Captivating the Captain (Scandals and Spies Book 6)

by Leighann Dobbs

  Oh, Anthony.

  Her chest burned. As she departed, she tried not to think about whether she loved him or if she was making a mistake.

  24

  Gray spent the night staring at the ceiling and wondering how something so wonderful could have turned so awry. At one point, the candle guttered out. He must have fallen asleep after that, but when he woke, he was no more rested.

  When the first rays of gray predawn light wafted through the window to illuminate the room, he rose and dressed. As he exited the room, he stopped short. Charlie, clad in her borrowed dress, halted with a hand still on the latch to her door, mere feet away. She looked as weary and worried as he did.

  He battled the urge to take her into his arms and kiss her. The memory of her rejection erected an insurmountable wall between them. He couldn’t look at her without remembering the horror on her face when he’d mentioned a special license. They’d formed a connection—or so he’d thought. He couldn’t understand why she would have given her virginity to him if she didn’t care for him.

  For the adventure?

  He tried to brush away the thought, but it persisted. That was the reason she’d cited for being unwilling to marry him. Lawks, he hadn’t thought he was ready for marriage, either. But they’d shared themselves as man and wife, and he didn’t want to cheapen their bond by pretending that it didn’t mean something. She wasn’t the same as the other women he’d lain with. He cared about her.

  But seemingly, she didn’t share that connection with him. Perhaps it was best that he focus on the much more important issue—his mother's safety.

  Her eyebrows pulled together as she reached out to squeeze his arm. “Did you sleep at all?”

  He pulled away.

  The furrow in her forehead deepened, but she dropped her hand. She clenched it in front of her middle. Her posture stiffened.

  He forced a smile. “I slept more than you, I imagine. I didn’t hear your snores.”

  Her cheeks turned pink, and she averted her gaze. “We were several rooms apart. I’m perfectly well rested.”

  Liar. He didn’t have the courage to ask whether he h,if had . Instead, he murmured, “I hope so. We have much to do today. Let's hurry to breakfast. May I escort you?”

  After the intimacy they’d shared, asking her that one simple question felt strange. She inclined her head but made no move to take his arm. He motioned for her to precede him instead.

  At the staircase, they met Brackley, who was dressed for travel. It seemed he’d been serious when he said he meant to accompany them. A small weight lifted off of Gray’s shoulders. If Brackley meant to come with them, they would meet with no more delays. The man was a marquess, with all the power and money that the title implied. They would reach London in time. They had to.

  As they stopped within feet of one another at the landing, Gray inclined his head. “Brackley.”

  His brother-in-law returned the gesture but turned to Charlie. “Lucy warned me I might have to rouse you. I’m happy to see she was mistaken.”

  Charlie’s answering smile was thin and wan. “This matter is too important for me to lay abed.”

  Brackley frowned. He looked between his two guests. “You seem different this morning. Is aught amiss?”

  “My mother’s life is in danger,” Gray answered, his voice tight. “May we continue to the breakfast room?”

  After gesturing to the staircase, Brackley fell into step with them. “Of course. Lucy will be down momentarily, and I mean to see us off as soon as possible. London is over a day’s travel away by carriage, but if we go by horseback instead and ride hard, exchanging horses at every inn we pass, we might be able to reach the city this evening.”

  Neither Gray nor Charlie was the best of horsemen, but he nodded nonetheless. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

  He didn’t look to Charlie for confirmation. In fact, he was lucky that Brackley didn’t underestimate her or Lucy. Perhaps he did love her, if he didn’t try to coddle her.

  Once again, his brother-in-law narrowed his eyes while glancing between them. He stopped in the center of the staircase. Gray would have walked past if Charlie hadn’t also paused.

  Brackley fixed them both under a penetrating stare. “Did something happen between you two last night?”

  Gray clenched his teeth and managed not to glance at Charlie. Was she blushing? If she did, it would be impossible to keep their intimacy a secret.

  Not that he wished to keep it a secret. No, he would rather shout it from the rooftops—by means of marriage, to which Charlie was violently opposed.

  Squaring his shoulders, he answered, “No. Shall we continue?”

  Brackley didn’t budge. His frown deepened. “If there is friction between you, you’d best air it. Spy business is treacherous. You need to be able to trust your partner above all else.”

  Gray met Charlie’s wide-eyed gaze for the briefest moment before he answered, “Charlie and I trust each other.” His voice was edged with steel.

  Lucy, clad in form-fitting breeches and a matching jacket, plodded down the stairs and stopped in her tracks as she reached the group. The air was thick with tension.

  “Is something amiss?”

  “Mother is in danger,” Gray bit off. “Shall we hurry?”

  “Of course.” She insinuated herself beneath his arm and squeezed his middle. “We’ll save her, Anthony.”

  He didn’t know what he’d do if they couldn’t.

  Foam gathered around the bit on the horse’s mouth, a sure sign that they should have stopped on the outskirts of London to exchange beasts yet again. Twilight fell around them, the streetlamps not yet lit to provide better illumination. The result was a thin, dreary sort of fog that blanketed the cobblestones. Weary to the bone, Gray pulled his horse to a stop in front of the Tenwick townhouse.

  Finally, they’d made it.

  Although his legs felt like watered wine, he forced himself to dismount. A footman emerged from the townhouse. Gray locked his knees as he offered the man the reins. “We have to speak to Mother at once. Is she sitting down to supper?” He wouldn’t feel at ease until he saw her with his own eyes.

  “No, milord,” the footman piped up. “I’m afraid she isn’t at home.”

  Gray’s legs threatened to give way. “Where is she?”

  The young man tugged on his forelock as he avoided Gray’s gaze. “I’m afraid she didn’t leave her direction. She might be at the duke’s residence with her sons.”

  Although he felt ready to collapse after a harried day, he dragged himself back into the saddle. They had to reach his brother’s townhouse with all possible haste—if not, they might find themselves mere minutes too late.

  25

  Charlie didn’t wait for the men to dismount and help her down. From the moment she pulled to a stop in front of the St. Gobain townhouse, she launched out of the saddle. On shaky knees, she crossed the cobblestones to the front door. No sooner did she raise her fist to knock than it was opened by a familiar face.

  “Mr. O’Neill,” she addressed the butler, a bit out of breath from the harrowing race through Mayfair to arrive here. “Is Lady Graylocke in?”

  He looked surprised. “No, Miss Vale. I haven’t seen her all day. I thought you weren’t in London.”

  Still panting, Charlie waved her hand. “I wasn’t. I just arrived. Is Morgan in his study?”

  “I believe so… ”

  Charlie didn’t wait for further invitation. She knew the St. Gobain townhouse as well as she did the Tenwick townhouse, where she stayed while the family was in London. Gathering her skirt so she didn’t trip over it, she stepped past Mr. O’Neill and raced through the house, up the steps to the second floor.

  Morgan’s office was smaller than his wife’s secret inventing room a floor above, but he seemed perfectly at ease with it, as he and Tristan sat on opposite sides of the desk, discussing the sheaf of papers between them. Each had a page in their hands.

  The moment
the duke spotted her, he jumped to his feet. His pale-gray eyes pierced through her, but it seemed that they couldn’t extract her inner secrets because he asked, “Charlie? What in the blazes are you doing in London? Shouldn’t you be in France?”

  She nodded, gulping for air. “Found Papa. No time to explain. Where is”—she panted—“your mother?”

  The shock in Morgan’s expression bled into a frown. “I don’t know. She isn’t here. What is this about?”

  Anthony entered the doorway mere moments after her. “She’s in grave danger. We must find her at once.”

  If the moment hadn’t been so fraught with peril and worry over Lady Graylocke’s fate, the twin looks of astonishment and delight on Morgan’s and Tristan’s faces would have been heartwarming. As it was, Charlie’s heartbeat quickened at the thought of delaying due to prolonged greetings.

  “Anthony?” Tristan shook his head. “How are you here? You never wrote to announce a visit. Did he?” He turned to look at Morgan, who confirmed his statement with a shake of the head.

  “I haven’t time to explain,” Anthony answered, his voice clipped. He exchanged a look with Charlie before returning to his brothers. “The plot by Monsieur V—Mother is the target. If we don’t get to her in time, the French might.”

  Fingering the white streak at his temple, the duke stepped from behind the desk. His demeanor transformed into the stiff, authoritative bearing of a general. “Mother? Why would she be a target?”

  “I’ll explain on the way. Just suffice it to say it's all part of Monsieur V's plan. Do we have any notion of where Mother might have gone? She’s not at the house.”

  Tristan volunteered, “I had breakfast with her this morning. She said she was going to the modiste with Lady Cowper.”

  Anthony swore. “There must be dozens of modistes in London.”

  There were, but only one that Lady Graylocke had taken Charlie to time after time. “I know where she’ll be. There’s a shop on Bond Street—”

  Slipping his arm around to the small of her back, Anthony herded her from the room. “Lead us. We haven’t the time to waste.”

  “Wait,” Morgan called as he stepped into the corridor after them. “I’ll call for the carriage to be brought round.”

  “We have horses waiting out front,” Anthony said, voice clipped as he stepped past Lucy and Lord Brackley. “I’ll meet you at the modiste.”

  Morgan caught his arm. “It won’t take long. I don’t know how far you’ve come, but I imagine your horses are tasked. We can’t be seen in a panic, or the French will know and move up their timeline. We must play this smart. I imagine they’ll have the house watched.”

  A tic started in Anthony’s jaw as he ground his teeth.

  Tristan squeezed between Anthony and Charlie. “I’ll fetch Freddie from the house. She’ll want to help.” He met Charlie’s gaze. “You said Bond Street?”

  She nodded. “She’ll know the place.” Charlie had visited it with her sister more than once.

  As Tristan disappeared down the steps, Morgan stared Anthony down, his eyes like chips of ice. From Anthony’s squared shoulders and tall posture, he didn’t seem the least bit intimidated.

  Softly and calmly, the duke said, “Let me take the lead on this, please. I know the French presence in London better than you. I can send out runners to monitor the situation and keep Mother safe once they find her. But I still don't see what this has to do with—”

  “Then do so,” Anthony cut him off. “I cannot stand here and do nothing.”

  Frankly, Charlie was surprised that he was able to appear so strong and rejuvenated when she felt watery inside. She clenched her teeth to keep from yawning. Her legs trembled from keeping her upright, but she refused to complain. Their mission was too important to postpone.

  As Morgan slung an arm around his younger brother’s shoulders and led him toward the stairs, he said, “I will. While we wait for the carriage to be readied, I’ll need you to tell me as much as you can about the situation.”

  Charlie prayed their departure wouldn’t be delayed too long.

  The sun hadn’t yet sunk below the horizon as they pulled up to the curb in front of the Bond Street shop. Charlie chafed as Morgan forced them all to await the driver lowering the stairs for them to exit the carriage, for appearances. Charlie didn’t give a damn about appearances, and neither, she wagered, did Anthony. She waited only long enough for the driver to open the door before she emerged first, taking his hand in order to keep her balance as she descended.

  The others followed hot on her heels as they struck out for the door to the modiste. The middle-aged woman accompanied a stately woman out of the shop doors and used a key to lock up.

  Charlie stopped short. “Where is Lady Graylocke?”

  When the woman, Lady Cowper, pinned her beneath an arch stare, she belatedly curtsied. “Forgive me, my lady, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  Straight-backed, Morgan strode up next to her, prompting the older lady to bend in a curtsey.

  “Forgive us,” he said, his calm voice belying his stiff posture. “We must find my mother at once. She told us earlier she meant to accompany you to the modiste.”

  The plump seamstress dipped in a deeper curtsey. “So she did, Your Grace. I’m afraid she was called away.”

  Charlie swallowed a lump in her throat. “Called away? Where?”

  Anthony’s hot form bracketed her back, lending her strength.

  Lady Cowper answered, “I’m not certain, precisely. She received a message from the charity she sponsors. It seems they were having some kind of problem.”

  “Thank you,” Morgan answered. “If you see her, please tell her to seek me out at home at once.”

  As they parted ways with the two women, Morgan directed them toward the carriage once more. They stepped out of earshot just in time for another carriage to pull to a stop. Tristan and Freddie exited.

  Charlie’s knees weakened at the sight of her sister’s milk-pale oval face. Freddie had always been the person to set the world to rights whenever something went awry. Picking up her cobalt skirts, Freddie hurried to the group and embraced Charlie.

  “Thank heavens you’re all right,” she whispered against Charlie’s hair. “Is Momma…”

  Charlie hastened to ease her sister’s worry. Even though Freddie still acted mad at their father, Charlie knew that deep down she wanted to be reunited with him as much as Charlie had. “She's fine, and Papa, too. They'll be arriving any day.”

  As Freddie pulled away, her expression tight, she raised her voice and addressed Morgan. “What’s happened? Tristan explained a little on the way. Evelyn is in danger?”

  Morgan nodded, his expression solemn. “Part of the French plot, it seems.”

  “But why? She’s unconnected to the spy network, except through you.”

  A flicker of unease and disbelief crossed Morgan’s face.

  Charlie answered for him. “Actually, she runs the network. Strickland is only the figurehead.”

  “So the information suggests,” Morgan added. He didn’t sound convinced. “I’ll wait to have that confirmed by her.”

  “Don’t you believe she’s capable?” Charlie certainly did, and Anthony had accepted the information without question.

  Morgan looked hesitant. “She’s capable… but if it’s true, why would she keep it from me?”

  Perhaps because he had gone through such effort to keep his involvement with the spy network a secret from her. They both should have trusted each other more. But that wasn’t the matter in question at the moment.

  “She isn’t here,” Charlie informed them. “It seems she received a message with an emergency at a charity.”

  Freddie nodded immediately. “Yes, the Widows and Mothers Society. She’s very involved in ensuring the welfare of widows and single mothers in the lower class.”

  Charlie had known that Lady Graylocke was involved with various charities, but she didn’t know where to find them. “I’ve
never been there.”

  “I have,” Freddie answered. “You spent much of your time with Lucy before her marriage”—she nodded at Lucy—“but I often volunteered with Evelyn. I’ll give the address to your driver. It sounds as though we don’t have a moment to waste.”

  As she turned on her heel, her skirt swishing behind her, everyone bunched to follow. “Wait,” Charlie said. Reflexively, she grabbed Anthony’s hand, hoping that he at the very least would listen to her. “What if the message wasn’t from the charity? It might have been a trap set by the French.”

  Morgan’s mouth thinned. He looked grim. “We can’t know for certain unless we can find the message boy. I’ll try, but that will take time. In the meantime, we’ll hope the message was genuine and we can find her with the charity.”

  As Morgan hailed a young groom from the boot of the coach and spoke with him in a low tone, Anthony squeezed Charlie’s hand. “We’ll find her there. We have to.”

  Despite the doubt wriggling in Charlie’s stomach, she squeezed him back and tried to believe him.

  Charlie’s stomach shrank the moment the charity’s secretary shook his head.

  “Lady Graylocke was here—”

  Thank heavens.

  “But the matter was set to rights well over an hour ago. She left to make an impromptu visit to a friend who she believed could be persuaded to give employment to one of the young women who sought us out.”

  “Did she name this friend?” Morgan asked, his voice stiff.

  “Mrs. Biddleford, I believe she said.”

  Charlie stepped back, frowning, as Morgan concluded his business with the man. Her sister, Lucy, and Anthony crowded around her, out of earshot of the two men. For a moment, Anthony looked as though he might bracket her shoulders with his palms, but he lowered his hands to his sides instead. A pity, for Charlie craved the comfort of his touch.