A Buccaneer at Heart

by Stephanie Laurens

  They already did.

  As Declan and Edwina knew the basis of the drama unfolding in Freetown, no preparatory explanations were required, and Robert and Aileen told their tale freely, with Edwina exclaiming and Declan looking grave at all the right points. It was clear that they grasped the ramifications of the events as clearly as Robert and Aileen.

  “So your poor brother is, we presume, stuck with all the others in some compound—the one we think contains a mining operation that is, at least in part, run by a man named Dubois.” Edwina looked from Robert to Declan. “So what’s the next step?”

  Declan exchanged a glance with Robert. “The mine itself, do you think?”

  “Possibly.” Robert pulled a face. “But there might yet be more to this.” He paused, then went on, “The degree of organization bothers me—this is not just any old cobbled-together, spur-of-the-moment, make-it-up-as-we-go-along scheme.”

  He met Declan’s eyes. “You know how most slavers operate—they just snatch people up and then sell them on to whoever wants them. This enterprise, for want of a better word, may use slavers as suppliers, but they’re doing so by giving the slavers a specific list of people they want taken. On top of that, the enterprise itself is relatively local, or so it seems, and above all, it’s remarkably tightly run. There’s been a great deal of thought and effort put into concealing both the enterprise and those behind it, and I can’t help asking myself why that is so.”

  Edwina stared at Robert, then grimaced, too. “You’re right. It’s tempting to think of this as the usual sort of blight where everything is obvious and a force can be sent in to clear it all up, but...” She leaned her elbow on the mahogany table, sank her chin into her palm, and frowned rather ferociously. “Aside from all else, how will you know how many men to send, and what sort of force, without knowing anything pertinent about this mine?”

  “Or worse”—Declan slouched down in his chair—“without knowing whether this Dubois is yet another layer of concealment, so that even if we follow that trail you found and get to him, we’ll still be too far from the mine—”

  “And our going after Dubois triggers the one thing that we are at all costs determined to avoid.” Robert glanced at Aileen. “We can’t risk the perpetrators learning that we know of the mine prior to our attack—”

  “Because the instant they do, the lives of all those missing will be forfeit.” Aileen shook her head. “There’s no way around it, is there? It will take at least one more...” She looked at Robert and Declan. “What do you call yourselves when on a mission?”

  Robert smiled faintly. “Operatives. And you’re correct—it will take one more operative, one more voyage to the settlement and back, to learn who Dubois is, and whether attacking him will be the same as attacking the mine itself, and if so, what force will be needed to take the entire operation in one fell swoop.” He met Declan’s gaze. “Because that’s the only way we’re going to be able to rescue the people who’ve been taken.”

  * * *

  Later that evening, as she closed the door to the room the kindly housekeeper had shown her to earlier in the afternoon, Aileen could barely believe how comfortable she felt, embraced and included as if she was already a member of the family.

  She walked to the window and looked out. Night shrouded the garden at the rear of the house. She leaned her shoulder against the window frame and let her mind wander—let it absorb the refreshing coolness of an English spring night and the corresponding reality that she was no longer in a country not her own, in a land full of exotic sights and dangers unimagined.

  Having assimilated that, her mind moved on to the subject that dominated her thoughts.

  Prior to dining, they’d received a reply from the Duke of Wolverstone; despite wishing most urgently to hear their news, His Grace, along with Lord Melville, was attending some vital meeting of a Lords’ committee, and neither expected to be available for at least another day.

  After dinner—a meal during which she and Robert had encouraged Declan and Edwina to fill them in on social news—with the others, Aileen had sat about the fireplace in the cozy drawing room and talked well into the evening. Declan and Edwina still clearly felt passionately involved in the ongoing mission, and that had bolstered Aileen’s determination to remain abreast of developments, too. As with Declan and Edwina, she and Robert might have played their part, but they hadn’t reached the end of the mission—the crime at the heart of it had yet to be resolved and the damage put right.

  The four of them had spoken openly. They’d been unfailingly in accord as they’d shared their views on the settlement, on the business opportunities, the social structure, and on the sad lack of attention paid to those in the slums, particularly the children.

  The latter still weighed heavily on Aileen’s mind. Every time she remembered the sight of the older girl’s face when, in the slavers’ camp, the girl had realized she and her fellows had been duped—that loss of innocence and the dying of hope—Aileen felt as helpless as the girl doubtless had.

  Aileen hated and refused to feel helpless.

  In such a context, anger was a much more useful emotion.

  When she and Edwina had declared their intention to retire, Robert had elected to remain downstairs with Declan. They’d repaired to Declan’s study to talk business and ships.

  Aileen had no idea how long she’d stood staring into the dark, but now she heard movement in the room next door. The room Robert had been given.

  She didn’t stop to think. She walked to the door, opened it, stepped into the darkened corridor, shut her door, and walked to his.

  Robert was standing in the middle of the room he’d been given, staring absentmindedly at nothing while in his mind, he juggled potential answers to the questions he and Declan had posed to each other in the study.

  He looked up as the door opened. Blinked, then smiled—to himself as well as at her—as Aileen slipped inside. The lamp on the tallboy had been left burning; as she shut the door behind her, leaned back against it, and studied him for an instant, then came walking boldly to him, the lamplight set bronze flames dancing over her brassy-brown hair.

  She halted directly before him. She opened her mouth—

  He placed a finger across her lips. “Before you start, I have something more important than anything else to say to you.”

  She kissed his finger, then tilted her head, her brandy-bright gaze questioning.

  He looked into her face, into her eyes. “I love you. You know that as well as I do. And you love me. So”—he caught her hands in his; without taking his eyes from hers, he raised first one hand, then the other, to his lips and brushed a kiss over her knuckles, then he held her fingers securely—“will you marry me, Aileen Hopkins, and join your life with mine?”

  One tawny brow rose. “Will you let me sail with you as your mother sailed with your father throughout most of their married life?”

  He’d expected it, yet he still had to bite back a groan. “Yes. As long as you accept that a ship has but one captain.”

  She laughed soft and low, and her smile lit her face. “Of course, my love.” She raised her arms and twined them about his neck. “You can be the captain.” She stretched up and brought her lips to his. “Just as long as I can be the captain’s wife.”

  She kissed him—and a relief he hadn’t known he’d been waiting for flowed through him. Slowly—almost reverently savoring the taste of her lips, the honeyed sweetness of the surrender she offered him—he closed his arms about her and drew her nearer as she stepped even closer and pressed her body to his.

  The promise was there, explicit in every touch and caress that followed. That they had this already established between them, and neither had any intention of letting it go.

  Of letting love slide through their fingers.

  As night closed around them and th
e darkness swallowed their sighs, their soft moans of pleasure, and eventually, her scream of completion and his answering groan, they pledged their troth in far more than words.

  Through body, through mind, soul-deep they reached for each other and twined, and claimed anew, forged anew, what they wanted from life.

  This, together. Forevermore.

  They seized it and clung—and silently vowed to never, ever let go.

  * * *

  Later, much later, when the storm had passed and they lay slumped and sated in his bed, inevitably their minds turned to plans, to the future.

  To their wedding, of course, and their families and how to break the news, and also to exchanging thoughts of where they might live...later.

  After...

  There was too much hanging over them for them to easily put aside.

  Aileen sighed and stated the obvious. “We aren’t going to be able to settle and look forward and plan with our whole hearts until this wretched business is done.” Through the shadows, she studied Robert’s face. With one fingertip, she traced his stubbled chin.

  He caught her hand, nipped her questing fingertip, then he echoed her sigh. “You’re right. There’s too much left undone. We succeeded and came home with the information I’d been sent to get, and you learned what happened to your brother and that he’s most likely still alive, but along the way we learned too much to simply hand over the information, step back, and with a clear conscience go on with our lives.”

  She nodded, her hair shifting on his chest. “Declan and Edwina feel the same.”

  “They do.” He started tracing her bare shoulder. “After you and Edwina came up, when Declan and I were talking, we tossed around the notion of waiting to see what came next.” He caught her gaze. “We can elect to take our ships out of service—for a month or so at least. Declan has The Cormorant anchored in Southampton Water. I believe I’ll send The Trident to wait alongside. Then, when we hear more, we can decide how to respond—if there’s a need, we can be ready in a day or so to sail to Freetown again.”

  She studied him, as much as the shadows allowed her to see. “You think there’s going to be a...large engagement, don’t you?”

  He nodded. “I think this is bigger than anything we’ve yet considered. Every inch we get closer, every new fact we learn, it seems to expand. Whatever action is required to put an end to whatever this is, it’ll take men and ships to get down there and get it done.”

  She looked at him for a long moment, drinking in all she could sense as well as see. “I’ll be sailing with you.”

  His chest rose and fell on a sigh. “So I supposed.” His tone was resigned. “But we can save the arguments for later.”

  She smiled. “All right.”

  She settled her head in what seemed its rightful place—in the hollow below his shoulder. Let her body sink against his as he cradled her alongside him.

  For now, they had each other. For now, they had this. It was infinitely more than either had started their recent journey with, and until tomorrow came and the clarion of duty sounded again, they could rest on their laurels, in each other’s arms, and take joy in the moment.

  In this most precious of blessings—a newfound love.

  CHAPTER 19

  Another day passed before they received the anticipated summons to meet with Wolverstone and Melville at Wolverstone House.

  It was late morning when Robert and Aileen, accompanied by Declan and Edwina, were admitted to the mansion in Grosvenor Square. By then, they were impatient to make their report; there was a growing sense among all four that at some point in the mission, time would become critical, and the lag in their ability to act as they traveled back and forth wasn’t an impediment shared by the other side.

  The villains could act and continue to act—could even bring an end to their scheme—while they, the agents for good, were trooping back and forth over the seas to London.

  Wolverstone’s butler showed them directly into the drawing room with a “His Grace, Her Grace, and the others are expecting you.”

  Robert shot Declan a sharp glance; his brother, too, had noted the oddity—why “others” plural?

  They followed their ladies into the room and discovered the answer.

  They were greeted first by Minerva, Duchess of Wolverstone. Her Grace was intrigued by Aileen’s presence, but immediately grasped her connection to the matter. Minerva made the introductions—for Aileen to her husband, Royce, Duke of Wolverstone, and Viscount Melville, the First Lord, both of whom were known to the other three.

  Then Minerva turned to the other gentlemen present, all three of whom had risen to their feet and stood waiting. “Lady Edwina Frobisher, Captain Robert Frobisher, Captain Declan Frobisher, and Miss Aileen Hopkins—permit me to introduce Major Rafe Carstairs, who, although retired from active duty, functions as something of a liaison for the army in those matters that require discretion.”

  Minerva paused to allow a tall, sandy-haired gentleman with pleasant features, openly curious blue eyes, and the telltale build and upright posture of a cavalry officer to exchange nods and shake their hands. Then she smoothly continued, “And Jack, Lord Hendon, who these days masquerades as the head of Hendon Shipping.” Minerva shot a glance at Robert and Declan. “Something of a competitor for your family’s business—as I understand it, on all levels.”

  “We’re acquainted,” Robert told Minerva rather dryly.

  Minerva smiled serenely. “I suspected that would be the case.”

  Hendon was another tall man, another ex-army officer, but unlike Carstairs, Hendon had been ten years or so from that job—not that it had ever been his only occupation. Although older than the Frobisher brothers, Hendon was nevertheless of their generation.

  After Hendon had finished attempting to charm their ladies, Robert and Declan shook hands.

  Minerva turned to the last gentleman—a tall, well-built, dark-haired man with an air of benign reserve, of noble solidity, who had waited patiently to greet their party. “And this is the Marquess of Dearne, who is...” Minerva arched a brow at the marquess—for all the world as if inquiring just what he was. Then with a quirky smile and a flick of elegant fingers, she continued, “Well, simply Dearne.”

  With a laughing smile, Dearne offered his hand. “Just Christian, please.”

  “Indeed.” Once everyone had finished shaking hands, Minerva waved Aileen and Edwina to the sofa opposite the one she had been sharing with Dearne. As the men found seats amid the armchairs and straight-backed chairs angled about the twin sofas, Minerva resumed her position and stated, “I suggest that, in this case, first names will make all our lives easier.”

  Everyone accepted that decree, which, Aileen noted, immediately resulted in a more relaxed ambiance, a much more accommodating atmosphere in which to make their report.

  Wolverstone—Royce—invited Robert to do so, and between Robert and Aileen, with occasional additions from Declan and Edwina to weave together connections to their earlier findings, their story was told.

  “So now we have the location of the slave traders’ permanent camp in the jungle!” Melville—he was the only one who hadn’t volunteered his first name—clapped his hands together. He glanced at the other men. “So—what’s next?”

  “First, congratulations on a challenging job well done.” Royce inclined his head to Robert, and to Aileen. The other men echoed the sentiment, Melville somewhat perfunctorily, but the others with due gravity; Aileen sensed the others better understood the nature of the trials Robert, his crew, and she had faced.

  Smoothly, Royce continued, “I think it pertinent to note that with each leg of this investigation, the central situation grows more fraught, not less.”

  Christian, now leaning forward, his forearms on his thighs and his hands clasped between his knees, nodded.
“That’s something we need to bear in mind as we plot our way forward—that every step we take closer to exposing the enemy also risks exposing us to them.”

  “Indeed.” Rafe’s voice held a hard edge. “We must never lose sight of the consequences of them learning of our pursuit too early.”

  “I concur.” Jack glanced at Robert. “And I agree with Robert’s assessment that the degree of planning—the number of layers with not many connections between—suggests that whoever is behind this has a lot to lose should their identities become known. And in this world, in this sort of situation, ‘a lot to lose’ means money, position, or power, or most likely all three.”

  “And,” Royce added, “when threatened, villains of such ilk will react without mercy to protect themselves.”

  Melville was frowning. He looked from one face to the next. “But surely, now we know the location of the camp—and which track to follow from it, and that the man the slave traders deal with is called Dubois—our way forward is clear.” The First Lord spread his hands. “We’ll send a small force to the settlement, they can collect whatever they need there, then march on the slave traders’ camp, take the slavers into custody, and march on and capture this Dubois and his enterprise, and that will be that.” He brushed his hands together. “The problem will be wiped out and taken care of.”

  The others stared at Melville. Several seconds of silence ensued.

  Then Christian said, his tone exceedingly even, “Our first consideration is, in fact, not the enterprise itself but the safety of those captured to work within it. After the recent matter of the Black Cobra, I’m sure the Prime Minister would be the first to stress that.”

  Aileen noted an approving gleam in Minerva’s gray eyes as Her Grace, one of the greatest of the current crop of grandes dames, nodded. “Indeed.” Minerva turned her acute gray gaze on Melville. “In this case, it must be people first, saving face for the government second.”