Will dropped the toast onto its plate and pushed a hand through his hair. It didn’t make sense. He’d managed for so long without her. Why did his skin ache when he was apart from her? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? Why did he make excuses every day to leave his offices early so he could visit Stratford’s house? He’d never been a man to shirk his duties or make excuses… but he was becoming that man.
He’d begun to obsess about the reappearance of the man who’d captured her. Every day, when he rushed to Stratford’s house and after he made sure she’d managed without him for the past several hours, he surreptitiously stood guard over her. When he left at night, he couldn’t help but to remind the butler to check the locks before he retired, and he always took the time to scan the square before entering his carriage.
Will drank the dregs of his coffee and then set down his cup and stared at his half-eaten toast. If it was possible, Meg had become even more remote since they’d arrived in London. And she wasn’t remote only with him—her sisters had noticed it, too. She and Serena were always polite and kind to each other, but he’d seen them together eight years ago. He’d borne witness to their closeness, their understanding of every subtle nuance of each other, their way of communicating without speaking a word. That all seemed to be gone now—crumbled beneath the heavy weight of all that had happened to both of them.
The permanent bleakness that had overtaken Meg’s expression made his gut twist. He wanted her safe. He wanted her happy. Most of the time, both of those seemed unattainable goals.
He pushed back from the table, the chair legs scraping over the wooden floor. God, he was tied in knots. He wanted the old Meg back; he wanted to once more be the recipient of that smiling splash of sunshine that had been her personality.
She would hate it if he told her that.
Perhaps he was still pining for a ghost. With a sigh, he rose. His presence was required in his offices this morning. And even though he really needed to be there all day, he knew he’d end up leaving in the early afternoon to go to Stratford’s, just like he had every other day for the past fortnight.
He met his servant at the threshold of the breakfast room door as the man was raising his hand to knock.
“What is it, Dunn?”
“Mr. Briggs is at the door for you, sir.”
Concern froze him in place, his hand still on his chair. “Show him in.”
In a few moments, Briggs entered, and after Will offered him coffee and they were both seated at the table, Will frowned at him. “Where is the Freedom?”
“She’s in Plymouth, safe. MacInerny is sailing her to London as we speak, and she should arrive at St. Katharine’s Docks in a few days’ time.”
Briggs had well-honed intuition when it came to his captain’s preferences—one of the many attributes that made him an excellent first officer. He’d known that Will would want the Freedom close. Will blew out a breath. “Good.”
“We anchored in Plymouth Harbour day before yesterday,” Briggs continued. “I didn’t want to wait the length of time it would take for the Freedom to sail to London, so I took the mail coach.”
Will narrowed his eyes at his friend. “Why the hurry?”
Briggs shook his head. “Don’t worry, Captain. Nothing awful has happened. In fact, I received word that our pirate has left the area. And I did learn something else of importance: his name.”
“What is it?” Will asked.
“Caversham.”
“Caversham,” Will repeated slowly, testing it on his tongue for the first time. The name wasn’t familiar to him. “And how did you come by this information?”
“We encountered a fisherman—a Mr. Retallack—at Penzance, who’s had dealings with him and his crew. Doesn’t like the man, says the bastard’s black-hearted as they come, so he agreed to give us information in return for our assurance that he won’t be implicated in any wrongdoing.”
Will nodded. He would have made the same deal with the fisherman. The Cornish people had been so tight-lipped about their villain—out of fear of both sides, he’d wager—that he’d been growing desperate. “Did you learn Caversham’s given name? What he looks like?”
“He’s dark haired and of average build. Retallack could tell us little more than that, and we already knew that much, in any case.” Gripping his coffee cup in both hands, Briggs leaned close. “However, he did tell us that Caversham anchored in a cove near Penzance a week and a half ago. He dropped the remainder of his promised shipment there, rather than spreading the contraband along the coast, which Retallack confirmed is what he’s been doing. Caversham was in a hurry. He was searching for someone—one of the crew told the fisherman they were looking for ‘a kidnapper’ and were heading straightaway to Ireland. Seems he is Miss Donovan’s captor, and he’s looking for her.”
“And he’s Jake’s father,” Will murmured.
“Aye.”
Will sat still, allowing the information to sink in.
“The Freedom arrived in Penzance two days after Caversham pulled anchor and sailed north,” Briggs said. “We just missed them.”
“He’s looking for Meg.” Will rested his elbows on the table and bent his head into his hands, rubbing his forehead. “He’ll find her family in Ireland and learn she hasn’t appeared. He’ll either think she and the boy drowned in the storm or that she changed her mind and headed to England. You say he was in Penzance ten days ago?”
“Aye.”
“He’ll be in Ireland by now.”
“He’ll want his ship hidden, so he’ll choose to anchor it in some obscure place where nobody’s looking for him. Or somewhere busy where the vessel will be overlooked, like the port at Dublin.”
“So that gives us some time,” Will said. “How long before he comes sniffing for her in London?”
“I’d say it’ll be another fortnight, at least.”
Will nodded, then frowned. “But how did Caversham know she was headed for Ireland to begin with?”
“Good question,” Briggs said, then he gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Maybe she told him?”
Will looked at Briggs in disbelief. “That wouldn’t make any sense whatsoever. Good God, David, don’t tell me you are still suspicious of her.”
“It just seems odd to me that she’d run off with the man’s child.”
“She cares for the boy. She is trying to protect him, that is all. I don’t think anyone will disagree that Caversham is the bigger villain here.”
“And yet, she could be prosecuted as a kidnapper,” Briggs said. “That’s a hanging offense.”
Will ground his teeth. “I am aware of that. It is why I intend to protect her—and the boy—to the best of my ability until the man has been brought to justice.”
Briggs met his eyes evenly. “Are you certain she isn’t in league with him?”
Will nearly choked on his coffee. “What?”
“Think about it. She was with the man for eight years and didn’t try to escape—”
“She did try to escape.”
“That is what she claims.”
Will stared at Briggs, narrow eyed.
Briggs held out his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “All I am saying is that something doesn’t quite fit. Her story could be a tool by which to manipulate you.”
Will rose from his chair. His voice was colder than he’d ever heard it when he said, “Watch yourself. I’ll not have you speaking ill of her.”
Briggs returned his gaze evenly. Slowly, he rose, too, until they were facing each other across the table. “I’m not speaking ill of anyone, Captain. I am doing what I can to look out for you. The woman has kept crucial information from you, information that you could have used to help her. For God’s sake, she wouldn’t even tell you the man’s name. I don’t believe you are looking at this objectively.”
“Of course I’m not looking at it objectively!”
“Look at you,” Briggs said softly. “You’re not yourself. The woman has you tied up i
n knots.”
Will gave him an icy stare.
“The Captain Langley I know is the epitome of calm. Even in life-or-death situations, like that storm the night before we found her. You never raise your voice. You always think with calm rationality on everything before you make a decision. You’re the most patient man I know.”
Will shook his head. “Clearly you don’t know me very well, then.”
“That’s not true,” Briggs said, “and you know it. Why are you like this, Captain? What has she done to you?”
Will turned away. It was no use trying to explain something he couldn’t fully understand himself.
He stalked over to the window and put his hands on the sill. It was a beautiful, clear, warm day. The daffodils planted in the corners of his courtyard had begun to bloom in bright yellow clusters.
He trusted Meg. He believed everything she’d told him.
Because the thought of not trusting her made him sick.
“Her reappearance is a miracle—no one will question that,” Briggs said, his voice gentler now. “But just because she’s returned from the grave, it doesn’t mean she’s the same woman you knew long ago. She might have changed. Become someone else. In fact, it seems to me that anyone whose life altered in the way she has described to you would change irrevocably, especially when the change lasted for so many years.”
Will shook his head. “I’m not going to speak of this with you,” he said wearily. “I ask you to trust my judgment.”
“I do trust your judgment, but because you trust her blindly doesn’t mean I must. I’ll continue to be wary with Miss Donovan, since to be any other way would be a form of deceit.”
Will blew out a breath. At least his first mate was being honest. “I can live with that,” he said. “But I’ll not have you slandering her to me or to anyone else.”
“I’ve no intention of slandering her.”
“Good.” Turning from the window, Will asked, “Then may I ask for your help in getting to the bottom of this?”
Briggs had practically been born on the sea—his father had occupied a high rank in the East India Company, and his brothers had all held various positions in the Navy and on merchant ships. Despite being estranged from his brothers, he had connections throughout the London maritime community.
“Of course you can, Captain.”
“I’d like you to remain in London,” Will said. “I’d like you to find out whatever you can about Caversham. I’ll talk to Meg and see if she’ll tell me his Christian name, although we must consider the possibility that he might be using an alias.”
Briggs nodded. “Yes, that’s possible.”
“I’ll have Dunn make up the guest room for you.”
“Thanks.”
They rose, and Briggs went upstairs to begin writing letters for his information-gathering mission, while Will left the house on foot and headed toward his office.
It was a fine spring day, and though Will’s office wasn’t close to his home in Cavendish Square, it made for a good long walk. Today he used it to take the time to sort out the ways his life had so suddenly, so thoroughly changed in the past month.
She’d come back.
She was alive.
Those words still went through his mind with healthy doses of awe, disbelief, and amazement. When he looked at her, there she was. When she stood beside Serena and they gazed at him with those twin pairs of gray eyes, he wondered how he could have mistaken Serena for her for even a second.
Yes, they were very much alike, but he could pick out Meg every time. Something about her made his blood sing. Serena had never done that to him.
When Serena had first arrived in London, engaged to him, pretending to be her sister, his first reaction had been one of panic. Meg didn’t make him feel the same way she had years ago. Had something altered the chemistry between them? Had time and distance eroded the love they’d shared?
Of course, that hadn’t been the case. She’d been Serena, pretending to be Meg and failing at it, an ultimately obvious scheme to those who knew the sisters well.
And now Meg was back, in the flesh. The real Meg. Time and distance had certainly altered what she and Will had once shared, but the question was, in what way?
His blood still sang whenever he was in her presence. And he still wanted her. His body hadn’t forgotten what she felt like beneath him.
And yet, time had passed. They’d both changed.
She kept secrets from him.
And he kept secrets from her, he thought miserably.
He walked the rest of the way to his office with pain tightening his chest.
Chapter Eight
At dusk, after a long morning of work followed by an afternoon meeting with Briggs, Will arrived at Stratford’s house. The butler announced him into the drawing room, a space that had once been sparse and austere, but Serena had done much to improve it. Although still elegant with cream silk furnishings, a carved and tiered ceiling, and Greek-inspired columns framing the windows, it was comfortable, too, with an assortment of chairs and sofas in sets near the window and the fireplace. Adjacent to the chairs and sofas were plenty of small tables upon which one could set his brandy glass or his newspaper.
Meg was sitting alone in one of the small armchairs near the fire. She laid her embroidery in the basket at her feet and rose to greet him, smoothing down her skirt. She wore another new dress Serena had purchased for her, but it was of a simpler design than what one would expect of a countess’s sister. It was just a shade away from white, a color that brought out the slight pink tinge in her complexion and those freckles he loved so much, and contained no decoration except for the ruffle at the bottom and matching lace trimming the bodice. The lace drew the eye to the creamy skin of her chest and made his fingers itch to stroke along that skin, to feel its warmth, its vivacity. Even after all this time, a part of him still couldn’t believe she was real.
The dress was simple enough to make most women appear plain, but not Meg. It made her look lovely. Elegant, and beautiful.
She greeted him with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and he clenched his fists at his sides, resisting the sudden urge to shake her.
He was trying to be patient. Hell, just this morning Briggs had told Will he was the most patient man he knew. But God, how he wanted that beautiful smile to reach her eyes. He wanted to be the one to bring it to her. He wanted her to smile at him like she used to.
Instead of shaking her, he returned the smile, wondering if his own expression appeared as manufactured as hers. “Where is everyone?”
“Serena, Jessica, and Lady Fenwicke are upstairs changing into their ball gowns. Olivia and Phoebe have returned to Olivia’s house to ready themselves for tonight’s festivities. Lord Stratford is in his office working. I just put Jake to bed.” Her smile faltered. “I do hope he doesn’t wake.”
“Has he been having difficulty sleeping?”
“He has nightmares.” She didn’t meet his eyes, instead looking at a point on the wall somewhere beyond his shoulder. “I’ve got a maid keeping an eye on him. If he wakes, she’ll come get me.”
He took a step closer to her. “What about you, Meg? Have you been having nightmares?”
She turned away from him and lowered herself into the chair she’d been seated in when he’d arrived, clasping her hands in her lap. “Sometimes. When I can sleep.”
He’d seen the gray shadows beneath her eyes when he’d first entered the room.
“I’m trying to help Jake forget, but it’s not working. How can it, when I cannot forget, either?”
“You’ve only been away from his father for less than a month. It will take some time.” He settled into the ivory-silk-upholstered chair beside hers.
Looking down, she nodded, then her gaze rose to meet his. “Do you think that there’s something a natural mother can give a child that no substitute ever can?”
Having heard details here and there about Jake’s mother, Will had thought for s
ome time that Meg had probably given Jake much more in terms of mothering than his true mother ever had.
“No,” he said firmly. “Consider the children who are taken in by families that can care for them better than their natural families. Those children usually fare much better than they would with their real parents.”
“But maybe a part of them—a tiny part—would always know that they’re not with their true flesh and blood. And that part would always be empty.”
“Is that how you’ve felt?” he asked. “For the past eight years, have you felt like a part of you has been empty because you were not with your family?”
“Yes.” She didn’t meet his eyes. “But I’m not sure if that’s just me, just because I had a twin and we were so close once, or if it’s that way with younger children who don’t know the difference as acutely.”
“I believe that adoptive parents have the ability to make children just as happy and fulfilled as natural parents do.”
She sighed. “Then why can’t I seem to make Jake happy?”
“He loves you, Meg.” That was patently obvious.
“And yet, he’s not a happy child,” she said. “My sisters and I suffered through hardships when we were children. Yet we were always happy. We always smiled and laughed, but Jake never does.”
“Maybe he needs a friend,” Will said. “Someone his own age to play with. To laugh with.”
“He’s never had a friend before,” Meg murmured.
He looked away, his fingertips running restlessly over the ridges of the carved armrest. For a long moment, he gazed into the low flames of the fire, knowing what he had to do. Knowing he couldn’t be a coward forever.
In a low voice, he said, “I know you don’t like leaving this house, but do you think you and Jake would like to come to my house tomorrow? It will be good for both of you to get out, even if just to another house, and I’ll take precautions to make sure neither of you are seen.”
She didn’t answer him for a long time. She turned her head to look between the columns. The drapes were open, but a filmy gauze curtain had been left over the window. The constant flow of traffic and pedestrians looked like dark shadows moving behind a screen.
Pleasures of a Tempted Lady Page 9