Four weeks later, knees shaking, stomach filled with butterflies, arms filled with flowers, Poppy Edgewood made her way down the aisle of the church at Parkerton, Fritz leading her proudly in place of her father, who sent his regrets, as did most of her family.
Violet was here, though, and they had spent the entire night before laughing and becoming reacquainted as sisters and friends.
She didn’t mind. After all, she had Alex, and his family was just as small as hers.
Well, he had Gabe, anyway, and Gabe had Amelia and little Alex, and for some reason, they had gained Gabe’s aunt Geraldine as their own. It was an utter mess, but it still felt more a family to her than hers had ever truly been.
She was content with this, and now she would be Lady Parkerton.
What a thought.
Faintly, her mind whirled back over the last few weeks as they had prepared for this moment, as she and Alex had worked tirelessly on restoring Parkerton into some sort of livable home, filled it with staff, with furniture, with all the trimmings a great house needed, yet still there was more to do. But now it would be her home, and she could take the time to do things however she liked.
Alex wouldn’t care. Alex didn’t care. He just wanted her to live there with him and said he could endure anything else.
She doubted that, but he had said so…
She looked up towards the front of the church now, and Alex defied tradition by turning to watch her come, making her heart seize up in her chest.
The last few weeks had been wonderful for them both, but it had certainly brought a significant change in Alex. Gone was the gaunt man from her doorstep, gone was the slender man with shadows. In his place was a robust, healthy, magnificently built man who had learned once more how to smile in the way that had always made her forget her thoughts.
She saw his broad chest catch, saw his eyes dart over every inch of her in the lace covered gown she had refused to let him see, saw the way those eyes darkened when they returned to hers.
And that smile…
That was the man she remembered. Only now she knew him on a much deeper level, knew his secrets and his shadows, and he knew hers, and they loved each other all the better for it.
She knew he wasn’t the same man. He was better. He was more.
And damn it all, he was hers.
Epilogue
“There was no hope. They were entirely surrounded, outnumbered, outgunned, and outmaneuvered. The enemy was advancing. All of them were injured, and any number of them could have died at any moment. There was no help at hand, no reinforcements to save them, no more moves to make. It was the end of the line for all of them. Every single one. Except…”
Wide eyes stared back at the storyteller with bated breath and riveted attention.
“There was something else to do. Something none of them had thought of, and no one would dream of. But Trace knew what he had to do. He ran down the dock, abandoning his friends and comrades, leapt aboard the enemy’s ship, and severed the lines tying her in port. Away she sailed, catching the tide, and leaving the injured members of the League behind. Valiantly, Trace fought, even more outnumbered than before, until finally, the dastardly captain stabbed him, the sounds of his death ringing in the silent night of London’s east docks.”
A whimper broke the story, and Alexander Sommerville, Lord Parkerton, hushed his infant son, rocking him a little and smiling gently.
“No, no, it’s all right, son,” he insisted, running a finger along the plump cheek. “He wasn’t really dead. He was presumed dead, and who could blame them for thinking so? Trace was very much alive.”
The sounds of distress faded and young Anthony Gabriel Sommerville nestled up against his father’s chest, eyelids drooping with the swaying.
“He was alive,” Alex went on in a much softer voice. “But at the mercy of his captors. They tried to break him, tortured him and forced him into slave labor, made him forget who he was and what he had been. But Trace wouldn’t break, wouldn’t even bend. He was too strong for them, and when they least suspected it, he escaped…”
Memories and feelings rose up in Alex and he faded off, shaking his head as he rocked his son.
It had been over a year since his escape and the docks at Liverpool, and still, they were sweeping up the pieces from it. The Faction was still in operation and more conniving than ever. He’d only returned a few hours ago from his latest mission, one of the more dangerous ones he’d engaged in since returning, but a successful one. Rook had been his partner for the operation, which had proved essential to its success, and the pair of them were becoming quite the powerful team. Rogue and Gent were quite jealous of it and strove to match them, when situations allowed for pairs.
Rook and Alex were convinced they never would come close, and they had considered putting certain measures in place to ensure that.
Cap didn’t need to know those things, though.
Alex looked around the room, smiling to himself. The nursery had barely been completed in time for Anthony’s arrival, but that was the way things had turned out in Parkerton Lodge. There was always something to update and see to, even though they had done a fine job of restoring it. Finally, they were reaching the point where Poppy could start redoing rooms for pleasure and not out of necessity. She insisted that she had no intention of doing so, but he’d seen her eyeing the ballroom with speculation after their last ball, and he knew it wouldn’t be long in coming. Despite their years away from finery, they had both adjusted to its return quite handily, and while they still owned the farm on the Branbury estate and occasionally went to work it, they were quite content to leave it to the tenants to see to.
Tailor had kept Branbury and visited when London became too oppressive, but he seemed to enjoy being the anomaly of Moulton society and kept his distance.
Having an operative for a solicitor seemed to work quite well for Tailor, though he refused to tell Alex who it was.
He was close to discovering the truth for himself, though.
He could hardly believe that his life was his own, as it was. Life with Poppy had been a heaven beyond his wildest dreams, and she was the perfect wife and companion for him. She kept him grounded and steady, brought him back from the abyss when he went too far, and made him the man he had always wanted to be for her. He hadn’t thought he could love her any more than he had the day they married, but when she had borne their son a few months ago, he found his heart expanded and magnified, filled to the brim with her and for her, and somehow, still had the whole of it to bestow on his new son.
His son, who was already brilliant and destined to be the greatest of all the League male offspring including Cap’s sons, Gent’s boy, and Alex’s own godson and namesake.
There was nothing to humble and terrify a man like becoming a father, but it was the greatest, grandest adventure Alex could have asked for, and nighttime stories such as these would only get better as his son grew old enough to properly appreciate it.
Though, granted, the details would have to grow more muddled as time went on.
No matter.
“He escaped,” Alex finally went on, taking his son’s sleepily flailing hand in his own, “and though he was badly injured and very weak, he ran. Faster than lightning, quiet as the night, he ran across two counties. He borrowed food and horses and fresh clothing, slept during the day, and rode or ran like the devil in the night, until he came to his fair damsel’s house. She took care of him, tended him, loved him, until he was nearly whole. And then the enemy took her, evil villains that they were.”
Anthony made a soft cooing sound, and Alex smiled, kissing his hand quickly.
“Yes,” he told his son as though he had made a sound of distress at his tale. “They took her, and Trace refused to let the fair damsel be subjected to their evil designs. So, he mustered up men to ride after her, some of his old comrades joining in the pursuit, and they followed the enemy. Without fear or hesitation, they gave chase, knowing they had to be q
uick and sure. The plan was clear from the beginning, and they devised a cunning, exceptional plan to fool the enemy, save the damsel, and protect England from the underhanded schemes of the enemy. They charged the docks of Liverpool, swept aside forty of the most evil, dastardly pirates the world has ever known, and Trace freed the damsel, and then they all rode off into the sunset in grand, victorious style. England was saved, and they were all given great honors for their deeds, though none so great as Trace, whose damsel was so grateful, so delighted, so overcome with his actions in saving her that she…”
He trailed off at a sound behind him, then smiled as he glanced over his shoulder.
“That she agreed to take such an idiot to be her husband and has endured his antics with grace and patience ever since,” he finished sheepishly.
Soft, warm laughter met his ears, and a familiar pair of slender arms slid around his waist. “That’s my favorite part of the story,” Poppy murmured, resting her chin against his back. “The poor damsel must be a woman of great strength and courage to endure so much.”
“She is,” Alex told her, and his son. “The most remarkable woman in the world, and the most beautiful, compassionate, intelligent, understanding…”
Her hold around him tightened, and she laughed against him. “Now I know you’re making her up. No woman is that perfect.”
“I can assure you, Lady Parkerton,” he protested gently, “that Trace’s wife certainly is.”
She hummed another laugh, and laid her cheek against his bare back, sighing. “You didn’t stay in bed long. We haven’t even talked.”
Alex chuckled, still rocking his son a little. “You were more than half asleep when I came in. I did kiss you.”
“I think I remember that…” She made a soft sound of appreciation as she hugged herself closer. “How did it go? Did you find One?”
Alex shook his head, now staring out of the window. “No, we didn’t. Not a trace, ironically enough. Rook and I got into quite a bit of trouble, but nothing we couldn’t manage.” He exhaled roughly, his brow furrowing. “I don’t know where he is, or what’s happened, Poppy. None of us do. He’s just vanished into thin air.”
Poppy shifted against him, raising her chin again. “Does it remind you of your troubles?”
“No,” he told her softly. “Rook asked me the same thing, and so did Gabe. But no, it doesn’t, and everyone else feels the same way. This isn’t the same thing at all. They’re bringing in one of the girls from the Convent to look into it, but I don’t know what she’ll find.”
“Trust Cap and Milliner to take care of it,” Poppy insisted softly. “They’ll come to you if they need you, but One wasn’t just working with the League, was he?”
Again, Alex shook his head. “No, he came from Foreign Office, I think. We have resources to help, but no leads.” He sighed and leaned his head back against her. “You’re right, though.”
“Of course, I am,” she quipped, making him laugh. “But about what?”
“Cap and Milliner,” he retorted, snorting softly. “They clearly know more than we do, and I’m sure whoever they bring in will be able to build on what we’ve found and give it scope. I have to meet up with Janssen soon anyway and can’t possibly look for a missing clerk with all that going on.”
Poppy was silent for a long moment, then asked wryly, “Did you tell Anthony you took care of forty evil pirates?”
Alex lifted his head, shaking it firmly. “Absolutely not. I told him it was twenty-five, just as it was.”
“I thought it was fourteen and a handful.”
“You thought wrong.”
“And what honors were you given? I’m not aware of any.”
“Secret honors that the world can’t know about.”
“Naturally, and no doubt given in a secret ceremony with gracious thanks of a monarch.”
Alex smiled, trying not to laugh. “Two monarchs, actually. And a great many horns for a proper fanfare.”
“Must have been quite the sight.”
“It really was.”
Poppy hugged him close for a long moment. “I missed you, Alex,” she whispered. “So much.”
Alex bit back a groan. “I missed you, too, love. Always do.”
Her lips suddenly pressed into the center of his back, lingering.
He did groan now. “Don’t do that when I can’t hold you,” he begged her.
He could feel her smile against his skin, and then she did it again, her lips slowly leaving kisses along his spine.
His skin rippled in response. “Poppy…”
“Put the baby down and do something about it,” she told him in a coy tone.
Alex smiled slowly, loving his wife’s teasing, playful nature. “You want me to put down our son just to satisfy you?”
Poppy nuzzled his skin and kissed it again. “Who said anything about me? Besides, he’s asleep again.”
Alex looked down at the infant in his arms. “That’s my boy.” He stepped out of Poppy’s inviting embrace to put his son back in his bassinet, then stepped back towards her, waiting.
Poppy stifled a laugh, slowly wrapped her arms around him once more, then kissed his back again very tenderly.
This time, Alex turned and took her chin in hand, pressing a hot kiss to her full lips that drew a ragged gasp from her.
He grinned against her mouth, kissed her again, then picked her up in his arms and carried back to their bed, where he proceeded to do some very naughty things indeed.
And really, one could not expect much else from a spy.
About the Author
Rebecca Connolly has been creating stories since she was young, and there are home videos to prove it. She started writing them down in elementary school and has never looked back. She lives in Indiana, spends every spare moment away from her day job absorbed in her writing, and is a hot cocoa junkie.
Coming Soon
The London League
Book Six
“The end was just the beginning...”
by
Rebecca Connolly
Fall from Trace Page 29