For Love and Country (Brothers in Arms Book 13)

by Samantha Kane

  “That’s why he insisted I learn to defend myself,” she said.

  “That sounds reasonable,” Ambrose agreed. “Did you know that Simon Gantry had disappeared?”

  “Who?” she asked.

  “The other man who helped to rescue you,” Ambrose told her. “I believe Barnabas had him investigating de Vere. He’s disappeared.”

  “He’s most likely dead,” she said, her voice wavering. “And it’s my fault.”

  “It is not your fault,” Ambrose said firmly. “De Vere is the one at fault. Do not ever forget that.” She shook her head. “Do you know what he might have done with him?”

  “I don’t know,” she said in despair. “He used to talk about getting rid of his problems via ship. Disreputable ports, that sort of thing.”

  “Such as?” Ambrose said, growing excited. “We might be able to help Barnabas find his friend.”

  “In the Caribbean, I think, and along the Barbary Coast. The Gold Coast, as well. He has dealings with the Ashanti. Did Barnabas know he was missing last night?” she asked, sniffing. He handed her a handkerchief.

  “I believe so, yes,” Ambrose said softly.

  “I don’t know how he could stand to touch me.” She wiped her nose delicately.

  “Because like me, he knows none of this is your fault. You are as much a victim as Simon.” He kissed the back of her hand. “He cares a great deal for you, you know.”

  “He’s in love with you.” Her bald statement took him aback.

  “What?”

  “The way he looks at you,” she said. “The way his voice changes when he speaks to you.”

  “He feels the same about you,” Ambrose told her. “It’s in his actions, in the way he is determined to protect you.”

  “He would do so for anyone in my position,” she dismissed. “Particularly one who had the same information I do.”

  “Nonsense,” Ambrose said. “You don’t see any of them living in Barnabas’s house, do you? No, my dear. From the moment we rescued you, he has cared deeply.”

  “He didn’t come to see me for four months,” she said drily. “I don’t think he had an overwhelming passion for me. I was not at my best when we met.”

  “He denies himself anything that he could become attached to,” Ambrose said. “Haven’t you realized that? I think he believes it makes him stronger, to do the work he does, I mean.”

  “I am not a good match for him,” she said firmly. “I am not a good match for anyone.” She shook her finger at him. “You included.”

  He blushed. “What do you mean?”

  “I know you have feelings for me, Ambrose. Don’t, please,” she pleaded. “You are a man of sterling reputation, a man of ideals in a position to do something good, to be important. Don’t throw it all away on someone so miserably unsuited for you.”

  “I will love whom I please,” Ambrose said. He was struck by how like Barnabas he sounded. “There is nothing you can do about it. I do not find you unsuitable at all. Quite the contrary. I find you strong and intelligent, sensual, giving, and kind.”

  Her eyes filled with tears as she stared at him. “I don’t believe anyone has ever called me any of those things.” She dashed away a tear.

  “Clearly everyone else is an idiot,” he said.

  “Barnabas has called me stubborn,” she said with a weak smile.

  “You are that, too,” Ambrose agreed. “But it is not your defining trait, as it is his.” She laughed.

  “What are you going to do, Ambrose?” she asked quietly. “In love with two such horribly inappropriate people? You, the perfect English gentleman, the perfect lord. What a mess it all is.”

  “On the contrary. I am quite happy,” he assured her. “I feared I would never love. I was growing as cold inside as Barnabas pretends to be. I see now that it was living the perfect lie that had frozen my heart, not an incapacity to love.” He took her hand again and kissed her palm. “You and Barnabas are what I needed to open my heart and free my soul.”

  “Argh,” she growled. “Have you not heard a word I said?”

  “No,” he told her unrepentantly. “I have chosen not to hear them. Just as I will choose not to hear Barnabas’s protestations, either. I can tell he is getting ready to push me away as well. I have decided not to let others dictate my happiness. Instead, I will follow my heart, an organ that has not led me astray yet.”

  “You have other straying organs?” she teased.

  “Indeed,” he said, waggling his brows suggestively. She giggled, and it was delightful and more. Her resiliency in the face of the horrors she’d survived was truly awe-inspiring. “I do love you,” he said fervently. “And there is joy in it for me.”

  “Oh, Ambrose,” she said, her heart in her eyes. “You always say the right thing.”

  Chapter 26

  The evening grew later as Mel sat and talked with Ambrose. She checked the watch pinned to her bodice yet again and frowned. “Have you any idea what is keeping him?” she asked Ambrose.

  He shook his head. “No. I received no note from him, and I gather you did not, either. Perhaps Soames?”

  Mel stood and rang, and Soames immediately opened the door. “Madam?”

  “Have you received any word from Sir Barnabas?” she asked anxiously.

  “No, madam,” Soames said, frowning. “That is not unusual in these circumstances. There are many times in the past when we have not seen him for days.”

  “That was in the past,” Ambrose said, standing. “I am going to his office to find him.”

  “I am sorry, sir,” Soames said apologetically. “I sent your carriage home. It was presumptuous of me. Let me send for one of Sir Barnabas’s. It will only be a moment.”

  “Has the house retired?” Mel asked, peeking out the door. There was only one candle burning in the entry.

  “Yes, madam,” Soames told her. “Jack informed me you did not wish to be disturbed.”

  “Jack was correct,” she said. “But I should have realized the time and not put you all out like this.”

  “It is no trouble, madam,” he said with a bow. “Let me call the carriage.”

  “Thank you, Soames,” Ambrose said. After Soames left he walked over and took her by the shoulders. “I shall bring him home,” he told her, kissing her on the forehead.

  “I don’t like the idea of you going there, either,” she said. “Rushing into the thick of who knows what.”

  “Most likely a mountain of reports and paperwork,” Ambrose told her with a smile. She unbuttoned and then rebuttoned the top button of his jacket nervously.

  As much as she wanted them both, she knew it was folly to think they could have the sort of arrangement Kitty had with her husband and Dr. Peters, or Lady Vanessa or even Very Tarrant. Their husbands were content to stay in the background, their main focus their families. But Barnabas held a very important position in the government, and Ambrose was a well-known orator and politician. For either of them to entertain such an untraditional arrangement would be ruinous.

  Of course, for either of them to choose a traditional relationship with her would be ruinous as well. She was still a married woman. She’d been unpopular and disgraced before her marriage to a social pariah, and though Ambrose and the others had assured her no one knew of her imprisonment and abuse at the brothel, she was quite sure they were lying. Gossip spread through the back alleys and along the stoops of Mayfair faster than Barnabas’s spy network. Both men would be shunned over their connection to her.

  “You mustn’t be in love with me,” she told Ambrose again. “I am a terrible person to love.”

  He hugged her tightly and she hugged him back. “Too late,” he whispered against her hair. “Stop being such a managing female.”

  She sighed into his lapel.

  “Is that your way of saying you love me, too?” he asked lightly, pushing her back so he could see her face. She bit her lip and refused to say anything.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “
I know.”

  A commotion in the hall made them both turn toward the door. When no one opened it and they heard shouting, Ambrose shoved her away from the door and pulled it open. To her astonishment Soames was grappling with a man in the entryway, the front door open, while another man lay sprawled on the floor, shaking his head as if stunned.

  “Run!” Soames called back to them. “Get her upstairs! Hurry, man, there are more.”

  The man he was grappling with took advantage of his inattention to punch him in the jaw, and Soames stumbled back. But he grabbed the man’s arm before he could jump toward Ambrose and Mel. Two more men pushed into the entry, knocking Soames to the floor and headed straight for them. Ambrose grabbed her arm and flung Mel toward the stairs.

  “Go!” He picked up a heavy glass bowl and threw it at the men, who ducked out of the way. The bowl crashed into the wall beside them and shattered, showering them with glass. Both men covered their eyes and cursed.

  Mel took off for the stairs, Ambrose right behind her. “Barnabas’s room!” he shouted at her. “Go!”

  She glanced back and saw Jack the footman running out of the servants’ hall door, a revolver in his hand. Barnabas had told Hastings that everyone in his household had to be able to defend it. He had been quite, quite serious, it seemed. Soames had risen and continued to fight with two of the men in hand-to-hand fisticuffs, holding his own.

  “Cook!” she shouted back at Ambrose. She knew the poor woman wasn’t trained to defend herself.

  “We can’t,” Ambrose said grimly, pushing her on.

  One of the men who’d been showered with glass had reached the bottom of the stairs and was gaining on them. Mel ran as if her life depended on it, because it probably did. These must be de Vere’s men. But why now? Where was Barnabas?

  “Halt!” The voice echoed in the hallway and was followed by a shot. Mel flinched and waited for the pain, but nothing came. She spun around to see Ambrose confronting the man from downstairs who still brandished a gun.

  “We just want the girl,” the man said roughly. He had worn a neckerchief over his face like a brigand, but it had come loose and now hung around his neck. “Hand her over and you walk away.”

  “I will walk away regardless,” Ambrose told him. “You had one shot in that pistol and it is spent.”

  The man pulled a second pistol from behind his pants. “He didn’t say nothing about killing anyone else,” he warned. “Don’t care either way, but I need the girl.”

  “Never.” She tried to push past Ambrose, frightened to death the man would shoot him, but Ambrose shoved her back behind him. “Stay there,” he ordered her. “If you go with him, you’ll die and de Vere will go free.”

  “I don’t care,” she said. “I won’t let him kill you.”

  “He won’t,” Ambrose said confidently. “I am Lord Wetherald. If you kill me they will hunt you down and hang you.”

  The man glared at him. “If you’re both dead, there’s no one can identify me,” he said. “I know how the law works.”

  “You don’t know how Sir Barnabas works,” Ambrose told him. “Fear him more than your master.”

  “He’s taking care of Sir Barnabas right now.” The brigand smirked. “We’ll have it all locked up right and tight in no time.”

  He raised the gun and the shot rang out. Mel screamed and tried to push Ambrose out of the way as hard as she could. It took a moment to realize he was still standing and so was she. She stopped screaming, and Ambrose spun her around her hugged her so tightly she could hardly breathe.

  “Darling, are you all right?” he asked in a shaky voice.

  “Me?” she squeaked. She broke out of his embrace and ran her hands over his chest and arms. “Are you shot?”

  “He was about to be,” Hastings said, standing at the top of the stairs, the gun in his hand still pointed at the brigand, who lay unnaturally still on the floor. Mel hadn’t seen him since their last defense lesson. She’d had no idea he was still assigned to the house. Soames was behind Hastings with his eye almost swollen shut and his mouth bleeding.

  “Next time someone like that points a gun at you, run,” Hastings told Ambrose. “That lot can’t hit a moving target. And you,” he said to Mel, shaking his head in disgust. “Didn’t I teach you anything? How is standing there screaming going to help?”

  “Well, it helped me,” she said, holding her hand over her heart. “I was scared to death.” She flung her arms around Ambrose. “Oh, you awful man! Don’t ever try to die for me again.” He buried his nose in her neck and held her tight.

  “Where did you come from?” Ambrose asked Hastings.

  “I was on night watch across the street,” Hastings said. “Sir Barnabas will surely hand me my liver on a plate for this one. I step away for one minute and come back to find the house under attack.” He shook his head sadly with a grim expression. “I’ll be writing reports for the next year.”

  “I’ll make it abundantly clear that you saved our lives,” Ambrose said, gratitude in his voice as he held out his hand to shake Hasting’s. “Let’s go see him now, as a matter of fact. I’ve got a very bad feeling about all of this.”

  Chapter 27

  Barnabas wearily pulled his jacket back on. He’d let his secretary go home an hour ago. He had to fabricate assignments for all the men he’d sent with Daniel. The ship had sailed at dusk, quietly slipping out of the docks. Each man had boarded separately, disguised as crewmembers or stevedores. Fifteen men in all had volunteered to go. Barnabas had sent ten. He couldn’t leave himself shorthanded. Ten fabricated case files had taken all day to prepare.

  He straightened the pile and then on impulse slid it from the top of his desk to a shelf on a bookcase in the corner, as if filed away and forgotten.

  He was ready to go home. Ordinarily he spent more time here than at his own house, but lately he wanted to be home more than he wanted to be here. It was an odd feeling. He supposed he had Mel and Ambrose to thank for his sudden discontent with work. They were disrupting what had become an orderly, well-organized life. Barnabas was a great admirer of organization. So why wasn’t he more upset by his newly untidy love life?

  He laughed softly to himself as he opened his office door. He knew why. Because he thrived on the unexpected and unpredictable. The very sameness of his life as England’s head spymaster had made him ineffective. For a man trained to observe, ennui was dangerous. The more he delved into the de Vere business, the more unsettled he became at how much he’d been missing. Mel and Ambrose had made his life interesting again and awoken his dormant intelligence skills.

  “Sir Barnabas.”

  He slowly raised his gaze to the man speaking so as not to give away his surprise. He hadn’t known anyone was in the outer office.

  “Lord Gwynne,” he said calmly. Gwynne was often used as an errand boy for Lord Sidmouth, the Secretary of State for the Home Department, although of late Barnabas had heard credible rumors that he’d undertaken some projects himself in an effort to succeed his mentor. “Did we have an appointment?”

  He glanced at the two men flanking Gwynne. De Vere and Hargraves. He flicked his gaze over them with disinterest and turned back to Gwynne, pretending to ignore them completely. To do so in reality was a dangerous tactic.

  De Vere still bore a striking resemblance to a sly fox, with his narrow face and dark red hair. Well, he was not as sly as he thought he was. Barnabas was on to his game, and he had every intention of putting an end to it and to him. He’d been waiting for the right time, for all to be revealed, before he delivered on his promises to Ambrose. It looked as if that timetable had been moved up.

  “I do not need an appointment,” Gwynne said with customary self-importance. “Particularly when I am here to take an underling to task.”

  “Has Lord Hargraves done something of which I should be aware?” Barnabas said in mock confusion.

  “I am no man’s underling,” Hargraves said angrily.

  “You are every man’
s underling, Hargraves,” Barnabas said in a bored tone. “You can hardly choose your jacket each morning, much less carry out the duties of a member of the House of Lords.”

  “See here, James,” Gwynne said sharply. “Mind your tone. Lord Hargraves is a peer. You are not.”

  “Indeed, I did not want to be,” Barnabas said honestly. “As you know, I turned the earldom down.”

  Hargraves eyes became round as saucers. “What?” he gasped. “What are you talking about?”

  “James was the heir of the Earl Chambers,” Gwynne said with lip curled in distaste. “He found it prudent to abdicate the title in favor of his young cousin, a decision I quite agreed with. His gypsy blood made him unfit to assume the title.”

  “That had nothing to do with why I abdicated the title,” Barnabas said. “I did not wish to associate with you gentlemen. Come in, won’t you?”

  He opened his office door and just as Gwynne was going to walk past him, he stepped in front of the other man and walked in first, forcing Gwynne to catch the door before it hit him on the nose.

  “James, you go too far,” Gwynne warned.

  Barnabas slid into the chair behind his desk and indicated the seat in front of it.

  “I will take that chair,” Gwynne said, walking around the desk to stand beside Barnabas.

  “I’m afraid no one sits in this chair other than myself,” Barnabas said politely. “This is my office, my lord. You are a visitor.”

  “I am your superior and I outrank you,” Gwynne said with narrowed eyes.

  “On the contrary,” Barnabas countered, leaning negligently back in the chair. “You have no official title or capacity in the Home Department, despite your efforts to gain an appointment. As for outranking me, not in this room.”

  “I told you, Gwynne,” Hargraves said stridently from the back of the room. “He is overstepping his bounds. He must be removed and disciplined.”

  Barnabas grinned, and he knew by Hargraves’s reaction it looked as predatory as it felt. “And you think you’re the man to do it?” he said. He laughed. “You are ridiculous. You are also dead.” The last was said with no inflection, as if he were observing the weather, and it took a moment for all three men to react.