by Karen Ranney
“Why did you do it?” Adam asked. “Was it the money?”
He half expected Oliver to remain silent, but the other man surprised him by answering.
“I wanted to go home.”
He stared at Oliver in disbelief. “You wanted to go home?”
Oliver nodded.
“You were at Lucknow with Roger,” Adam said. “You weren’t even at Manipora.”
“I wanted to come back to England. I didn’t want to fight anymore. I wanted it to be all over.”
Adam was left without a response. It was over, for all the men, women, and children who’d died that day.
Hackney broke through the crowd, Suzanne following.
“He’s the real traitor,” Adam said, glancing at Oliver. “He’s the one who betrayed us at Manipora.”
“And Roger?” Hackney asked.
“He’s the murderer,” Adam said. “I’m taking them both to Sir Richard. He’ll know what to do with them.”
Adam exchanged a look with Suzanne. He wanted to tell her goodbye and perhaps say something else. The moment wasn’t one for intimacies. He had two traitors to bring to justice.
All he could do was smile at her, and say goodbye in Gaelic: “Mar sin leat.”
Chapter Fifty-One
“Neither Mount nor Cater are saying that much,” Sir Richard told Adam a week later.
They sat in Sir Richard’s large paneled office in the War Office building. The windows were lightly etched to prevent anyone from seeing in, but done in such a manner that plenty of light entered the space.
The chair in which Adam sat was upholstered in material that felt like a tapestry. He guessed that the chair itself was an antique like Sir Richard’s desk, the globe on a stand, and the replica of the ship that rested in the middle of the fireplace mantel.
The room was furnished more like a parlor than an office, with a comfortable-looking couch in the corner, a table with a lamp and chairs that were less old and softer than where he sat. The scent of leather and pipe tobacco seemed to cling to the walls, perfuming the air.
Sir Richard looked down at the stacks of papers on his desk before glancing at him.
“I think we can concur that they were both to blame. Cater for treason and Mount for trying to cover it up.”
“And the accident, sir? Was it truly an accident?”
Sir Richard sighed. “We may never know.” He met Adam’s look. “I have my own ideas, of course, about that damnable business. I think it a bit too coincidental that the duke died when he did, after threatening to expose Mount. But I’ve no proof, Adam.”
“Another instance of never knowing for sure, sir?”
“Exactly, Adam. It’s the type of job we do. You’ve shown great discretion in this matter. Under difficult circumstances, I might add.”
“Thank you, sir,” he said.
His superior studied him for another few minutes. Adam knew better than to say anything until Sir Richard was ready for further conversation. The older man was not averse to silencing his subordinates with a hand gesture or a terse, “Be still.”
Sir Richard Wells was a man of indeterminate years who never seemed to age, at least not since Adam had first met him seven years ago. His shock of thick white hair was always perfectly coiffed. His black suits never showed a speck of lint. He was the perfect representation of a senior government official with his craggy face and the lines that had been put there by concern and worry. A tall man, he had a habit of bending forward at the shoulders as if he’d been taught as a child that it was rude to tower over people. His dark blue eyes were shielded by bushy white brows that resembled two caterpillars crawling across his face.
They were currently meeting above his nose in a ferocious frown.
“I’d like you to consider taking a new position. One of a supervisory nature. It would mean that you weren’t out in the field, of course, but we could use a man of your discretion and experience. Sometimes decisions are made without any input. Your presence would mean that we’d get the view from the other side, so to speak.”
He had reported to Sir Richard for every one of his assignments except this last one. The man had always treated him well, respected his concerns, and communicated honestly and fairly with him. On this occasion, however, he thought that there might be something else Sir Richard wasn’t saying.
His promotion might be masquerading as something else.
“In other words, Sir Richard, if I remain quiet about the massacre at Manipora, I’ll get an office, title, and a promotion. Is that it?”
The other man leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers, and regarded Adam with his usual somber look. Sir Richard didn’t smile very often, and when he did it was mostly in recognition of some irony that amused him. He wasn’t given to joviality or even a lightness of speech. Instead, he acted as if the weight of the world—or the Commonwealth’s presence in it—was on his shoulders. It just might have been.
“Speaking out about Manipora now wouldn’t be wise. Divulging Cater’s or Mount’s role in it wouldn’t serve any purpose. Nor would the morale of the army be buoyed in learning that two of their own betrayed them. But to answer your question, no, this offer is not a bribe or an inducement to silence. Tell the story if you wish. I can’t stop you, but I see no point in it. It will not resurrect the dead.” Sir Richard looked away for a moment before redirecting his attention to Adam. “Although I can understand why you would wish it otherwise. Damned awful business.”
Sir Richard had a capacity for understatement.
“I have no intention of saying anything, Sir Richard. I owe the army and you my life.”
The older man shook his head. “A fortuitous arrangement in my case, Adam. You have shown yourself to be a great patriot all these years.”
Adam bit back a smile. Patriot was another word like hero that was regularly bandied about. They both came down to doing what was right at any particular time. Choosing not the easiest course, but the correct one.
“I want you for this post, Adam. Not because of what happened in the past, but what is coming around the corner for us. I think you’d be the right man in the position.”
“Then I accept, Sir Richard, and I thank you.”
He wasn’t a fool, however and Sir Richard knew it. They would butt heads in the future. If he took this position he wouldn’t be an operative as much as a politician, and he was most definitely not a politician.
The older man stood, extended his hand. “It is we who should thank you, Adam. This promotion will make a change for you. Are you prepared for that?”
He nodded as he shook Sir Richard’s hand. “I am, sir.”
A few minutes later he took his leave, entering the hired cab for a ride back to his lodgings.
A week had passed since the scene at Edward Hackney’s home. A week since he’d seen Suzanne. A miserable week in which he had been beset by insomnia, an inability to think straight, and a general dissatisfaction. He was in a deplorable mood according to Mrs. Ross, who’d labeled him dour. He couldn’t argue with her.
He’d had various assignments in the course of the past seven years. None of them had been like the one at Marsley House, where he had been required to form friendships of a sort.
Surprisingly, he missed a great many of those people.
Mrs. Thigpen with her love of gossip and condemnation of the same. She’d never realized what a paradox she was. Thomas, earnest and brave, up for any adventure. He would have made an excellent soldier. He liked Daniel as well and would miss the young man.
He’d isolated himself over the years, and it was only after he’d left Marsley House that he realized how much.
He gave some thought to returning to Glasgow before his new position began, just to reacquaint himself with his roots. If nothing else, seeing Glasgow might center him, give him some appreciation for how far he’d come. His life hadn’t been a straight trajectory. It had ebbed and flowed like a burn tumbling over rocks. At the moment it was ebb
ing and it irritated him.
Maybe the change of job was just what he needed. He’d be busy, his time and thoughts occupied so that he could forget a certain duchess. Or maybe he’d never be able to forget Suzanne.
The new position would mean that he would not have to go out into the field. He wouldn’t have to pretend to be different people at different times with different goals and motivations. He would be a guide, possibly a mentor, certainly a boss over other men who would be doing the job that he’d been doing for seven years. In the army he’d been successful leading men and it had been almost natural for him. He didn’t have a problem with the new position. It was the rest of his life that was up in the air.
Suzanne arrived at Adam’s lodgings, thanked Michael, and walked up the path to Mrs. Ross’s front door with some trepidation. She’d never done what she was about to do.
She hadn’t loved George; she hadn’t even liked him very much. Loving her son, loving Georgie, had made her feel whole. When he’d died, she’d lost that feeling because he’d taken part of her heart with him. She would never get that part back and it was right and fitting that it was missing. Yet she could still love and still live.
That’s what Adam had taught her.
She’d seen the worst of life. She’d been in the darkness too long and was grateful for any faint flicker of light. Adam was a candle, a bright flame that promised to keep burning.
Now all she had to do was take the greatest risk of her life.
Chapter Fifty-Two
The carriage Adam had hired slowed to a stop in front of Mrs. Ross’s house. As he left the vehicle and paid the driver, he noticed another, much more expensive carriage parked across the street. Michael tipped his hat to him.
Adam stood there for a moment, frozen. Suzanne was here. Suzanne was here.
He almost got back into the carriage and commanded the man to drive around London for a few hours, anything but have to encounter the Duchess of Marsley.
They’d parted amicably enough, but she should have known it was final. The idyll had come to an end.
Now she was here.
He would have to say goodbye and leave no uncertainty in her mind.
He’d never before been a coward, but it was the hardest walk he ever made up to Mrs. Ross’s front door. He didn’t even get a chance to open the door before the woman herself opened it, frowning at him.
“It’s an explanation I’m due, Mr. Drummond. You never said your cousin was the Duchess of Marsley. A duchess! I would have brought out my best china. And shortbread? I only served her shortbread!”
He didn’t know what to say first, so he let his landlady’s words wash over him. Mrs. Ross scolded him for a good five minutes before he could make his way into the foyer.
“I put Her Grace in the visitors’ parlor.”
Not only did he have to encounter Suzanne, but he had to have a witness in doing so.
He was going to refuse his promotion. Instead, he was going to return to Scotland. He was going to wander among the sparsely populated Highlands. He was going to keep sheep as company. Not people. He might get a dog, but that was it.
He found himself guided into the parlor by Mrs. Ross’s insistent hand on his elbow. He glanced at her, but she wasn’t looking at him. Instead, she had a half smile on her face and an expression of determination in her eyes. He had the thought that he was being paid back for keeping Suzanne in his rooms overnight. He wouldn’t put it past Mrs. Ross to dole out her own brand of societal chastisement.
“Thank you, Mrs. Ross,” he said, pulling free. “You’ve been very kind.”
There was enough firmness in his voice that she finally looked at him.
“Thank you,” he said again. He entered the parlor, turned, and closed the door in her face. No doubt he would have to pay for that rudeness, too, but not right now. Instead, he had a greater problem: facing Suzanne.
She sat on the excruciatingly uncomfortable horsehair-stuffed sofa. Most of the furniture in this parlor—that none of the lodgers were allowed to use unless they had important guests—was in a particular shade of green. Unfortunately, not all the greens matched. He always thought of it as the bile parlor. Mrs. Ross, on the other hand, adored her furniture and considered the room to be the height of fashion.
The room smelled of Mrs. Ross’s perfume, an odor of musk and woods that always made him want to sneeze. Today was no exception. He almost used that as an excuse for leaving.
Suzanne had already removed her hat and gloves, which were beside her on the sofa. There was no sign of her cloak, and the day was chilly enough to have called for one. No doubt it had been taken by Mrs. Ross and put in a safe place.
The kitten sat on her lap, eyes half-closed, his smile tinted with bliss. Adam didn’t have any doubt that the cat was purring. Or that he resented the interruption. Adam was the recipient of a baleful feline stare before the cat jumped down from Suzanne’s lap and disappeared behind the sofa.
Suzanne was as beautiful as she’d ever been, but there were signs of fatigue on her face. The shadows beneath her eyes were too dark and her face was too pale.
Had she been ill? He felt a spurt of fear that wouldn’t dissipate no matter how much he told himself that her health was none of his concern.
“My father has agreed to fund Mrs. Armbruster’s Institute and Foundling Hospital,” she said, in lieu of a greeting. “Isn’t that wonderful news?”
“Yes.”
Success—he’d uttered one word. Surely other words were just as easy. Why, then, did it seem almost impossible to say anything?
He couldn’t help but wonder how she’d managed the feat of getting Hackney to support two projects that could potentially be scandalous. Perhaps Suzanne had threatened to go public with the story of Roger Mount. Would she have done such a thing? Or was it the older man’s way of reparation?
“Why?” There, one more word.
She smiled at him, one of those duchess smiles she’d given him at the beginning. An expression that really didn’t mean anything since it was merely a momentary lifting of the lips.
“Does it matter? As long as good deeds are done?”
“Did you blackmail him?” He congratulated himself for speaking an entire sentence.
Both her eyebrows arched at him and her smile became genuine. “Do you really think I could do such a thing?”
“Why does the idea seem to please you?”
“Because it sounds utterly daring. Although, I must admit, I feel utterly daring right now. No, I didn’t blackmail him. I did my best to convince him.”
“Why?” Good lord, was he back to monosyllables?
“Because of a little baby by the name of Henry,” she said. “I couldn’t stop thinking about Henry. Any more than I could stop thinking about you.”
He hadn’t expected that.
“You didn’t come to see me,” she said, leveling a stern look at him. “I waited, but you didn’t come. Neither that night nor the next day. Not for a week. Then, Adam, I realized you weren’t going to come back to see me. I was part of your mission and your assignment was over.”
Hardly that, but he didn’t correct her.
“I don’t think it’s very fair that you’ve ignored me.”
How the hell could anyone ignore her?
“I’m selling Marsley House,” she added. “I’m taking your advice. I’m looking at property not far from here and I need your input, Drummond.”
“Have you forgotten, Your Grace, that I’m no longer employed by you? I’m no longer your majordomo.”
“Oh, do let’s be serious, Drummond. You were never just my majordomo. You were my savior.” Her voice changed, softened. “My rescuer. My lover.”
What did she want from him?
“The sale of Marsley House will enable me to buy another house. I want a place of my own. Some place I’ve chosen that feels like home.”
“Congratulations, Your Grace.”
She startled him by looking up at the cei
ling, then shaking her head.
“You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?”
“Make what easy?”
“I do not wish to live without you, Drummond.”
He felt almost like he had when he’d been shot. He was in a state of shock, as if it was happening to someone else. Or like he was observing the emotions but not quite able to feel them.
“I don’t wish to live without you,” she repeated.
He stared at her. “You’re a duchess.”
“Do you hold that against me? I would gladly change my past if I could. But I can’t.”
“You’re a duchess.”
She rolled her eyes. She actually rolled her eyes at him.
“On this, Drummond, you must allow me some authority. I realize I’m a duchess.” She spoke slowly as if he weren’t capable of understanding her words. “There’s nothing I can do about it. Nor do I seem to be able to alter my feelings about you.”
He was incapable of speaking again. He’d never had this problem before, but she stripped every word from his brain.
She shook her head, stood, and circumvented the furniture to reach him still standing with his back to the door. Reaching up, she framed his face with her hands.
“I love you, Adam. I’ve been miserable away from you. I want to sleep next to you at night. I want to love you whenever I wish. I want to hold you when sorrow overtakes you. I want you to comfort me, too, but I also want to laugh with you and tell you silly things.”
“Suzanne.”
“I love you.”
He had a feeling she was going to keep saying that until he responded in some way.
“Suzanne.” He took a step to the right. She followed him.
“Do you not feel the same?”
“I was raised in a tenement in Glasgow,” he said, letting his accent fall heavy on his words. “I made something of myself in the army, but I’ve not the fortune of your father. Or a title like George.”
“So?”
She was the most stubborn woman.
“I can’t give you anything, Suzanne. Not like you’ve lived. Not what you’ve known. I have a new position, but it still won’t mean that I can give you what you’re used to.”