The Wolfe Wager

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  Aunt Carolyn squeezed his hand. “The important thing is that you are home, Corey. Today you must rest, but on the morrow, we must—”

  “The first thing we must do,” he said with an echo of the authority that had filled his father’s voice, “is call upon Lord Brickendon. From what I understand, this homecoming would have been impossible without him badgering the Prime Minister.”

  “Ross?” Vanessa whispered. “Oh, my dear God, no!” Her joy had blinded her to the catastrophe yet waiting to happen. Sitting back on her heels, she pressed her hand to her lips and stared at the Square beyond the windows. Ross should be here to share their joy.

  Corey must not have heard her because he continued, “Aunt Carolyn tells me that I shall come to know my savior well, for he is to become my brother-in-law. Don’t you think that such a familial relationship would excuse us from calling upon him at such an unusual hour?”

  “Ross is not at home.” Vanessa saw her brother’s brow knit at her faint answer. She rose, groping for the sofa, and carefully lowered her stiff body to it.

  “What is wrong?” Corey asked. “Nessa, you have no more color in your face than in your best gown!”

  “Ross is on his way to France to free you. He could be killed because I believed that he …” Her voice splintered into sobs.

  “What’s wrong?” Eveline rushed in with a flurry of white silk. “Corey!” She hugged him enthusiastically, motioned for her fiancé to come into the room, then turned to the others. When she realized that Vanessa was still crying, she said soothingly, “Happy tears will wash away the pain of those months of not knowing what was happening to your brother.”

  Vanessa raised her head and whispered, “Ross is on his way to France.”

  “To France?” Eveline’s brow furrowed in bafflement. “To escape dun territory and his creditors?”

  “Eveline!” gasped Vanessa and Lord Greybrooke at the same time.

  The earl added in shock, “Didn’t I ask you to say nothing of that?”

  The redhead faced him defiantly. “I told only Vanessa. She needed to know that her fiancé is about to become a fallen angel.”

  “Bankrupt?” Aunt Carolyn shook her head. “I have heard no such talk about Lord Brickendon.”

  “Nor should you now,” the earl answered with an remorseful smile. “I have no more than suspicions caused by my friend’s peculiar behavior of late. When I mentioned them to Eveline and said I intended to discover what was amiss with Ross, she must have misunderstood.”

  “Then he isn’t purse-pinched?” Eveline whirled to Vanessa. “I did not mean—”

  “I do not care a rush if Ross is well-inlaid or a shagbag,” Vanessa said, trying to restrain the endless flow of tears. Behaving out of hand had led to Ross risking his life needlessly. She could not let her tears now add to the disaster. She turned to her brother. “We must stop him.”

  “You are right. We cannot allow him to go to France. I shall not allow any man, especially the one who saved my life, endure what I had to.” Corey stood awkwardly, but waved aside his sister’s help. “If I leave immediately, I have a chance to halt him.”

  “I will ride with you,” said the earl. “With all hands to the pump, the two of us can search the docks faster than you alone.”

  Captain Hudson rose. “I shall go with you as well, too.” His lips tilted in a surprisingly abashed grin. “After all, it would not do for me to sit here like a cow-hearted chucklehead while my future nephew-in-law heads into such jeopardy.”

  Vanessa gave her aunt a quick smile, but the time to rejoice about Aunt Carolyn’s good news must be after Ross was safe. “I must go with you.” She shivered as she recalled saying those same words to Ross.

  “Nessa—”

  “I shall not brangle with you about this, Corey.” She gripped his hands. “Don’t make me suffer again as I did while I waited and waited never knowing if you would come home. I must go with you.”

  Pride filled his eyes. “That you must.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “We shall find him somehow, Nessa.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rain streamed along the pier and congregated between every cobble. Shadows huddled next to bundles, which had been unloaded from one of the ships clinging to the long pier, but only a skinny dog moved through the storm. The stench of the city was muted as the smoke was washed away into the churning waters of the Channel.

  Vanessa peered through the carriage window. She had wanted for sense when she allowed Corey to persuade her to remain in the carriage. Wringing her gloved fingers together, she wondered how long it would take them to find someone who might have seen Ross.

  She looked back toward the city. The clanging of church bells marked the late hour and were a bleak reminder that they must meet Lord Greybrooke and Captain Hudson at the inn near the base of Castle Hill before the next hour was chimed. Through the rain, she could see little of the huge castle, save for a few lights kept for the guard, who patrolled Dover, which was closer to France than any other British city.

  An uneven footfall came toward the carriage. Vanessa threw open the door.

  “Sorry,” Corey said when rain dripped from his greatcoat onto her cloak.

  She gripped his arm, not caring about the wet. “Have you found Ross?”

  “News of him.” He hoisted himself into the carriage and reached forward to strike his hand against the roof. He called an order to take them to the inn. Sagging against the seat, he grimaced when more water poured from his cocked hat to his shoulders.

  “What did you learn?”

  He put his hand over hers, and she wondered how his fingers, which were soaked, could be warmer than hers. “Dear sister, if that lurcher I spoke with is to be believed, and I paid him enough to buy every truth he knows, Ross sailed an hour ago.”

  “Oh, no!” She turned away and put her hand to her mouth to muffle the sobs that had been battering at her lips during the long, rough ride from Town.

  “This storm made the captain shove along.” He sighed. “I was told by every sea-crab I met that no one can catch the smuggler Ross sailed with. He has eluded the authorities for years, both here and in France.”

  “We must sail after him.”

  “Impossible. Not a single captain would consider putting to sea in this blow.”

  Vanessa saw her despair mirrored in his eyes. “But, Corey, if we delay until the morrow, we may never be able to halt him.”

  “We must delay.” He drew her head down to his shoulder. “There is nothing else we can do now, save praying that he will survive the French.”

  Corey insisted that Vanessa change into dry clothes before she joined the others in the dining room of the small inn. Too heart-weary for a dagger-drawing, she climbed the narrow, twisting stairs. When she bumped her head on the low ceiling, a sob burst from her. Her breath snagged on her aching heart as Ross’s face burst into her mind. Had anyone ever been as much of a goosecap as Vanessa Wolfe? If she had trusted him—just this one more time—he would not be sailing to his death.

  As she inched along the dark hallway, searching for the second door on the left and the room Corey had hired for her, she was consumed in remorse. She had seen how difficult it was for Ross to dismantle the brick wall around him to invite her to share his life, but she had acted as if his efforts meant nothing.

  The door opened beneath Vanessa’s cautious fingers. She stared at the fly-specked gray walls. An iron bed with a thick coverlet was set next to a stand holding an empty pitcher and bowl. A knock on the half-open door was her only warning before a broad woman bustled into the room. Rosy-cheeked, with her graying hair drawn back beneath a starched mobcap, the large woman carried a bucket of water.

  She splashed it into the bowl and filled the pitcher as she said, “Mayhap it be none of my business, milady, but I was ’earin’ what yer menfolk be sayin’ down in the tavern. Ye lookin’ fer a friend?”

  Vanessa took off her bonnet and poked at the drenched flowers. They were all to
pieces … just like her dreams. Tossing the hat onto the bed, she sat on the lumpy mattress. “We are looking for my fiancé, but we missed his sailing tonight. There is no hope of following him until the morrow, and that may be too late.”

  “La!” the woman said in a burst of sympathy. “Yer man be gone ’cross the Channel to those frogs?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bad sort they be. So’s I hear.” Pulling a towel from beneath her apron, she put it on the stand and asked, “Does yer man speak that parleyvoo?”

  “What—?” In spite of fear, Vanessa smiled weakly. “Oh, you mean French. I have no doubt Ross has mastered French as he has everything else.”

  “Includin’ yer heart.” The old woman chuckled and backed toward the door. “Yer sup will be waitin’ fer ye when yer ready fer it, milady.”

  Vanessa forced another smile, which lasted only until the door closed and she was left to confront her fearful thoughts. This was completely her doing. She wanted for sense as much as Sir Wilbur and was as manipulating as Mr. Swinton.

  Going to the glass over the table, she saw fright clouding her eyes. Her fingers rose to brush her hair back from her face. They paused as she lowered her gaze from her own recriminations, but there was no escaping the truth. If she had been brave enough to believe her heart, which had urged her to believe Ross, she would be sitting, snug and happy, in her aunt’s parlor as they toasted Corey’s return with smuggled French brandy.

  Hoping that Captain Hudson or Lord Greybrooke would have good news to share—although she could not fathom what it might be—Vanessa washed tearstains from her face and went down. She followed the sound of familiar voices to the other side of the narrow, stone corridor. Rafters crisscrossed the dining room from the huge hearth to the door. A pair of windows, with diamond mullions, were awash with rain. At one of the trio of long tables, her brother sat with the earl and Captain Hudson.

  The men set themselves on their feet as she entered. Her opaque hopes collapsed when she saw their somber faces. They were silent while she walked across the narrow room to their table. Captain Hudson stepped aside to motion for her to take the sole chair.

  “I found no one who was willing to set his boat upon the waves before the storm comes to an end,” he said before she could ask what he had learned. He inclined his head toward the earl who was refilling his glass from a brandy bottle in the middle of the table. “His lordship had no better luck.”

  “Good fortune has kept her favors for Ross,” Vanessa said softly. When her brother asked her what she had said, she was spared from answering by a door opening.

  Aromas of a roasting joint preceded the innkeeper. The nearly bald man carried a huge platter in his thin arms. He offered Vanessa a smile as he set the platter with its steaming collection of meat and vegetables in front of her. “Milady, a glass of wine?”

  “Yes.” She nodded her thanks when a young girl set it beside the platter. Tempted to ask for the full bottle to sand away the rough edges of her pain, she listened while her brother spoke with their host.

  “Bad blow,” the innkeeper said. “Surprised any of the lads was willin’ to set sail tonight. Yer friend must have a large purse of gold or the cap’n a burning greed to get his sea-coal from France. Some milord must be anxious for his brandy.” He blanched. “Beggin’ yer pardons, milords. Meant nothin’ by it, I did.”

  Corey stabbed a slice of the juicy meat and set it on the trencher before Vanessa. “No insult taken, my good man. We will be wanting another bottle later.”

  “Aye, Milord Wulfric.” The innkeeper backed away from the table, shooing the young girl ahead of him into the kitchen.

  “I wonder how long it will take before I grow accustomed to hearing that said to me,” Corey mused darkly, then shook himself. “This meal looks just right for us after our soaking.”

  Vanessa watched as the men served themselves. They ate with relish, even as they began to debate what they would do in the morning.

  “You cannot seriously be contemplating crossing the channel yourself, Lord Greybrooke,” Captain Hudson said to deflate the earl’s grandiose plan he was spinning between sips of brandy. “I shall go. I am a military man. I shall find him in a pig’s whistle.”

  “But you have seen no action more dangerous than a runaway cart in Covent Garden. In France, you could hang by the eyelids,” argued Lord Greybrooke. “Ross is my friend, and I am beholden to him to save his bacon myself. What think you, Wulfric?”

  “I think I should go.”

  “No!” Vanessa gripped the edge of the table, but lowered her voice as she added, “I shall not allow you to go back to that horrible country until Boney is defeated once and for all.”

  His eyes sparked, and she thought he would howl with fury as her father had when his wishes were thwarted. The other men grew silent when Corey looked at them, but Vanessa braved his glare. She was not afraid of the fierce Wolfe temper.

  “There is no use quarreling when we have no idea how long the storm will last.” Lowering his voice, Corey said, “You must eat, Nessa. You do not want to insult our good host, do you?”

  She looked across the room to see the door was ajar. The broad tips of the Boniface’s fingers gripped it. She doubted if many guests of quality came to this tiny inn of courts.

  Lifting her knife, she put it back onto the table. “I fear I shall embarrass all of us if I try to swallow a single bite.”

  Corey rubbed her trembling hand and murmured, “I wish I could tell you that it would be all right, but—”

  “Please say no more. If you give voice to what I fear in my heart, I do not believe I could bear a moment more of this horror.” She blinked back hot tears. “Why did I insist that he go on this madman’s quest?”

  Lord Greybrooke said, “Be strong, my lady. Ross Hogarth is a resourceful man and full of pluck.” He smiled gently. “After all, he won your heart when every other man in London despaired of achieving such a feat.” His smile became a scowl when cool air blew into the room, followed by the slamming of a door beyond the dining chamber. “What sap is abroad on a night like this?”

  “Other than us?” Corey asked wryly as he chewed a bite of the meat.

  As the men began to discuss anew what they would do on the morrow, a tall shadow unfurled in the doorway. Vanessa’s heart cramped with desperate hope as she stared at it.

  “Ross!” she gasped.

  Rain sprayed from his redingote as he charged across the room. Fury hardened his face. He grabbed her arms and jerked her to her feet. “I did not believe it could be true! I did not want to believe you could be so stupid!”

  “You are alive,” she whispered, touching the salt-stained sleeves of his coat.

  His anger did not diminish as he snapped, “Not only did you chase after me, but I have no doubt you planned to catch the next available boat to the continent.”

  “I thought I would never see you again.” Her fingers swept up his muscular arms. She had to touch him to assure herself he was real.

  “When are you going to accept that you gave me the rôle of the knight errant? You are supposed to be the lady guarding over her castle while I slay French dragons.” He shook her gently. “Vanessa, I vow I shall see you locked up in the most inaccessible tower of Wolfe Abbey before I take another chance of you following me into that blasted war.”

  “Wolfe Abbey does not have any towers.”

  “A true shame.” His lips twitched, but his eyes still blazed with the emotions she found so beguiling. With his voice no longer echoing among the rafters, he said, “You are the most blasted woman I have ever known.”

  “And you are the most incorrigible man I have ever known.”

  He laughed as he swept her to him and caressed her lips with the longing that ached within her. Holding him, unable to believe a second miracle had occurred, she whispered his name softly when he raised his mouth from hers. She touched his face, which was roughened with whiskers, and smiled.

  “What are you doing her
e?”

  At Captain Hudson’s startled question, Ross looked past her, his frown returning. “Are you a part of this, too? I should have known you would prove you have more guts than brains. And Edward! This is quite a surprise after your tales that I am about to become a public man without a farthing in my pocket.”

  “A misunderstanding,” Lord Greybrooke said, flustered.

  “Ross,” Vanessa said softly, “we all worried for your safety.”

  “You needed have no worry.” He shrugged off his coat and tossed it on the back of her chair. “The storm was even too much for even the best interloper. We turned back before we were set awash.” He brushed his hand against her cheek as he added, “That was when I learned you were searching for me, Vanessa. I should have known I would break yet another vow when I finally caught up with you.”

  “What vow?”

  Devilment twinkled in his eyes. “I swore before half the crew that I would give you a lacing like the one your father should have given you long ago. Not a man among those brave lads doubted that you might not deserve a taste of leather.”

  She rested against his broad chest, delighting in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear. It quickened as she whispered, “But you decided on another punishment? What scold am I due because I love you so much that I would dare the wrath of Boney himself to see you safe?”

  His hands encircled her face as he drew her head back. Just as he was tilting her mouth toward his again, he froze at the sound of a throat being cleared.

  Vanessa laughed as she saw Corey’s face was bright with amusement. “Ross, this is my brother.”

  “Your brother?” he choked. “I thought—”

  “You should have had more patience,” said Corey with a laugh. “With your pestering questions added to Nessa’s, I fear any government’s bulwark of bureaucracy was doomed to fall before you.”