by Joan Vincent
“I know,” Quentin agreed. “Dine with us.” He turned to the baron. “Will you stay for supper?”
De la Croix answered with a flourish. “I am at your command.”
Eyeing the gesture, Quentin questioned not for the first time why this young man took such pains to appear an exasperating fop. But despite the fragile air his clothing and his manner attested to, André had proven a bruising rider.
Quentin motioned his father to go before them. “My thanks for your assistance, de la Croix. Mine as well as that of my wife and her family. I regret you have not been given the opportunity to explain why you called. Perhaps you can do so now.”
André flashed a disarming smile. During the cursory introductions exchanged before the desperate hunt for the Vincouer children, he had been surprised to find the older gentleman introduced as Viscount Broyal. He was still certain the son was the true viscount and wondered at the apparent deception of even the major’s bride.
“I understood I would find a gentleman whose acquaintance was recommended to me. One who had served in the 15th Hussars in Spain.” He paused then chuckled at the pretence of Quentin’s quizzical look. “And so I have, n’est-ce pas?”
The light from the opening front door ended the conversation. Seeing two women in the doorway, Quentin hurried past his father. He met Maddie’s anguished gaze with one of deep regret.
“We have been unsuccessful, but take heart. I am certain we will hear demands from whoever has taken them.” He gave Maddie’s hand a comforting squeeze. “Captain Medworth will bring a troop to help with the search on the morrow. We shall get them back.”
Miss Benton sniffed at Maddie’s side. “Of—of course you—shall,” she said bravely but continued twisting her handkerchief. “That is very good of the captain.”
Quentin made the introductions. “Is there a room where the baron may refresh himself? I have asked him and Mr. Lundin to dine.”
“Oh, we are seven—no, eight to dine then? Oh, dear, I must see that plates are added,” Aunt Prissy stammered, flustered. “As to a room, well, a tiny one remains unoccupied.” She ran her eye over the dusty, but still elegant attire of the fine gentleman. “I do not think—”
Maddie pulled free of Quentin and laid her hand on her aunt’s arm. “There is a larger room available.” Embarrassment coloured her cheeks. “My—my old room." Maddie turned to Quentin, her colour high. “When shall we dine Mr. Broyal—Quentin?”
Maddie in his bed. Quentin swallowed hard, tried to assume nonchalance. He pulled a number from the air. “In twenty or thirty minutes. If that will suit.”
“Maves, show the baron to my former chamber,” Maddie instructed. She avoided her husband gaze.
“My lord,” she dipped a hint of a curtsy to Margonaut. “Thank you for your assistance this day. You will find everything necessary to refresh yourself in your room.”
The earl took her hand and raised it to his lips. “My dear, I am so very sorry. Please do not give up hope.” He brushed her cheek with a kiss.
“Only thirty minutes before we dine, eh?” the earl quipped to his son. He winked. “Ahh, to be young again,” Margonaut teased. “Excuse me,” he bowed and trod up the stairs.
Daring to raise her gaze to her husband’s, Maddie asked, “May I speak with you—while—while you wash?”
“Of course,” Quentin told her. He put his hand to the small of her back and pressed her toward the stairs before she could notice the sudden curious smiles. When they entered her father’s chamber, now theirs, he stopped Maddie. “I regret our wedding has been overshadowed by such a harrowing event. I will do my best to discover where they have been taken.”
Maddie paled. She nodded and hurried to light the candles on the closest dresser. “You must be tired.”
Quentin unfastened the buttons of his jacket. “I have had much longer and harder rides.” He shucked out of it and tossed it onto a chair by the dressing room door. “You mentioned a warning earlier.”
“Yes,” Maddie answered. She sat on the side of the bed nearest the dressing room. “If only I had told Sanford and Aunt Ermintrude to go to the devil,” she swore. “But I dared not speak in front of them. They would have guessed about Father and I did not believe—”
Quentin sat beside Maddie and enfolded her in his arms. He pressed her head to his chest. “It’s all right,” he soothed, dropping a kiss on her hair. “Tell me about the warning.”
Maddie poured out the tale to his shirtfront. When she finished, she breathed deeply. Her senses were inundated with the intoxicating scent of her man—leather, horse, and bay rum. But more overwhelming was his heart’s steady strong thump beneath her ear. Her fear for Malcolm and Jessamine remained, but a great calm filled her. She was stronger with Quentin at her side.
Raising her head, Maddie looked into her husband’s eyes. There was no question or disappointment, only concern. She put her head back against his chest and wrapped her arms about his waist.
Gladdened more than he thought possible, Quentin dropped another kiss on her hair. Regretting there could be no more than that, he eased her back. “I must change if we are not to be late.”
His sudden grin warmed Maddie. She motioned to the bowl and pitcher on the low dresser. “Wash while I get you a fresh shirt.” Coming out of the dressing room with one in hand, she asked, “Was there no sign of them?”
“We found Jessamine’s handkerchief a mile from here.” He put his arms in the sleeves when she held up the shirt and drew it over his head. “But little else. They must to be close, though.” Quentin looked at his bride while he buttoned the placket. He willed his mind away from his desire and to her concerns. “You’ve no idea why this person didn’t want your father’s death discovered?”
“I have thought and thought about it but it makes no sense that it could matter to anyone but family,” Maddie said from the dressing room. She came out with a cravat over her arm and a jacket Jenks had brought. “I don’t know how this person could have known Father died, let alone fathom his request that it remain hidden. Do you any idea?”
“I may,” Quentin answered accepting the cravat she lifted from her arm. He went to the mirror and fashioned a simple knot. “I will tell you later this eve.”
* * *
Supper proved a trying affair for everyone save de la Croix. He played to Ermintrude’s vanity and off of Sanford’s animosity. He even teased a smile from shy Agatha. André was in the middle of a monologue on an endless list of accoutrements necessary to a gentleman’s wardrobe when Maves’ wavering shout reached the dining room. A second stronger call for assistance brought the gentlemen to their feet.
Quentin reached the entry hall first. He found Maves bent over a prone figure. Recognizing the white tuft of hair with profound relief and then chilled by fear, he went down on one knee beside the butler. When he turned Jenks over, several gasps echoed behind him at the sight of the battered face and the mangled, bleeding hand.
Moaning, the batman drew in a ragged breath and opened his eyes. He pawed at Quentin’s jacket with his good hand. “Didn’t give ‘way the jib,” he whispered and collapsed.
Rising with Jenks in his arms, Quentin looked to Maddie for direction.
“Maves, show Mr.—my husband to the small room beside the nursery,” she instructed.
“I’ll come up in a moment with water and bandages,” she told Quentin before turning to go to the kitchens. When she saw Corrie gaping in the corridor, she gave the cook instructions to heat water and bring it. With a word to Aunt Prissy to see to their guests, Maddie hurried up the stairs.
* * *
After listening to Jenks’ disjointed tale, Quentin left him in Maddie’s care and went downstairs. He spoke to Maves and then repaired to the office where the others awaited him. When he walked in, the three men around the desk looked at him expectantly.
“I had Maves take Sanford a fresh bottle. He will not disturb us,” Quentin told them.
De la Croix stood between t
he earl and Lundin. “Was your man able to tell you anything of moment?”
Quentin tugged on his ear. “You must forgive my Jack Straw manners, my lord, but I feel it necessary for everyone’s safety to ask who you are.”
André fluttered his quizzing glass up to his eye and drew himself up. “Mon Dieu, my lord,” he looked askance, “that is a little like arguing the difference between a cook and a chef.” A grin spread across his suddenly boyish face. “I am told by a most reliable source that Viscount Broyal is a fine young man.
Maves stared at Quentin. “I’ll be gaffed,” he said in astonishment. The butler looked from Quentin to the earl. “Who are you if this is the viscount?” he asked Margonaut.
The earl remained silent, his gaze on his son.
Quentin held his gaze on André.
When the young man shrugged and then reached inside his coat, the earl and Lundin each grabbed for an arm.
“Messieurs,” de la Crois protested. “It is only a letter of introduction from my lord Castlereagh.”
Keeping hold of his arm, Lundin withdrew the sealed missive from André’s jacket. He scanned the seal and released him. “Sorry, my lord,” he said as he handed it to Quentin.
Quickly reading the letter, Quentin flexed his jaw. “My lord,” he bowed to the baron. “I have the honour of presenting my father, the Earl of Margonaut.” With his father’s title pronounced he bowed to the earl, then smiled ruefully. “That, gentlemen, must be the last time my father will be thus addressed until this business is done.”
Maves let out a huge sigh. “Miss Maddie. A lady. How our stars have risen.”
“Won’t she be surprised,” Lundin grinned. “I’m that glad I don’t have the telling of it.” He winked at the earl. “Not to say your new daughter isn’t biddable, my lord, but—”
“We are short of time, gentlemen,” Quentin interrupted. “Suffice it to say both the baron and I work for the government.
“Jenks has told me I am to keep my appointment at midnight. That leaves us little time to plan what we are to do.
“Did you bring the map of the area?” At the steward’s nod he said, “Let’s see it.”
After they discussed the options, Quentin laid out a campaign for the eve and the morrow. When they finished, Lundin and Maves withdrew.
When Quentin made to leave, the earl took hold his arm. “Take great care. These men are dangerous.” He dropped his hand and hurried away.
Quentin watched him. The children’s abduction had reminded him of his great sense of loss upon Thomas’ death. He now comprehended a little better the agony it had caused his father and probably still did. With the intent to explain and apologize, he moved to follow the earl, but was halted by André.
“Did your batman mention the name Tarrant at any time?” the baron asked, his hope undisguised.
“Jenks said he overheard his torturer jest about a man by that name. He understood he had killed him,” Quentin ended.
A stark grimness washed across de la Croix’s features. “Can he recognize this man?”
“No, but he heard him called Letu,” Broyal told him.
“Bon.” The baron flashed a cold smile.
The word sounded like a curse to Quentin; the smile boded well for no one. “Before you go after him, we must get the children back.”
André gave a peremptory nod. “Now if only your man had overheard something about the gold.” He waved at the dawning comprehension that crossed Quentin’s features.
“Tarrant and I were tracking those responsible for the theft of government gold.” Seeing something more than understanding, he asked, “Yes? Do you know what has become of it?”
Quentin strode to the desk and began to open and shut drawers. “I do if it is in the form of ingots.” In the bottom drawer he shuffled aside some papers. “Here is one.” He drew out the ingot Lundin had brought to him and handed it to the baron. “Is this what you seek?”
André excitedly turned the heavy object over in his hands. “Where did you find it? Do you have the rest?”
“No, all of it was taken at the same time as Jenks.”
“Just where was he taken from?” André began.
Quentin held up a hand. “It is a very long story and I am not free to tell it. The gold was in a place the thieves thought safe. Lundin believes they moved it on mules. I doubt they’ve gone far with it.”
“No, they would not have,” André agreed. “I imagine a sloop will be coming from France to collect it.”
“But not tonight.” Quentin motioned to the windows. Lightning flashed and rain beat against them. “I had best take leave of my wife.” He smiled broadly.
De la Croix glanced at the wall clock. “There is not much time. If you take too long, I will be forced to fetch you, newly wed or not.” He chuckled at the other’s discomfiture but his face took on an altogether different look after Quentin withdrew. He stared out at the storm.
“Hadleigh, mon frère,” he swore, “you shall be avenged.”
* * *
Maddie stood before the balcony’s double doors. Lightning slashed the sky and a fierce wind whipped the trees. Rain beat against the doors and windows. It was a wild restless night. It fit her uncertain mood. Somewhere in the house a clock chimed eleven. What can they be doing? Maddie mused.
Everything about the day was unreal. A funeral. A wedding. An abduction. She wondered if she closed her eyes and counted to ten, whether Malcolm and Jessamine would be home safe and the house empty of the strange menagerie of guests it now held. If she would still be wed.
Husband. She ran the word over her tongue, across her mind, and through her imagination. She thought of his lips on hers and hugged herself.
Images of Jessamine and Malcolm intruded. Maddie shivered with fear and guilt. She had not kept them safe.
A booming peal of thunder startled Maddie. Her heart leaped into her throat when the chamber door opened.
Quentin halted just a few inches behind her. “You should be asleep.”
Hearing the tension that underlined his words, Maddie was reluctant to question him. But concern for Jessie and Malcolm demanded she do so. She slowly turned and faced him. “You said you would tell me everything.”
Neither any longer noticed the lightning or the thunder outside the room. The air crackled between them. The day’s sorrows and terrors sharpened their awareness of each other. They stepped forward at the same moment.
Intentions to comfort dissolved into mutual need that overwhelmed all constraint. Their lips clung; their tongues tangled.
Maddie pulled Quentin to her. When he caressed her back and pulled her hips against his groin, a moan of longing hummed in her throat. She pressed her breasts into the solidness of his chest, thrilled at the ripple of the muscles beneath his shirt.
Off balance, they swayed; their lips parted. Quentin fumbled with the tie of her robe. Maddie tugged his shirt from his breeches and pushed it up.
Her eyes widened when her hands found bare skin and began to rove across the terrain of his torso. Maddie marvelled at how his muscles twitched beneath her hands. She found only the thin lawn of her nightdress separated them. She arched her back when he brushed his hand across her breast.
With a growl, Quentin propelled her backwards to the bed; fell with her onto it. Their lips surged across each other’s; their hands explored with frenetic eagerness.
Little by little they became aware that a persistent knocking was more than the pounding of their hearts. The discipline of his years of military training enabled Quentin to pull back first. He lay still for a moment, savoured her willing body beneath his.
Maddie watched her husband’s eyes narrow with regret. She put her hand to his when he caressed her cheek.
Letting his eyes speak to her, he called out, “I’ll be there in a moment. Go back down and wait.” Quentin rolled to his side, pulling her with him. “I only meant to come and reassure you,” he told her. “You heard Jenks. You understand why I must go?”
Maddie nodded.
“We are certain the information I seek is somehow tied up with Malcolm and Jessamine. If we can capture this man—”
“Please take care,” she said as he rose from the bed. His warmth withdrew; deep loss rushed to fill its place. “I—I couldn’t bear to lose all three of you.”
“You will not,” Quentin promised as he tucked in his shirt. He pressed a quick kiss on her brow. “De la Croix is much more than he appears. He shall keep me safe.” With that he turned, and left.
The same helplessness that had haunted Maddie during her father’s illness descended upon her with too familiar a lurch as she lay back on the bed. It swept away all other sensations. She clutched a pillow. “He will come back,” she whispered as tears began to course down her cheeks. “They will be found.”
At a knock on the door, she swiped away her tears.
Pricilla poked her head around the door. Seeing Maddie’s reddened and tear-stained face she hurried to her. “Oh, my dear.” She kissed Maddie’s forehead. “It has been both a wonderful and a dreadful day for you.” She sat and pressed a small glass into Maddie’s hand. “This will make you more easy.”
Maddie stared at it. “What is it?”
“A simple tisane to relax you,” Aunt Prissy assured her, without any guilt at the falsehood. The laudanum in the drink would sooth as well as provide her exhausted niece a good night’s rest. She watched until Maddie drank it all down.
Chapter Twenty
May 30th Midnight Tuesday Morning
Quentin drew Perseus to a halt a few feet from the burnt forked tree on the road to Folkestone. He slipped from the saddle, untied his oiled cape, and then draped it over Perseus’ withers. Somewhere in the darkness he knew de la Croix watched him and waited to follow the Frenchman to his lair.
Uneasy, Quentin was glad the tree was broad enough to cover his back. Settling against it, he touched the pistol in his waistband.
The minutes dragged. Only faint slashes of lightning now appeared in the distance. Vedette duty had never been a favourite of Quentin’s, but long stints of watch early in his cavalry years had honed his ears and eyes. He spotted the man moving towards him before the other became aware of him.