A Gentleman's Honor

by Stephanie Laurens

  Tony had no idea what he was looking for, but instinct told him there would be something to find. He pulled out a slim volume; the title caught his eye. “A Young Lady’s Guide to Etiquette in the Ton.” Briefly, he raised his brows. Setting it aside, he pulled out a few more. They, too, dealt with similar subjects; clearly Alicia and Adriana had done considerable research before embarking on their scheme.

  Making sure he missed no section of the shelves, he worked his way along.

  He found what he was searching for behind a set of books on the lowest shelf, close by the room’s corner. A sheaf of papers had been jammed behind the books; drawing them out, he turned to Alicia. One look at her face, her eyes, assured him they weren’t hers.

  “What are they?”

  Rising, he moved closer to the candelabrum, and flicked through the sheaf. “Old letters.” He straightened them out, laying each on the table. “Five of them.” Sinking down on the chaise, he picked one up.

  In a rustle of silk, Alicia left the armchair and came to join him. Sitting close beside him, she reached for one of the letters—he forestalled her, passing her the one he’d already scanned; she took it and he lifted the next.

  When he laid down the fifth missive, she was still picking her way through the second. The letters were in French.

  For a long moment, he sat, elbows on his thighs, and stared across the room, then he leaned back, reached for her, and drew her, letters and all, into his arms.

  She shivered, and looked up at him. “I’ve only read one. Are they all similar?”

  He nodded. “All to A. C. from French captains acknowledging ships taken on information supplied.” Three of the letters were from French naval captains; he could personally verify two of the names. He could also identify from his own knowledge the other two correspondents, both captains of French privateers.

  The letters were extremely incriminating. For A. C.

  Alicia had never been A. C., and indeed, the letters all dated from before her fictitous marriage had supposedly taken place. The name wasn’t what was worrying him.

  She frowned at the letter she held, then shuffled the sheaf. “These are all addressed to A. C. at the Sign of the Barking Dog.”

  Her tone alerted him; he glanced at her. “Do you know it?”

  She nodded. “It’s not far from Chipping Norton.”

  He sat forward. “An inn?” Getting to his feet, he drew her with him.

  She shook her head. “No, a hedge tavern. Barely even that. It caters to a very rough crowd—most of the locals avoid it.”

  He hid a grimace. The Barking Dog sounded like the perfect address for a villain. He doubted he would get any help from the innkeeper as to who had picked up the letters, but he’d send someone to inquire tomorrow.

  Meanwhile…“Let’s go upstairs. You’re freezing.”

  He drew her out of the room; she went unresisting, frowning, refolding the letters. Closing the parlor door, he saw her tiptoeing awkwardly to the stairs. Shutting his lips on a query regarding the whereabouts of her slippers, he strode after her, bent, and hefted her into his arms.

  She looked into his face, then settled back and let him carry her upstairs. She’d left the door to her bedchamber open; he entered and nudged it closed. The lock clicked shut. She shifted, expecting to be put down.

  He strode to the bed and dropped her on it. Filched the letters from her grasp when she bounced. “I’ll need those.”

  She struggled up, watched as he crossed to his coat and slipped the sheaf into a pocket. “That clerk put them there, didn’t he? Why?”

  “To confuse things.”

  She swung her legs off the bed, stood, shrugged out of her robe and laid it aside. “How?” Turning back to the bed, she frowned at him. “What do you think will happen?”

  “I think”—he stripped off his shirt and dropped it on his coat—“that you can expect a visit from someone in authority within the next few days. They’ll be looking for the letters, but”—he smiled evilly—“they won’t find them.”

  Still clad in her chemise, she slipped under the covers. He looked down as he stripped off his trousers, hiding his smile, pretending not to notice as, once safely covered, she wriggled out of the fine chemise and tossed it to the floor. Once he joined her in the bed, it wouldn’t stay on her; better she remove it than risk him tearing it, or so he had given her to understand.

  She was still frowning. “What should we do?”

  Naked, he crossed to the dressing table and doused the candle. “We’ll talk about it in the morning. There’s nothing to be done tonight.”

  He returned to the bed and slid under the covers beside her.

  She was shivering, still frowning, but accepting his edict, turned into his arms as she always did, as ardent and as needy as he. Her openness was a blessing for which he would remain forever grateful; the instant their limbs met, and their lips found each other’s, there was only one thought between them, only one goal, one aim, one desire.

  Her chill, her concern over the letters—and his—faded as that simple reality took control, claimed them, heart, minds, and souls fused them. Slumped, exhausted, and thoroughly heated, in each other’s arms, they surrendered, and slept. And left tomorrow’s problems for tomorrow.

  Again, Alicia slept in. Lecturing herself that she couldn’t let the practice become habit, she climbed into a new morning gown of forest green, quickly coiled her hair, then hurried downstairs, expecting mayhem.

  She came to a teetering halt on the threshold of the dining room. Alerted by the deep rumble of Tony’s voice, she looked in—stared.

  He was seated at the foot of the table, keeping order, clearly in charge. Her brothers, of course, were on their best behavior; expressions angelic, they hung on his every word. Adriana… one glance at her sister as she slowly entered was enough to inform her that Adriana was intrigued.

  The boys noticed her, and smiled.

  Picking up her pace, as nonchalantly as she could she went to her accustomed place at the head of the table. “Good morning.” Sitting, she met Tony’s gaze. Inclined her head briefly. “My lord. To what do we owe this pleasure?”

  A smile flashed behind his eyes; she prayed Adriana didn’t catch it, or if she had, wouldn’t be able to interpret it.

  “I came to enjoy your company”—he smiled briefly at the boys; he was clearly their hero—“and also to discuss the most recent developments and remind you all to take care.” His gaze returned to her face. “It seems matters are progressing, just not as I’d thought, or hoped. You”—his gaze swept the table—“all of you, need to stay alert.”

  “Why?” Eyes wide, David waited.

  Alicia felt Adriana’s glance, then her sister leaned forward and looked down the table at Tony. “That odd man who called yesterday but didn’t wait—is it something to do with him?”

  Looking straight down the table, Alicia met Tony’s eyes and read the question therein. Briefly, she nodded.

  “Yes.” Assembling their collective interest with a glance, he went on to explain about the letters.

  She listened, on one level monitoring his words and her brothers’ reactions, on another, thinking rather more personally.

  At least he’d changed out of his evening clothes; he was wearing a morning coat of rich, dark brown over ivory inexpressibles reaching into gleaming black Hessians. His waistcoat was striped in ivory and browns, his cravat starched white, severely simple. On the little finger of his right hand the gold-and-onyx signet ring he always wore gleamed; his gold watch chain and the gold pin in his cravat completed the picture, one of simple yet formidable elegance.

  He’d left her bed at dawn, as usual; he must have gone home, then returned. She hoped he’d rung the doorbell, and hadn’t simply waltzed in… then again, would anyone have deemed it odd if he had?

  Was this a taste of things to come—a guide to how their relationship would develop? That gradually he would become more than just a frequent visitor, over time gain
ing the status of accepted member of the household, moreover a member whose edicts carried weight.

  As they clearly already did with her brothers. Yet he was impressing on them the need to take care, more, to avoid taking any risks; she wasn’t about to complain. They paid his warnings far greater heed than they would any from her.

  Deep down, she was conscious of a small, very small, degree of irritation that he’d been able so easily to assume a role that for a decade had been hers, that her family—even Adriana—accepted his usurpation without question…yet as, with a glance, he extended his edicts to Adriana, too, who just as avidly as the boys had been drawn in by his glib, truthful but not unnecessarily revealing, or worrying, account of the planted letters and what he thought they would mean, she couldn’t find it in her actively to oppose him.

  Nevertheless, some part of her, the most private side of her, felt almost exposed. Most definitely uncertain, both of the rightness of the present and what next might come. Until this morning, what had grown between them had remained between them alone, yet now… perhaps this was how things were done in his world?

  She honestly didn’t know; she’d traveled far beyond the limits of the books in the parlor. Not one gave any description of the normal pattern of behavior, the day-today arrangements that might exist between a member of the nobility and his mistress.

  Presumably he knew how things should be; she would have to, as she’d had to so often thus far, follow his lead.

  “I don’t know exactly what will happen, or when.” Tony met the boys’ eyes, then glanced briefly at Adriana.

  “It’s possible nothing at all might occur—we might catch whoever it is before he takes the next step.”

  He didn’t believe that for a moment; Alicia’s slight frown suggested she didn’t either.

  Returning his attention to the boys, he reiterated, “But you can’t be too careful—I want you all to be on guard, and not panic if there is some development. I, and others, won’t be far away.”

  The boys, eyes wide, nodded solemnly.

  Jenkins came in at that moment; Alicia forced a smile and spoke with him regarding the boys’ lessons, then looked at her brothers. “Up you go.”

  Tony reinforced her command with a look. The boys finished their milk; he inclined his head as they bobbed bows before taking themselves off.

  Letting his gaze drift past Adriana, he looked at Alicia. “If I could speak with you for a moment?”

  She blinked, glanced at Adriana, and rose. “Yes, of course. If you’ll come into the drawing room?”

  Rising, he took his leave of Adriana, who seemed totally at ease over his unorthodox presence, then followed her across the front hall. She paused by the drawing room door; he waved her in and followed, closing the door behind them.

  She stopped and faced him; halting before her, he met her gaze. “Regardless of what I just said, I fully expect something to happen.” He grimaced, let her see his unease. “I just don’t know what, or exactly when.”

  She studied his face, then said, “Thank you for speaking with them. We’ll be on guard now.”

  “My men outside gave me a decent description of this clerk, but there must be thousands like him in London—I don’t expect to be able to trace him, let alone his employer.” He paused, wondered if she’d see his next maneuver for the revelation it was—decided he didn’t care.

  “With your leave, I’ll send another footman—he’ll arrive within the hour. Maggs tells me there’s room in the attics—I want him—Maggs—free to follow any other strange visitors who come to call.”

  She blinked. A frown grew in her eyes. “We have Jenkins. I’m sure he can cope—”

  “Your brothers.” Ruthlessly he fell back on the one argument he knew would overcome her resistance. “I’d rather Jenkins concentrated on keeping watch over them, and I don’t want you and Adriana left without some degree of male support.”

  She held his gaze, evaluating, realizing he’d left her no option. Her lips tightened, but only fractionally. “Very well. If you truly think it necessary.”

  “I do.” Absolutely, definitely necessary; if he thought he could get her to agree, he’d have half a dozen men about her. “I’ll be staying in London—Gervase should be back from Devon, and with luck Jack Hendon might have something to report.”

  “If you learn anything, you will send word, won’t you?”

  He smiled, a flash of teeth and resolution. “I’ll bring any news myself.” He studied her eyes. “If anything happens, Scully, the new footman, or Maggs, will get word to those watching—they’ll find me. I’ll come as soon as I can.”

  For an instant, her expression remained serious, sober, the reality of the threat, the potential but unknown difficulty she and her family might have to face—that he and she both felt sure they would face—dulling the gold and green, then a smile softened her eyes. “Thank you.” Putting a reassuring hand on his arm, she held his gaze. “We’ll manage.”

  Her “we” included him; that was clear in her eyes, in her inclusive smile.

  His expression eased. He hesitated, then bent his head. Cradling her face in one palm, he kissed her, briefly yet… the link between them was now so strong, even that brief caress communicated volumes.

  Raising his head, he stepped back. Saluted her. “Au revoir.”

  Tony returned to Upper Brook Street to discover messages from Jack Hendon and Gervase Tregarth awaiting him. Both expected to have firm information by noon; Gervase suggested they meet at the Bastion Club. Tony sat at his desk and dashed off a note to Jack, giving him directions and a brief explanation—enough to whet his appetite.

  After that he sat and mentally reviewed all he knew thus far. Action was clearly imminent; why plant incriminating evidence if not to expose it? How, by whom, and precisely when he didn’t know, but he could and did clear everything on his desk, all matters that might need his attention over the next few days.

  Summoning Hungerford, he gave orders that would ensure, not only that his houses and estate would continue on an even keel were he to be otherwise engaged for a week or so, but also that the various members of his extended staff, some of whom did not fit any common description, were apprised of his intentions, and thus would hold themselves ready to act on whatever orders he flung their way.

  At a quarter to twelve, he headed for the Bastion Club.

  Climbing the stairs to the first floor, he heard Jack, already in the meeting room, questioning, clearly intrigued by the club and its genesis. He pricked up his ears as other voices answered—Christian, Charles, and Tristan were there, regaling Jack with the benefits of the club, especially as applied to unmarried gentlemen of their ilk.

  “I’m already leg-shackled,” Jack confessed, as Tony appeared in the doorway.

  “To a spitfire, what’s more.” Tony entered, smiling.

  Jack raised his wineglass. “I’ll tell her you said that.”

  “Do.” Unperturbed, Tony took a seat opposite and grinned at Jack. “She’ll forgive me.”

  Jack mock-scowled. “I’m not so silly as to encourage her.”

  Quick footsteps on the stairs heralded Gervase. He strode in quickly, brown curls windblown, the light of the hunt in his eyes. Every man about the table recognized the signs.

  Christian, Charles, and Tristan exchanged glances. Christian made as if to rise. “We’ll leave you…”

  Tony waved him back. “If you have the time, I’d value any insight you might have on these matters. For our sins, we’re all sufficiently connected with Dalziel, and Jack worked for Whitley.”

  Gervase drew out a chair and sat. “Right, then.” He looked at Tony. “Who do you want to hear from first?”

  “Jack’s been checking the specific ships.” Tony looked across the table. “Let’s start there.”

  Jack nodded. “I concentrated on the sixteen vessels listed in Ruskin’s notes that we know were taken. Thus far, I’ve only been able to get a general picture of their cargoes—asking to
o many specific questions would attract too much interest.”

  “Were they carrying anything in common?” Christian asked.

  “Yes, and no. I’ve got word on six of the sixteen, and each was carrying general cargo—furniture, foodstuffs, raw products. No evidence of any peculiar item common to all ships.”

  “Six,” Tony mused. “If there’s nothing in common between six, then chances are that’s not the distinguishing factor.”

  Jack hesitated, then went on, “All the ships are still registered—there’s no hint of any insurance fraud. On top of that, all the ships I’ve got information on were owned by various lines, their cargoes by a variety of merchants. There’s no common link.”

  Tony frowned. “But if you think of what’s lost when a ship is taken as a prize, rather than sunk…” He met Jack’s eyes. “The lines buy back their ships—it’s the cargo that’s lost irretrievably.”

  “To this side of the Channel.” Charles looked at Jack.

  “But aren’t cargoes insured?”

  His gaze locked with Tony’s, Jack shook his head. “Not in such circumstances. Cargoes are insured against loss through the vessel being lost, but they aren’t covered if the goods are seized during wartime.”

  “So it’s considered a loss through an act of war?” Tristan asked.

  Jack nodded. “The cargoes would be lost, but there’d be no claim to worry the denizens of Lloyd’s Coffee House, no fuss perturbing any of the major guilds like the shipowners.”

  “And if the merchants were unconnected individuals, and the losses varied and apparently random…”Tony paused, frowning. “Who would that benefit?”

  None of them could offer an answer.

  “We need more information.” Tony looked at Gervase.

  Who smiled grimly. “It took a bit of persuasion, but I heard three separate tales from three unconnected individuals of ‘special commissions’ being offered in the Channel Isles. The contacts were all English, and all were miffed that these ‘commissions’ were being offered solely to, not specifically French, but only to non-English captains.”