Garrett scowled and made a threatening move toward Daniels. He backed off when the man flinched and pressed farther into the corner, holding up his hands. Bloody hell. He felt like he had attacked a wounded man. Daniels was either one hell of an actor, or he spoke the truth, damn him.
Sighing, Garrett leaned back in his seat and raked a hand through his hair. “Start at the beginning and tell me everything you know.”
Daniels eyed him warily for a moment before, in a slow and steady tone, he recounted the conversation he had overheard on Hammond’s back patio.
Garrett snorted. “A tall man wearing black formal attire, and a shorter man with coarse speech dressed as a footman? The tall man stated he knew the footman didn’t work for Hammond?” At Daniels’s nod, Garrett continued. “The man you followed had dark hair, an aquiline nose, and thin features?” Another nod from Daniels. “That could describe half the fops there tonight. That’s it? The only information you have?” Christ. The man was a useless idiot. Intelligence won battles. It won wars.
How the hell was he to fight an unknown enemy without it?
Spots of pink flamed on Daniels’s smooth cheeks. “It was pitch-black, and I stood some distance away. But with a guest list of over three hundred, it’s little surprise I didn’t know the man. You may be on a first-name basis with all the members of the ton, but I, thankfully, am not.” He finished the last in a heated tone and looked away.
Garrett cocked a brow at the blatant insult to the exalted aristocracy. Perhaps the man was not a complete idiot after all. “Why didn’t you speak to Hammond immediately? We could have caught them leaving. You should—”
“If I can’t identify the man, whom are they to apprehend?” Daniels interrupted him. “As I’ve tried to explain, the only information I have to pass along is a warning for you.”
“Why didn’t you follow him onto the dance floor?”
Daniels recoiled. “Once on the floor, he blended in with all the other guests, and I lost track of him.” He dropped his eyes. After a moment, he lifted them to meet Garrett’s. “I am sorry.”
“So am I,” Garrett muttered before turning to brood. The clatter of the horses’ hooves and the lumbering creak of the carriage as it rolled along the pavement filled the silence. The night watch bellowed out the time and the weather.
“You said the man tossed something for payment. You didn’t catch what it might be?”
Daniels shook his head. “Only that it was gold.”
“That narrows it down.” Sarcasm riddled Garrett’s response.
“I’m sure if you were there, you would have asked for a closer inspection.”
“If I were there, they’d be dead and we wouldn’t be here.”
Daniels’s eyes shot to his. “Yes, well, not all of us are military heroes.”
“You don’t need to be a hero to show courage, man,” he snapped.
After a moment, he heard Daniels shift in his seat and clear his throat. “Can you think of anyone who would want you harmed? A jilted husband? Someone with whom you’ve dueled? Won money from?”
Garrett’s eyes narrowed on Daniels. “I see you’ve managed to catch up on the gossip since you’ve returned from abroad.”
“I’m not deaf, sir. If I were, we wouldn’t be here, would we?”
“Point taken. However, if we go by that, it circles back to you. I won money off you.”
“But you gave it back.” The words were barely audible.
Garrett cocked a brow. “So you won’t kill me?”
“Again, if I wanted you dead, why would I be here? Warning you?” After a moment of silence, Daniels sighed. “Look, I’m trying to help you. You don’t have to trust me, but it’s important that you trust this warning. You need to heed it. That is, if you value your life.”
“Now there’s the question,” Garrett murmured and watched Daniels’s eyes widen at his cynicism. “But reminding me there is a queue of men who’d like to put me six feet underground is help I don’t need.”
“Don’t forget women.” Daniels lifted his chin. “I’m sure with your charm and grace, they must just swoon at your feet.”
Surprised by the taunt, Garrett eyed Daniels, whose bravado faltered under his pointed stare. He shrank back in his seat and again averted his gaze. Garrett frowned, something nagging him about the man’s reaction. He slung his arrows, but then braced himself as if unable to bear the brunt of a return salvo. Like a mouse swatting at a lion. The man would never survive a day in battle.
“They swoon all right, but it’s not from charm. When you’re older and more experienced, you’ll understand.” His eyes raked Daniels with derision. “Or perhaps not. But by all means, add women to the list. Like Herodias’s daughter, I’m sure one or two of them would love my severed head on a platter.”
A wine red flush stained Daniels’s cheeks as he stared out the carriage window.
Frowning, Garrett studied his profile. He was an odd bugger. There was something effeminate about him with those long-lashed eyes. The blue of them so bright and deep you could swim in them. His pink cheeks were almost gaunt, the man reed thin. His lips were the only thing full about him. They were too full, almost sensual, a luscious red and…He stiffened. Daniels was right. He was mad. Contemplating the man’s lips, for God’s sake. He didn’t give a good Goddamn if the man was light on his feet.
What mattered was if he was a lying bastard.
Damned if he knew if Daniels spoke the truth. Before Garrett could question him further, there was an explosion outside.
The unmistakable sound of gunshots ripped into the silence of the night.
All thoughts of his passenger fled Garrett’s mind. He fought to maintain his seat when the horses bolted into a breakneck pace, tossing them about like sacks of seed.
Shouts and curses rent the air.
Swearing, Garrett lunged for the door. The coach veered sharply around a corner and slammed him into the unforgiving barrier, his hand gripping the latch. The carriage tipped at a precarious angle. For one dangerous moment, it hovered suspended half upright. It tilted toward Garrett, before it flipped onto its side. Well sprung and luxurious, the vehicle was not constructed to take city turns at full speed.
Garrett’s shoulders slammed into the doorjamb and his head snapped back. Before he could draw breath, Daniels’s body catapulted onto his. The man’s screams echoed through the cabin, then instantly died when his head smacked into the doorframe above Garrett’s shoulder. His body slumped against Garrett’s, still and silent.
Shouts drifted in from outside, men’s voices yelling to one another.
He recognized Havers barking a response and trusted him to handle the clamor while Garrett eased Daniels’s crumpled body off of him and scrambled to his feet. He knelt on the door now flush with the ground between the two carriage seats and leaned over Daniels’s unconscious figure. His screams still echoed in Garrett’s ears, rattling him.
His palm slid over the man’s temple and shoved his hair back, feeling the beginning of an egg swelling. The skin was not broken, but as he studied Daniels’s temple more closely, he discovered the thick brown hair was but a wig. Underneath, blond strands were drawn back from the man’s head. Surprise filled Garrett. Other than bishops and barristers, wigs were long out of fashion.
The thump of noises against the side of the coach distracted him, and he looked up as the door above him swung open. His coachman Ned’s anxious features peered down at him. “My lord? You all right?”
“Yes, fine. Havers?”
“He’s following one of ’em two bastards who shot at us. Havers took one down.”
“The horses?”
“Fine, sir. Skittish, but I settled ’em down.”
“What happened? Where are we?”
“Few blocks from Mayfair, sir. Close to home.”
“There were two men? Is the one Havers hit wounded or dead?”
“Dead, sir.” Ned frowned, his blue eyes darkening. “A gent went to fetch t
he night watch. Said he’d take care of the body.”
Before Garrett could reply, clattering noise buffeted the carriage side and Havers joined Ned, his cheeks flushed, his hair standing up in tufts. “I lost the other one, sir. One dead, one gone.”
Garrett cursed. Any leads or information he could extract from the men were lost.
“Some blokes are here to assist with the carriage,” Havers said. “Heard the crash. Shall we give you a hand out?”
Garrett frowned down at Daniels. “Not yet. Ned, you said we’re close to home?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Good.” He leaned over and lifted the cushion on the seat to reveal the compartment underneath. Extracting the revolver, he stood and handed it up to Ned, knowing Havers carried his own. Armed and Ready were Havers’s middle names. Serving as Garrett’s adjunct for two years in the Crimea, he’d lived up to them.
Used to taking command, Garrett quickly snapped off his orders. “Ned, take this and go home. Saddle up Champion and return with him. My companion has hit his head and is unconscious. No point in moving him until I have a ride. I don’t trust any hired hackney. And Ned, watch your back. Havers, stand guard. Keep an eye out for the night watchman. I don’t know if there are others, but plan for it. I don’t want to be outflanked again. Inform any man who remains to help with righting the coach that he will be paid handsomely for his troubles. Those who can offer any information on the dead man will be paid double. And Havers, alert me to Ned’s return.”
“Right, sir,” the men replied simultaneously.
He watched them disappear from above, the sound of their steps against the carriage reverberating through the coach.
Left alone, Garrett’s attention returned to Daniels, and he knelt beside him. He slid his hand behind the young man’s shoulders and gently propped him into a sitting position. At the close contact, something prickly climbed the back of Garrett’s neck. It was similar to the feelings he had experienced before riding into battle, minutes before the hidden ambush mowed down half his men.
Daniels groaned and his eyes opened. Pools of watery blue blinked up at Garrett before fluttering closed.
The vulnerable look touched Garrett, tugging at something buried deep inside him. Compassion? Disconcerted, he sat back on his heels and rubbed his neck. And then he froze. His eyes shifted over the pale features inches before him, reassessing the cream-colored skin, the pink cheeks, and those full, sensual lips in a heart-shaped face.
He removed one of his gloves and leaned over to loosen Daniels’s cravat, sliding the material free. He slipped his hand into the open collar of Daniels’s white dress shirt, feeling for his pulse at his throat. Daniels’s skin was warm and soft against his fingers, delicate and smooth as silk.
An ominous chill swept Garrett. Almost unconsciously his hand lowered until he encountered a swath of bandages encircling the man’s chest. He paused, the chill deepening as he slipped his hand beneath the tight binding. When his fingers slid over the beginning mound of soft, round flesh, he jerked his hand free and dropped onto his heels. He spit out a string of expletives as he swiped his hands down his face. The answer to what disturbed him about Daniels plowed into him. Bloody hell.
Once again, he had been ambushed.
This explained why he was drawn to Daniels the minute their eyes locked across the card table. Why he had followed him across the room. Why Daniels didn’t dare confront the men he had overheard on the patio. Gut instinct sharpened by years of battle had warned Garrett there was something different about Daniels. He had attributed it to his being so damn young, peach-faced soft, and fresh out of the schoolroom. Not once in his wildest imaginings did it occur to him that the man was a woman.
His mind rebelled against the revelation. It was as if the enemy before him had suddenly switched sides. Garrett clenched his jaw.
What the hell was she doing gallivanting around dressed like a man?
And more important, who the hell was she?
And why the hell did she have to crash into his life when it was already in pieces?
Chapter Four
GARRETT had little time to contemplate this disturbing turn of events, for Havers bellowed his name and the carriage echoed with the clamor of someone again scaling the side of the cab. Moments later, Havers’s face appeared framed in the open door.
“Ned’s in sight. Shall we haul you up, sir?” Havers spoke with his usual blunt eloquence.
Garrett blew out a breath, struggling to collect his thoughts. The shock of his discovery still pulsed through him. “Yes, ah, we’ll assist Daniels out first. I’ll lift him up to you. Take care with his head. Take care with her,” he muttered the last under his breath. He slid an arm beneath her knees and another around her back, carefully cradling his burden as he rose to his feet. Her body was warm, featherlight, and he curled his arms protectively around her.
It had been so long since he had held a woman, two years too long.
Gritting his teeth, Garrett yanked his attention back to the task at hand.
With Havers pulling from above and his assistance from below, Daniels slid free of the coach.
Havers returned to grasp Garrett’s hand and drag him out. Built like an ox with arms the size of tree trunks, hauling over fourteen stone barely extracted a grunt from Havers.
Outside, Garrett leapt to the ground and circled to where Havers had propped Daniels against the coach’s roof. A cool breeze brushed over Garrett, and he shrugged off his evening jacket and knelt down. Easing Daniels forward, Garrett wrapped his coat around her, the large garment engulfing her body. Frowning, he studied the pale, still features before him.
Damn, he should have seen it. Why hadn’t he seen it?
Long lashes swept her cheeks and her lips were lightly parted. He recalled those deep pools of blue blinking up at him, and the jolt at the feel of a slim hand warm in his when he’d returned her wager.
A woman. A Goddamn woman.
Twice in one night she had caught him by surprise. Despite the gentle features before him, this young woman held some mettle. It took that and more to have done what she had this evening: infiltrating a gentlemen’s card room, following a man plotting murder, and then confronting Garrett with the plans. All three scenarios had placed Daniels in danger, if that was indeed her name.
Garrett swore. He didn’t like to be ambushed. He had never liked puzzles, and he sure as hell didn’t like the idea of being some bloody bastard’s prey.
Once again, he was at war. Different location, different players, but the goal remained the same—kill or be killed.
Garrett clenched his jaw and vowed that this time, he’d be damned if he’d make for easy prey. An image of his blue lancer uniform flashed before him. The sun had gleamed off it, lighting it like a bright beacon for the Russians to use as target practice. With it, came the inevitable onslaught of memories. Shot and shell rained, death screams deafened, and the rank smell of gunpowder and corpses suffocated him.
He bolted to his feet and staggered back, shaking his head to dislodge the images. Christ. He had burned what remained of his bloodied and battered uniform. Pity, he couldn’t burn his memories with it.
He felt a touch on his arm and whirled to find Havers beside him. Calm brown eyes steadied him. Once again, Havers dragged him back to the present, regardless of whether or not he wished to return.
“My lord? All right, sir?”
He swiped an unsteady hand across his face. As right as he’d ever be. That was the way of it for those pitiful few who had survived the carnage of Balaclava.
He turned to face Daniels’s slumped figure and nodded. Right. New war, new players. He needed to draw up a battle plan—one that included Daniels.
She possessed the only intelligence Garrett held, and Garrett refused to let her go. Not until he knew more about her.
He let his eyes roam over her slim figure in the masculine disguise. An image flashed before him of those luminous blue eyes spearing him with de
fiant scorn. For the first time since his return home, a woman had caught his attention. While he had no plans for a woman in his wreck of a life, she intrigued him, and he’d be damned if he’d let her go before he knew more about her. His mind was made up. He was keeping her.
He recalled their exchanges in the coach, the jabs, parries, and retreats. The arrangement might lead to a few skirmishes. Good thing Daniels had some mettle to her. She would need it for the upcoming battles.
Garrett left Daniels and joined Havers to assess the damage to his coach. There would be nicks and dents on the side flush with the street, but nothing permanent. His attention shifted to the horses. He ran his hand over the coat of one of the four hefty bays, assuring himself they had weathered the ordeal as well. As he did so, his eyes scanned his surroundings.
A group of men stood a few feet away, waiting as Havers had directed, to assist with the coach. Gas lamps lit the immediate vicinity but little breached the veil of fog coating the evening. A prostrate body sprawled on the cobblestones a few yards from the coach. Garrett left the horses to see to the man Havers had shot.
Sightless pools of black stared up at him from a pockmarked face. Garrett didn’t recognize the man but had no expectation he would. He was a hired lackey, one of many patrolling London’s seedier districts, ready to do any dirty job to earn a quid. Poor sod. The only information he could provide was corroboration for what Daniels had overheard. Someone wanted Garrett dead.
Ned drew up beside him, holding the reins to his stallion, Champion.
“My lord, is he all right?” Ned nodded to Daniels, his brow furrowed under his mop of black hair.
Garrett hesitated before replying, his eyes following Ned’s. “Yes, he’ll come round.” Explanations would have to wait until he knew more. The more information he collected, the better to form a strategy.
For the Love of a Soldier Page 4