“That’s better than I’d hoped for,” Wolverstone said. “Whoever we send down next will have a decent foundation from which to start.”
Melville frowned. “We should get the Foreign Office to recall Holbrook at once.”
“No.” Wolverstone’s negation was as cold as iron and equally inflexible.
Melville’s frown turned perplexed. “But if they get him back here, his wife will come, too, and even if Holbrook himself is oblivious to what’s been going on under his nose, we’ll be able to question his lady and learn a lot more.” Melville stared at Wolverstone. “Why wouldn’t we have him recalled?”
“Because as things stand,” Wolverstone replied, “that won’t advance our cause and, instead, may cause irreparable harm. Consider—it’s been thirteen days since Lady Holbrook tried to have Lady Edwina abducted and Frobisher seized her back. By the time any packet reaches Freetown, do you honestly believe Lady Holbrook will still be there?”
Melville blinked. “You think she’ll have vanished, too?”
“No. I think that, when our next operative arrives in Freetown, he’ll find one of two situations at the governor’s house. If Holbrook is as guilty as his wife, they will both have departed, most likely taking ship for the New World, leaving some excuse like a family emergency or similar to cover their tracks, at least long enough for them to leave. Alternatively, if Holbrook has been, as you say, oblivious, then he will still be there, alone, having waved his wife off on a similarly justified jaunt.” Wolverstone met Melville’s gaze. “Of one thing I am quite certain. By the time any communication reaches Freetown, Lady Holbrook won’t be there.”
Wolverstone paused, then continued, “Now consider what our villains’ current view will be. Regardless of whether Holbrook and his wife manufactured some story and decamped together or her ladyship fled on her own, I guarantee the villains will have no inkling that anything is amiss. Whatever the story spread to cover Lady Holbrook’s departure, with or without her husband, there will be nothing in it to alert or alarm anyone. If the villains asked about Lady Edwina, to save her own skin, Lady Holbrook will have downplayed and dismissed Lady Edwina’s importance and the potential ramifications—and if she’s dealing with the likes of Undoto, who is there to gainsay her? Thus, at present, the villains know only that their people were called on to take a lady from the governor’s house, but after an armed clash, she was rescued by sailors, and they and she left Freetown. Regrettable, but nothing to cause any major alarm. Subsequently, but entirely unconnectedly, the governor’s wife, with or without the governor, was called away on a family emergency.”
Wolverstone regarded Melville evenly. “Neither the Holbrooks, nor the villains, nor anyone else in Freetown knows Frobisher as anything other than a trading ship’s captain and sometime explorer. They know even less of Lady Edwina—she was a tonnish noble lady passing through, nothing more. As far as I can see, the villains have no reason to think that an official investigation is being focused on them. Which is exactly what we need.”
He paused, then, his voice growing colder, went on, “Against that backdrop, whether Holbrook is in Freetown or not, if he’s recalled, the order will cause an instant scandal that will spread like wildfire throughout the settlement and immediately alert the villains that official attention has been engaged. What will the villains then do?”
Into the ensuing silence, Edwina said, “They may very well kill the people they’ve taken—men, women, and children.”
“Precisely.” Wolverstone inclined his head to her, then refocused his steely gaze on Melville. “That, regardless of all other considerations, is the outcome we must strive to avoid. Thus far, as Frobisher’s commendably thorough reconnaissance has shown, there is no evidence that any of the missing people have been killed. We must do nothing to jeopardize their safety.”
After a moment of studying the obviously frustrated Melville, Wolverstone stated, “As a member of His Majesty’s government, you are, with others, responsible for managing the situation in Freetown. However, any solution to the problem cannot involve sacrificing innocent lives. After all, innocents are the ones we—all of us—are, in one way or another, committed to protect.” After an instant’s pause, Wolverstone continued, “And I hardly need remind you that in the wake of the Black Cobra, any further slaughter of innocents—and in this case, they are British—will not go down well with the public.”
Along with Wolverstone, Minerva, Edwina, and Declan all looked at Melville and waited.
The First Lord all but squirmed; the temptation to seize the moment and be seen to act decisively—and publicly—clearly called to his politician’s soul, but eventually, he grimaced and rather petulantly said, “Very well. So if we can’t recall Holbrook, what do you suggest?”
Declan switched his gaze to Wolverstone.
His ex-commander did not let him down. “I propose that we send a second operative to Freetown immediately, with orders similar to those we gave Frobisher, but our new man will be starting his investigation at a point further along the villains’ enterprise. While our ultimate aim must be to rescue those missing and shut down this scheme, whatever it is, the next step is, while maintaining all possible secrecy, to determine how those missing were taken or, alternatively, who took them. I suspect that learning where or why they’ve been taken will come after we answer the previous questions.” Wolverstone glanced at Declan and arched a brow.
Declan nodded. “That would be the direction I would advise.”
“Excellent.” Several seconds ticked past, then Wolverstone rose.
Everyone else came to their feet.
Wolverstone offered Declan his hand. “Thank you.” As Declan gripped and they shook hands, Wolverstone continued, “Your mission is complete. Your contribution in this matter is, as always, greatly appreciated.” Wolverstone released Declan, turned to Edwina, and smiled. “As is the very real contribution made by Lady Edwina.”
Edwina returned Wolverstone’s smile, curtsied, then made her farewells to Minerva and Melville, and accepted Declan’s arm. Wolverstone accompanied them as they walked to the door.
As Wolverstone reached for the doorknob, Edwina asked, “So you will be sending someone down to pick up where we left off?”
Wolverstone met her gaze and smiled a smile that was as intent as she could have wished. “Indeed. Just as soon as I can lay my hands on a suitably qualified and able soul.”
“When you find him,” Declan said, “we would be happy to give him a more detailed description of the settlement and its dangers.” He met Wolverstone’s gaze. “Anything to make his road easier and hopefully successful.”
Wolverstone’s smiled deepened. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.” With a nod, he opened the door. “Rest assured he and I will be in touch.”
* * *
They returned to the house in Stanhope Street—shortly to be theirs—to a household delighted to have them home again.
Humphrey beamed in a most unbutlerlike way, and on being informed that they would be dining in, Mrs. King and Cook threw themselves into preparing a banquet fit for returning heroes.
Not that either Edwina or Declan gave any details over where they had been, much less what they had done, yet their satisfaction with their accomplishments and with each other was, apparently, obvious enough to infect their staff. Everyone went around with a smile on their face and a bounce in their step. Even Wilmot, who had been so relieved to see Edwina walk in the door that she’d promptly burst into tears, had recovered and was actually humming while she sorted and brushed Edwina’s clothes.
With her household happy and contentedly busy, Edwina seized an hour to indulge in a long soak in a bath scented with her favorite perfumed oil. Head back against the tub’s rim, she closed her eyes and let her memories of all they’d seen, all they’d been through—all they’d learned—rise and wash through her.
It was unarguably true that neither Declan nor she were the same people they had been when they’d lef
t London.
They’d grown and, like twining trees, they’d grown together.
Satisfaction, contentment, and quiet joy rose and wrapped around her like steam. She lay back, eyes closed, and let the emotions sink into her heart, into her bones, into her very soul.
* * *
Downstairs in the small library, Declan sorted through his correspondence; for once, he felt happy to be home. To have time to savor the best of tonnish life with Edwina by his side, before they again set sail. He no longer doubted, let alone questioned, that “they.” She had proved herself a true adventurer’s wife, a perfect soulmate for him; she was intent on holding his hand as well as his heart, and somewhere during their voyage home he’d made peace with that.
They’d been absent for only four weeks; he found no startling news in the pile of letters—just the usual bills, two chatty letters from friends, and a note from his brother Robert. Dispatched from New York, the note stated that, as Robert would be sailing into the Pool of London to put the ambassador he’d been sent to ferry home ashore, he would call on Declan and Edwina in Stanhope Street.
Declan smiled in anticipation and made a mental note to warn Edwina. Judging by the date of the note, Robert would be arriving any day now.
He flicked through the letters again, then set them aside. As usual, his senses had yet to adjust to the fact that the floor did not pitch and tilt.
The door opened, and Edwina swept in, her pocket-Venus figure draped in cornflower-blue silk, her curls up and tumbling in artful disarray about her delicate face—and his senses stilled, then expanded like his heart.
He realized he was smiling in a witless fashion as he rose and, setting aside the letter knife, went to take her hand.
She smiled brilliantly up at him. “Good evening, dear husband. Are you busy?”
He opened his mouth to deny it, and the doorbell jangled.
Both he and she glanced at the door.
Then he cast her a questioning glance. “I thought we were dining alone.”
“So did…I.” Consciousness infused her expression. “Oh, dear. I sent word to Mama, and my brother and sisters.”
Declan inwardly sighed, stole a quick kiss from her rosy lips, then wound her arm in his and led her out to the front hall to meet the invading horde.
There was no hope of repelling them. Not only Lucasta and her companion, Anthea, but Millicent and Catervale, and Cassie and Elsbury were shrugging out of coats and handing over hats and canes in the hall. And in an appearance that underscored the fact that, despite Edwina’s recommendations not to worry, her family assuredly had, Lord Julian Delbraith and his wife, Miranda, had just arrived to join the fray.
It was chaos from the first—a joyous babel of questions and answers all offered at once. Hugs and kisses, handclasps, and claps on shoulders ensued, and exclamations and exhortations abounded; eventually, between them, he and Edwina succeeded in herding everyone into the drawing room.
Theirs wasn’t a large house, but no one minded the coziness, the closeness. It was the middle of the Season, and their visitors were dressed for the evening; they doubtless had events to attend later, but when Edwina slipped out—presumably to consult with Cook—then returned and issued an invitation for dinner, everyone accepted with alacrity.
After the first wave of questions—Were they well? Where had they been?—had been answered, everyone settled comfortably, and after swearing their visitors to secrecy, he and Edwina commenced their story.
Unlike their earlier report delivered at Wolverstone House, they started at the true beginning. Naturally, all the ladies approved of Edwina’s insistence on accompanying him on his mission and applauded her resourcefulness in devising how to successfully stow away, but his brothers-in-law were as horrified and as supportive as he might wish—and equally resigned to the inevitable outcome.
“So,” Edwina said, “we eventually sailed into Freetown harbor.”
She broke off as Humphrey entered to announce dinner.
They all rose and removed to the dining room, and at their visitors’ urging, he and Edwina immediately took up their tale. By mutual consent, carried in several glances shared down the length of the table, they skated over some of the more personal details, including her expectant state. Nevertheless, in the main, they described the situation as they’d found it, and their subsequent actions and discoveries, their conclusions, and the questions arising that remained to be answered.
Their recitation, unhurried and frequently interrupted by requests for descriptions or further elucidation, carried them through the five-course meal and back into the drawing room. No one even suggested that the ladies and gentlemen separate for the men to enjoy port and brandy—not in that company. The men had no intention of missing out on any revelations.
“So these poor people have been kidnapped, and as yet no search has been ordered?” Lucasta’s tone held censure of the sort only a dowager duchess could command.
“That’s correct.” Declan glanced at the others. “That’s essentially the wrong we’ve started to put right. We’ve done the groundwork, establishing the need for a full-scale, albeit secret, investigation. Whoever is sent in next will commence the search proper, but they’ll have to tread warily. The last thing we want is for the kidnappers to kill their captives in order to cover their tracks.”
Sober looks and nods of grim understanding were exchanged.
Melville would most likely have an apoplexy over such openness, but Declan had no qualms about revealing such details; this was a company who knew how to keep secrets.
This was family.
Finally satisfied that their tale was fully told, the company moved on, and the talk turned to the social highlights they’d missed while out of town. Declan glanced around again, taking in the expressions—relaxed, animated, openly reflecting interest and concern, connection, and affection—and realized that this was one of the very best aspects of tonnish life. Family. A home. And a wife to call his own.
More, a wife who was delighted and determined to go adventuring with him.
And their first child was on the way.
He couldn’t ask for more; there wasn’t anything more he wanted.
Eventually, their visitors recalled their evening’s engagements; with hugs and kisses, they took their leave. The ladies arranged to meet for morning tea at Catervale House. The gentlemen shook hands and agreed to meet in Dolphin Square the following afternoon, the better to discuss several investment prospects Julian had stumbled upon in more conducive surrounds.
At last, when they’d waved everyone away and Humphrey had shut the door, Edwina heaved a huge but transparently happy sigh. She met Declan’s gaze and smiled a touch wearily. “I love them all, yet I’m glad they’ve gone.”
He held out his hand, palm up. “It’s been a very long day. You were up before dawn.”
“I was, wasn’t I?” She slipped her fingers into his hand. “That said, I’m glad I didn’t forgo the chance to see dawn break over the Solent.”
He turned her to the stairs.
Side by side, they started to climb.
Then she shot a sidelong look his way. “Even though I’ll doubtless see it many times more in my life—”
He had to grin.
Her chin lifted challengingly. “—the first time deserves a special place in my memories.”
He reached for the knob of their bedroom door, sent it swinging wide, and met her gaze. “Indubitably.”
Her smile was glorious, lighting her eyes, illuminating her expression.
Lighting up and brightening—gilding—his life.
She was his lodestone, the fire on the cliffs that would always lead him to safe harbor. But she was also a star burning brightly in the firmament of his heaven, her light striking to his soul; with her commitment to travel with him, she would always be there to guide him over the seas, through the shoals of the ton, safely home to the house they would find in the country, to the children they would have, to th
e hearth they would call their own.
With her by his side, he would never lose his way.
In her, he’d found his ultimate adventure.
With a smile in her eyes and curving her rosy lips, she walked backward into the room, her hand still in his, drawing him with her. He pushed the door shut and let her lead him on.
Into her arms. Into their bed.
Into their own special heaven.
Clothes were shed and fell, landing where they would.
Discarded as they stripped themselves bare.
As they came together with no barriers between—neither on the physical plane nor on that plane where their hearts dwelled.
Their lovemaking had changed over the past days. The intensity was still there, still acute, yet was no longer so shocking. The urgency had eased, allowing them time to savor, to appreciate every last gasp, every kiss. Every trembling touch, every arching moan, every driven, demanding caress.
That she was carrying his child—that in fact they were three and no longer just two—fascinated him. The barely detectable rounding of her stomach was a consuming delight.
As for her…he couldn’t comprehend how just four weeks could have so matured her, yet her confidence—in him, in herself, in them together—now infused every action. Every touch, every look, every bold word. And here, in their bed, her newfound assurance combined with his self-confidence and expertise to elevate their play, to extend it and the connection it carried into realms he’d never previously breached.
Into realms that touched, then forged their souls.
Into one. As one.
Desire surged. Passion whipped.
Pleasure rose at their command. They let it roll on, over and through them, until it rose in a towering wave and broke over them.
Ecstasy followed, sharp and bright, then waned into fathomless satiation.
The Lady's Command (Adventurers Quartet #1) Page 24