by Tracy Grant
"Who will you tell, Caro? Lord Granby?"
"Why not?"
"Why should he believe you? The widow of his disgraced nephew making monstrous accusations against his own son in a vain effort to clear her husband's name. What proof do you have? A glimpse of a man talking to Rawley's batman. Some words spoken by Jared in the agony of fever. A few more words repeated by a young stableboy who might not have heard correctly. Your own all too fertile imagination. Don't talk to Granby, Caro. You'll make an enemy. You'd do better to go to Jared's father."
"No!" The word came out sharp and distinct. "I can't, not after the way he treated Jared. He disowned him, Adam. 'You're no son of mine,' he said. 'You've broken your mother and you've broken me and I never want to see your shameful face again.' No, he won't listen to me. Even if he did, he'd demand proof, and proof is what we don't have." Only what Adam would be able to learn and perhaps what she would be able to learn herself. "I shall rely on my wits to keep me safe."
"And on mine, I trust." Adam smiled and then his face went suddenly serious. "I'd give my life to keep you safe, Caro."
Caroline's heartbeat quickened. She reminded herself that Adam would do as much for Emily or Hawkins or anyone else to whom he was bound by friendship and honor. But his words burned through her and she felt a sudden rush of desire. Dear God, how she wanted this man whom she had loved and hurt and betrayed and whom she could now ask for nothing but kindness and friendship. She dared not meet his eyes. They stood silent for an eternity, and then Emily's voice broke the spell. Grateful for an excuse to leave him, Caroline ran downstream and watched Emily demonstrate her newly acquired skill. A few minutes later they were back on their horses, and Adam gave no sign that the interlude by the river had ever taken place.
Four days later they entered Lisbon. Caroline remembered Lisbon as she had first seen it from a distance, a splendid, beautiful city, its houses washed with color, spilling down a series of hills to the waters of the Tagus. She had forgot the filth and the squalor, the dung heaps and starving dogs, the dead animals left decaying in the streets, the legacy of years of war and occupation. Like the countryside around it, the signs of devastation were everywhere.
Caroline had given up her rooms when she left for Acquera, but Adam had promised her a room in his own lodgings, a house in the Alfama, the oldest quarter of the city. They climbed the narrow, winding streets, barely wide enough for two horses to pass. The streets became stairs which opened into little squares. The houses were tinged with pink, blue, brick red, ocher. Washing hung from every window and flapped overhead. Canaries sang from cages on the walls and bright little parrots perched on the window sills. There was a smell of sardines and of smoke. Hawkins shouted raucous greetings to the inhabitants, most of whom he seemed to know. Caroline understood his exuberance. She had always loved London, and she felt some of his joy at being once again in a proper city. But she also felt provincial and out of place. Acquera had left its mark.
The house where Adam lodged was beneath the ramparts of the Castelo de São Jorge, once the palace of the Moorish Governor. They pulled into the courtyard of a tall, shabby, house and dismounted. Hawkins, whistling furiously, saw to the stabling of the horses and the mule who had made the entire journey to Acquera and back, while Adam led Caroline and Emily up the stairs to the house. His rooms, he said, were on the second floor, his landlady, an impoverished gentlewoman, having retired to an intermediate floor which was directly above the stables. Adam had three rooms on the floor above, their windows overlooking the streets through which they had climbed and the river beyond.
He unlocked the door and ushered them into a high-ceilinged room hung with tapestries. Caroline had a brief impression of light and comfort and then a door opened and a woman entered the room. Caroline was able to notice little beyond the fact that she was young and amply formed and had hair of a brilliant gold. Then the woman gave a joyous cry and ran straight into Adam's outstretched arms.
Chapter Thirteen
Rage and humiliation welled up in Caroline's throat. Adam had betrayed her. Throughout their journey, he had known that this woman was waiting for him. He had known it when he came to Acquera. He had known it the night she went to his room. He had known it when he took her with a hunger and need which had seemed to mirror her own.
A cold chill swept through Caroline's body, even as hot color flooded her face. What had she expected? That Adam had been celibate for five years? In bedding her while he kept a mistress, he had done no worse than she had done when she went to his bed with Jared's wedding band still on her finger.
No, a voice screamed deep inside her, it isn't the same. Five years ago her marriage had been a sham. She would never have embraced Jared with the tenderness and affection Adam was now displaying toward his mistress.
Like any agonizing sight, the embrace seemed to go on for an eternity. At last, Adam turned back to the doorway. He kept an arm round the woman's shoulders and she leaned against him with comfortable familiarity. "Elena Muros," Adam said, with one of those rare, easy smiles which banished all traces of mockery and tension and remembered pain from his face. "Caroline and Emily Rawley."
Caroline wanted turn and run from the knowledge of what a fool she had been. But pride had sustained her in the past and she would not allow it to desert her now. She drew a breath and held her voice steady. "I'm delighted to meet you, Senhorita Muros," she said, speaking in Portuguese.
Elena Muros laughed. "Señora. I am Spanish and a widow like you. But you must call me Elena." She had a throaty, lilting voice, as vibrant as the hair that curled about her face and tumbled in thick waves down her back. Her gown was simple, but it was cut low enough to reveal her generous figure and the deep blue wool echoed the color of her eyes. Caroline was acutely conscious of the bulky folds of her cloak and the gritty feel of her hair, pale and straight at the best of times and now badly in want of washing.
If Elena felt equal jealousy toward the woman whom her lover had taken such pains to rescue, she gave no sign of it. "I'm so glad to see you safe, Señora Rawley," she said. "And Emily." Elena bent down to speak to the child. "I didn't know about you, Emily, but I'm very glad to see you too."
Emily studied the stranger for a moment, then gave a shy smile. Caroline felt a stab of pain. She looked at Adam, but he was watching Emily. It was unlike him to be so unaware of the awkwardness of the situation. Or was he being willfully blind?
Elena straightened up and turned back to Adam. "What have you done with Hawkins? Has he run off with a rich widow? Or a seventeen-year-old virgin?"
Adam grinned. "He's seeing to the horses. He'll be up in a few minutes."
For some reason, this made Elena laugh. "I'd best see to dinner. Emily?" she asked, holding out her hand. "There are some rolls left from breakfast. Would you like one?"
Emily hesitated, then smiled again and took Elena's hand. Caroline watched them leave the room, feeling betrayed on all sides.
"Sit down," Adam said. "I'll take your cloak."
Caroline undid the ties on her cloak and forced herself not to wince at Adam's touch when he lifted it from her shoulders. Keeping her head high, she moved into the room. A harpsichord stood near the French windows in a shaft of late afternoon sunlight. Caroline's throat closed at the sight. She should have known Adam would never be far from music, wherever he found himself.
Not wanting to think of Adam, she turned away abruptly and sank down on a couch which faced the fireplace. It was covered in a handsome brocade, but the colors were faded and the fabric was worn and brittle to the touch.
"Our landlady, Dona Isabel, comes from an old Portuguese family," Adam explained, flinging himself into a chair opposite Caroline. "Her husband was killed in the war and the family fell on hard times. Hence the moth-eaten luxury."
"I see." Caroline's voice was tight.
"I wasn't sure how Dona Isabel would take to Elena, but they've become the greatest of friends," Adam continued in the same easy tone. "Dona Isabel is t
eaching Elena embroidery and Elena is teaching Dona Isabel to cook."
Caroline smoothed her rumpled skirt. "Elena's charming, Adam." She raised her head and looked at him directly. "You should have told me about her."
Realization dawned in Adam's eyes. Really, Caroline thought, he was being ridiculously slow. He looked at her for a long moment, then leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "Perhaps I should have," he said in a thoughtful voice. "But then the subject never came up."
He folded his arms and regarded her with a look of bland inquiry. Caroline drew in her breath, but before she could speak there was a clatter of footsteps and the door was flung open. "I met Dona Isabel in the hall and had to be civil," Hawkins said, his breath coming quickly, as if he had run up the stairs. "Nice woman, but I thought she'd never stop talking." He scanned the room as he spoke, looking past Adam and Caroline.
"She's in the kitchen," Adam said, regarding his friend with amusement. "But have a care. Emily's in there with her."
As Hawkins grinned and strode forward, there was a cry from the kitchen doorway. "You miserable bastard," Elena said, flinging herself at him, "couldn't you have put me before the horses?" She threw her arms round him, just as she had thrown her arms around Adam, save that she also lifted her head and drew his lips down to her own in an urgent, hungry kiss which left little to the imagination.
Caroline looked away and found Adam watching her with a glint in his eyes. "Sorry for the confusion," he said. "As you see, she's not mine—she's Hawkins's."
"I'm no man's," Elena said, drawing back from her lover. "But I sleep in his bed." She gestured toward Hawkins, who pulled her to him and began kissing her again.
Caroline stared at her hands, feeling her face grow warm under the pressure of Adam's gaze. "It was a natural misunderstanding," Adam said in a kind voice. "If I hadn't been so damnably tired and glad to be home, I'd have realized sooner."
Caroline nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She couldn't explain that her embarrassment was not because she had assumed Elena was Adam's mistress, but because of the gut-wrenching pain she had felt at the sight of Adam with his arms round Elena and his hand twisted in her golden hair. She had felt enraged. She had felt betrayed.
Because for that moment, she had been convinced that Adam belonged to her.
Avoiding Adam's gaze, Caroline rose and said she would see what had become of Emily.
At ten o'clock the next morning, Adam arrived at the British Embassy and was informed that Sir Charles was expecting him. Adam, who had sent a message to Stuart the previous night, nodded, fended off questions from the Embassy staff, and made his way to Stuart's office. He was greeted by the aroma of strong, freshly brewed coffee. Stuart was seated behind a brass-inlaid desk, his coat unbuttoned, his cravat loosened, an assortment of papers strewn before him, a coffee cup tilted dangerously toward the dispatch he was reading.
At Adam's entrance, the ambassador looked up with a careless smile of welcome. "Durward, good to see you back. Just as well you didn't come round last night. I was at the Opera."
"So I suspected, sir." Adam kept his face expressionless. In the evenings, Stuart was usually to be found at the theater, more often than not standing in the wings and winking at the actresses as they came on and off the stage.
Stuart, who was only four years Adam's senior, gave an unabashed grin. "All part of the job, Durward. Improving my knowledge of local culture." He leaned forward with sudden enthusiasm. "By God, Brunet's an exquisite creature! I think she gets more beautiful with each performance."
Adam smiled but made no comment.
"Oh, well, enough of my doings," Stuart said, abandoning the fair Brunet with obvious reluctance. "Sit down and tell me what you've been up to." He waved Adam to a leather-covered chair opposite the desk and poured him a cup of coffee from the pot that stood beside his ink-blotter.
Adam gave a brief account of the journey to and from Acquera, including the French dispatch, but omitting the attacks and Emily's kidnapping. Stuart settled back in his chair, his booted feet propped up on the desk top, but Adam knew the careless pose was deceptive. Sir Charles had the rare talent of being a good listener. "You're a lucky dog, Durward" he said when Adam had done. "I met Mrs. Rawley once years ago in London. An enchanting woman. Nothing like a lovely widow with cause to be grateful to her rescuer."
Adam felt a flare of anger. In general, he found Stuart's preoccupation with the fair sex amusing, but not when it came to Caroline. Especially not when what Sir Charles was implying was no more than the truth. "Mrs. Rawley has been through a great deal," Adam said in an even voice.
"Quite so," Stuart said as if Adam had only confirmed his point. "I'm delighted you were able to assist her, though I must say you're the last man I'd have taken for a romantic. Where have you hidden the lady?"
Adam controlled his temper with an effort. "Mrs. Rawley and her child are staying at my lodgings."
"Ah." Stuart smiled.
"With Mrs. Muros to serve as a chaperone."
"No need to be so stiff-rumped, Durward, I wasn't impugning the lady's honor. Though to my way of thinking, after what she's been through she's entitled to snatch whatever pleasure she can. Does she mean to go back to England?"
"Yes," Adam said and then hesitated, searching for the best way to frame the rest of the conversation.
Stuart's eyes narrowed. "There's more. Is it the dispatch?"
"No." Adam sipped his coffee. It was strong, but less bitter than what they drank at his lodgings. "You know that Mrs. Rawley's husband was implicated in the matter of the faulty ordnance at Vimeiro?"
Stuart gave a curt nod. "Nasty business. He's certainly paid for it, poor devil. No sense in upsetting the widow by bringing it up again."
Adam's fingers tightened around the fine porcelain of his cup. "I'm afraid it's more complicated, sir. I recently made a discovery which leads me to suspect there was another man involved in the fraud."
Stuart drew in his breath, then released it very slowly. "I see." His brows snapped together. "Do you know the other man's name?"
Adam set his cup down on a table beside him. "Lieutenant-Colonel Talbot Rawley."
In the past five years, Adam had seen Stuart in a number of crises. But he had rarely seen him so taken by surprise. For a moment the ambassador stared at Adam in silence. Then he let out an oath. "Do you have any idea what you're about, Durward?"
"I have some imagination, sir."
There was a dull thud as Stuart swung his legs to the carpeted floor. "Talbot Rawley is Earl Granby's son. He's known for his courage and daring. He received favorable notice in Wellington's last dispatches to the Prime Minister." Stuart looked at Adam, his eyes hard. "What sort of evidence do you have?"
Adam told him what he'd omitted from his earlier account of the journey: the attacks, Emily's kidnapping, the stableboy's account of the exchange between Colborne and the thin man, Caroline's recollection of Jared's dying words.
Stuart listened intently, a growing frown on his face. "Christ," he said, when Adam had finished. "As if we haven't got enough to worry about." He ran his hands through his hair. "You know this doesn't prove anything, don't you?"
"No. But it's suggestive."
"Oh, it's suggestive all right. It suggests we're in one hell of a mess. Have you told anyone else?"
Adam shook his head. "I suspected Wellington would take Colonel Rawley's word over mine."
"You were probably right." Stuart leaned back and studied Adam. "What made you so certain I wouldn't do the same?"
"I wasn't certain at all," Adam told him. "But I thought it was worth the risk. And I thought you'd at least give me a fair hearing."
"And the damnable thing is you were right. You usually are." Stuart relaxed into the chair and crossed his legs. "I've been meaning to speak to you about that, Durward. It can be an annoying quality in an aide."
For the first time since he had mentioned Talbot Rawley, Adam permitted himself to smile. Stuart mi
ght not be a wholehearted ally in the business, but at least he wouldn't be an enemy.
Stuart picked up a silver penknife and turned it over in his hands. "What do you want from me?"
"Leave to escort Mrs. Rawley to England. I don't think it's safe for her to travel alone. In England I can look for proof that will convict Talbot. Or exonerate him."
"Permission granted." Stuart tossed the knife onto the desk with a clatter. "But if this goes wrong, I may have to deny knowing anything about it."
Adam smiled again, this time with complete confidence. "Of course, sir. I wouldn't have expected anything else."
Stuart returned his gaze and gave a sudden laugh. "Bloody impudence. Have another cup of coffee, and tell me more about your pretty widow."
Hawkins stared at the ancient damask canopy overhead and felt a wave of contentment. Elena was lying within the curve of his arm, her head on his chest, her bright hair spilling across him. The heavy gold earrings he had bought for her on the journey through Portugal lay on her dressing table, glinting in the moonlight that flooded the room. Elena had placed them there carefully. The rest of their clothes littered the floor, hastily discarded. Though it was the second night since his return to Lisbon, their hunger for each other had not abated.
Hawkins found it hard to believe he had known Elena no more than a year. He and Adam had found her near the Biscay coast last spring, ill and abandoned by the French soldier who was the latest in the series of protectors she had acquired after her husband was killed at Bussaco.
Fortunately, Adam's business with the guerrillero leader, Don Julian Sanchez, had taken some time and Hawkins had been able to nurse Elena. But as she recovered it became clear that she had no money and no place to go. Her family were from nearby Galicia, but her parents were dead and her brother, a guerrillero, had quarreled violently with her husband, who was an afrancesado. So when Adam and Hawkins moved south, Elena went with them. And when they returned to Lisbon for the winter, she accompanied them and moved into their lodgings. She had begun sharing Hawkins's bed some time before.