caught a traitor.”

  “You don’t even know what’s in those papers,” Malet said as they walked out into the night.

  “Actually, I do. And anyway, it doesn’t matter. I caught you selling them to the French. That’s all that counts. You will hang for treason, which is no less than you deserve.”

  Malet got quiet as Joshua steered him toward the nearest coach stand. They were nearly there when Malet kicked Joshua’s cane out from under him, pushed him into the waterman for the stand, and ran.

  Cursing a blue streak, Joshua quickly righted himself, but the streets were crowded and Malet seemed to have disappeared.

  “Damnation!” Joshua cried.

  It was a miracle neither of his pistols had gone off. But they were new enough that the half-cock notches had done their job and kept them from firing. Before anyone could see the one in his hand, he shoved it into his greatcoat pocket.

  “Are you all right, sir?” The waterman stood and brushed himself off. “That bloody arse was in a hurry, he was.”

  “He was, indeed. And I’m fine, thank you,” Joshua said as he scanned the streets. He felt like an utter fool, and clumsy to boot. He also couldn’t see the bastard anywhere.

  He should never have taunted Malet with the fact that he would hang for treason. He should have waited to get the arse into the hackney first.

  “Looks like you’re bleeding, sir,” the waterman said. “Probably banged your head on my bucket.”

  “What?” Joshua touched his hand to his forehead. Sure enough, he was bleeding, but he didn’t care. He’d lost Malet.

  For the next hour he questioned the hackney coachmen and roamed up and down Chelsea. But it was no use. Malet had escaped. Damn his soul to hell. At least Joshua still had the papers Malet had tried to sell and the money he’d expected to get for them. Joshua would have to be content with that.

  He hired a hackney, meaning to go to Fitzgerald’s, when something dawned on him. Malet was a vengeful sort. In his anger, he might try to kidnap Gwyn, either for revenge or ransom or to trade her for the papers.

  Joshua scowled. Not on his watch. That man was not going near Gwyn ever again. Joshua could report to Fitzgerald in the morning. Tonight he had to make sure Gwyn was safe.

  So he told the driver to take him back to Armitage House. Even if Joshua knew which opera Gwyn and the rest had been planning to attend and whether they’d even decided to go, he couldn’t head there in his present attire.

  On the way, he very carefully restored each pistol to its uncocked position. He started to return them to his greatcoat pockets, but it occurred to him that if there were any chance he might encounter Malet at the house, he should be prepared for it.

  So he put only one pistol into his greatcoat pocket. He had the perfect hiding place for the other. He pulled out the cloth he generally used to stuff the boot of his bad leg so he could wear it. Plenty of room in there without the fabric, sadly enough. Good to know that he could keep items in there if he needed to.

  As he slid the pistol inside his boot, a hollow fear built in the pit of his stomach. What if Gwyn and the others hadn’t gone to the opera or had already returned? The more he thought about Malet possibly hurting Gwyn, the more likely it seemed. Bloody hell, he shouldn’t have lingered so long looking for the bastard.

  Because if he lost Gwyn . . .

  He couldn’t lose her, simple as that. He had to make things right between them. If she didn’t want to marry him, so be it, but he had to try. The idea of not having her in his life was . . . was . . .

  Unthinkable. He had to do whatever he could to keep her in it.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Joshua waited impatiently for the hackney to reach Armitage House. After it arrived, he practically threw money at the driver before climbing the steps as quickly as any man with a cane and a bad leg could.

  He had just made it inside and was trying to keep the footman from taking his greatcoat, which still had his pistol in it, when Gwyn came running down the stairs, her expression anxious. “Where the devil have you been? And why are you dressed like that?”

  “I’ll tell you later. But first, has Malet been here?”

  “Malet! Why would he be here?”

  She looked genuinely confused. Thank God she was safe. For the moment anyway. Even now Malet might be making his way here.

  Joshua forced a calm into his voice that he didn’t feel. “I thought you were at the opera.”

  “Lady Hornsby and I waited for you to accompany us there, and when time went on and you didn’t show up, we realized you weren’t going to. She went home. Even Mama gave up and retired for the night. But I have been waiting for you ever since, sure that something awful had happened to you!”

  She was worried about him? That was . . . faintly amusing. And gratifying, especially because she was dressed like a queen in the new opera gown she’d spoken of earlier. The quintessential white gown was cut quite low for evening, and only a bit of blue lace kept it from being outrageous.

  Damnation. It showed far more of her breasts than anything should. Not that he wasn’t enjoying it. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to worry you. I thought Lady Hornsby wasn’t going to the opera, so Grey and Beatrice were taking you.”

  Reminding him a bit of his sister, she
fussed over him and tried to take off his coat. “Just as you told me and Mama earlier, Beatrice doesn’t like the opera and Grey wasn’t going without her. But Lady Hornsby was quite keen on attending. Apparently, Mama was wrong about that. Lady Hornsby was very disgruntled when you didn’t show up.”

  He brushed Gwyn’s hands away and removed his coat himself, then draped it over his arm. “And you? Were you eager to go?”

  “That hardly matters now.”

  “It matters to me. To be honest, I don’t care how Lady Hornsby felt about it. But I would sincerely regret having kept you from any activity you enjoyed.”

  That seemed to catch her by surprise. Damn, how was it that he always shocked her when he complimented her? Was he really so bad at showing the woman how he felt?

  Apparently so.

  Eager now to get her alone, he took off his hat unthinkingly and handed it to the footman.

  Gwyn gave a little cry. “Something awful did happen to you!” She reached up to touch the cut on his forehead, which had already scabbed over. “Does it hurt?”

  “No. In truth, I forgot all about it.” Though his pulse was quickening at just the thought of her concern for him.

  With an eye at the footman, she whispered, “Did Lionel do this?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  Her eyes widened. “Well, I should put some salve on it to make it heal faster. Give your coat to John and come with me to the kitchen.”

  “I’d rather hold on to my coat, actually.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she said, and grabbed it from his arm. “My word, it’s heavy!”

  He took it back from her and urged her down the hall, away from the prying eyes of the footman.

  “Good Lord, what is in your pockets?” she asked.

  “A pistol, for one thing.” When she looked startled, he added, “As I said, a long story. But first, let’s go look for your salve.”

  Not in the kitchen, however. He wanted privacy, and he wouldn’t find it there. Fortunately, on the way, they passed the back parlor, which would do nicely. After glancing back to make sure the footman couldn’t see them, he murmured, “In here,” and guided her inside.

  The minute they went through the door, Joshua closed and locked it.

  “You can’t do that!” she cried. “Not if you wish to preserve my reputation.”

  “First of all, no one knows we’re in here.” He laid his coat over the nearest chair. “And second, because I am still hoping you will marry me, I doubt anyone will protest for long. Except perhaps your twin.”

  “Thorn! What’s he got to do with it?”

  “As far as I’m concerned? Nothing.” Taking her by surprise, he backed her against the door. Then he steadied himself against it with his forearm and kissed her. Hard. Thoroughly. Had it really only been half a day since he’d seen her?

  It felt like forever.

  It must have felt like it to her, too, because she threw her arms about his neck and kissed him back rather enthusiastically. She let him plunder her mouth for several wonderful moments.

  Until she came to her senses and pushed at him. He drew back just enough to stare at her. “What?”

  “I’m supposed to be getting you salve.”

  “I don’t need it.” He kissed her forehead, her temple, her cheek. “What I need is you.”

  She cupped his head in her hands, forcing him back. He was shocked to see tears welling in her eyes.

  “I need you, too. I need you not to be running around London after that arse Lionel. I need you not to get yourself killed for no reason other than male pride.”

  “It’s not what you think. Trust me, I wasn’t in any real danger tonight. I had everything under control.” Mostly.

  Of course, being Gwyn, she fixed on the wrong part. “You weren’t in ‘real danger tonight’? I didn’t know you were going to be in any danger at all! And you got that wound on your head somehow.”

  “I did. You’re right.” Shoving away from the door, he took his cane in one hand and her hand in the other and led her over to the settee.

  He should probably tell her something. Fitzgerald hadn’t forbidden it, although Joshua would imagine the man didn’t wish him to reveal all to her either. But if they were to marry, she had a right to know what her husband had decided to do with his future. Their future.

  She sat down warily. “Does this have to do with the pistol in your coat?”

  “It does.” He rubbed his chin, trying to figure out how much to say. “You see, I’ve been offered a post with the War Office that doesn’t involve going back into battle.”

  “That’s wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I mean, it is, isn’t it?”

  “It is.”

  “But how . . . when . . .”

  That part was tricky. “I suppose I should have said something to you before, but I didn’t come to London just to be your bodyguard.” He told her what his plans had been, and how the War Secretary had thwarted them.

  To his surprise, she was irate on his behalf. “Not that I would wish you to return to the war, but he was wrong about your capabilities. You are as capable as any man I know, if not more so.”

  He smiled. When was the last time any woman had championed him, believed in him, other than his sister? “As it happens, the undersecretary agrees with you. Mr. Fitzgerald has offered me a position that . . . well . . . makes more use of my brain than my brawn.”

  She turned skeptical. “Then how did you get hurt?”

  “It turned out that I needed to use my brawn to get out of a situation that my brain got me into.” He began pacing. “In any case, this post means I’d be living in London most of the time from now on. How would you feel about that? If we married, I mean.”

  “I would love it. Most of my family is here, and eventually Mama might prefer to be here. Besides which, I grew up in Berlin. I’m more comfortable in cities than in the country.” She cocked her head. “But wouldn’t London be difficult for you, with all the noise and bustle?”

  “Believe it or not, no.” He strove to figure out how to put everything into words. “It’s odd, really. I always thought that because loud noises sparked my . . . memories of the war, I should live somewhere quiet and secluded, where I wasn’t likely to encounter them.”

  “Like Sanforth.”

  “Exactly.” He faced her. “But I think I was wrong. The constant noise of London actually masks the kind of sounds to which I generally react.”

  She smiled. “Like this afternoon, when that hammering made you jump, but not react nearly as dramatically as in Cambridge.”

  “Today was a different matter entirely. That was all you, dearling. You . . . calmed me somehow.”

  “Yes, but I assume your new post means I can’t always be with you,” she said anxiously.

  “That’s true. But I am calmer just knowing you are there for me at the end of the day. And I’m hopeful that . . . my reactions will lessen now that I’m to live somewhere, well, for lack of a better word, noisy. All I can do is try.”

  “Right.” She gazed down at her hands. “So, um, this post had something to do with why you were hurt tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why did you say it involved Lionel?”

  “Because it did. It does.” He dragged in a heavy breath. “He’s up to more mischief than anyone realized, though my employer recognized it and sent me . . . after him. But I can’t tell you more than that.”

  Lifting her gaze to him, she sighed. “So this post will require a great deal of secrecy, I assume.”

  “I’m afraid so. Just know that it allows me to work on behalf of my country. I’ll tell you however much the War Office allows, but I may not always be able to reveal the whole matter. You won’t be able to let anyone know for whom I work. I probably shouldn’t even be telling you, but I figure if any woman can hold her own secrets for as many years as you have, you won’t have any trouble keeping mine.”

  He sat down next to her on the settee. �
��The good part of this, however, is that the post will put me back on full pay and enable me—us—to live more comfortably than we might on the Armitage estate.”

  She eyed him askance. “I should hope that my dowry will enable us to live comfortably.” When he narrowed his gaze on her, she added hastily, “Assuming that we do end up married, which is by no means certain.”

  “Right.” But he took heart in the fact that she was talking about it as if it might happen. “Whatever you wish to do with your dowry is fine with me. You can dictate what you want for the settlement. If you’d prefer to keep your money and use it for our children—”

  “And if we don’t have children?” she whispered.

  “Then you can spend it however you please.”

  She nodded, her mind clearly wandering elsewhere. After a moment, she noticed he was watching her closely, and she forced a smile. “So . . . exactly how dangerous will this post be?”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure yet.” He took her hand in his. “But I can almost certainly say it was nothing to what I went through on the battlefield.”

  “How would I know?” she said.

  In that moment, he realized he would never have her in his life if he didn’t let her into his life. He might not be able to tell her about the spying, but there were things she wanted to know that he could reveal.

  “You wouldn’t know. Which is why I’m going to tell you how I was wounded in the marines. And then show you how I was wounded in the marines. If you think you can stomach it.”

  She looked startled, then earnest. “I can, I swear.” She brought his hand up to her lips and kissed it. “You can trust me.”

  When she’d said that earlier, he’d had trouble believing her. But now he stared at her, his heart in his throat. “I know.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Did he truly? Because if he did know, then she had to be equally honest with him. Trust him. And that frightened the very devil out of her.