by Anna Randol
Now he just had to hope that Abington was alone. Given his reputation with the female population of London, it was questionable. Bennett rattled the shutter quietly enough to be mistaken for the wind and slipped back into the darkness.
A few seconds passed and the window opened. Abington’s head poked out and he scanned the darkness. “Prestwood? Where the devil are you? No one else in this country smells of milled English soap. Well, except your cousin, but he doesn’t know where I live.”
Bennett stepped into the light.
Abington frowned. “You look like hell. Come around front. I’ll let you in.”
His room consisted of a bed with a shredded, horse-hair mattress and a splintered table with three legs.
“Annoy the owner?” Bennett asked.
“Just the opposite, his wife was a little too fond.” Abington shrugged. “I’m not here enough to mind and I don’t have to worry about anyone bothering the room while I’m gone.” He retrieved a flask from a rucksack in the corner and offered it to Bennett. “Brandy?”
Bennett refused.
“Care to talk about it?” Abington asked.
“No.”
Abington sat on the edge of the bed. “Well then, what brings you to my windowsill?”
Bennett outlined the attempted robbery at the inn.
Abington swore. “Then the man following her the other day did know about her work for us. You cannot let her continue.”
Bennett wasn’t going to repeat this argument. Not tonight, when his emotions lingered one step from total chaos. “I need you to find out who sent the thief. I have no reason to demand to see him, but you, I think, could arrange it.”
Abington sipped from the flask. “I appreciate your confidence in my skills.”
“It’s not confidence in your skills. It’s certainty in your ability to be underhanded.”
Abington doffed an imaginary cap. “My only natural talent. I’ll see what I can find out.”
Bennett leaned against the wall to disguise his residual shakiness. He should have taken some of Abington’s brandy. “What do you know of Selim?”
“Mari’s butler?”
Bennett nodded.
“He’s been with the family for about ten years. Mari trusts him. Why?”
“Did you know her father had him thrown in prison a few months ago?”
Abington leaned back. “I’d heard.”
“It gives him reason to hate the family.”
“Mari was the one who freed him.” Abington tapped his chin. “Still, I can see how it could provide motivation. I wouldn’t peg him as the mastermind type, however, and he’d have no need to have her followed.”
That fit with Bennett’s assessment, but the butler was too obvious a suspect to dismiss. “He might have had knowledge of our location in Midia the other night, and he seems bright enough to have suspicions about Mari’s activities.”
“You think he’s an informant?”
“Perhaps. I intend to look into it.” Bennett paused. “Did you know Mari wanted to quit after Chorlu?”
Abington lowered his flask. “No. I tried to convince her to stop, but she refused.”
Bennett glared at him even though he knew the man was not at fault for Mari’s reasoning. “She did it to keep you here.”
“I realize I’m charming, but I suspect I’m missing part of this puzzle?”
“Daller informed her that your mission was no longer a priority, and you were in danger of being assigned elsewhere. If she continued her drawing, you stayed.”
Abington blasphemed in several languages. “I had wondered. She was normally so logical about everything else. You cousin deserves to be flogged.”
“I will speak with him. Is there any chance he knew of her work before Chorlu?”
The table wobbled as Abington tapped his fingers on it. “I don’t think so. And even if he did, why would he try to harm her? After I started funneling the drawings to him, his superiors took him seriously for the first time since his appointment. Why would he risk losing that? Plus, he’d have no reason to send someone to try to steal one.”
Bennett frowned. It made no sense to him, either. But someone had betrayed Mari, and he needed to explore all his options. “See what you can learn from the thief in Midia.”
“I’ll leave first light.”
Bennett lowered his brows.
“Hell, Prestwood. I’m not one of your soldiers.”
He held his glare.
“Fine, I’ll leave now. It’ll be dawn soon enough.”
Bennett turned to the door.
“Wait.” Abington returned to the dirty bag on the floor. He pulled out several rolled documents. “This is all I have on Vourth, but much of the information is months if not years old. I don’t know how much help it will be.” He slapped the papers into Bennett’s hand and slung the bag on his back. He waved at the room in an offhanded manner as he left. “Try not to leave this place a mess.”
Bennett followed behind him, but by the time he’d reached the alley, the other man was gone.
As Bennett tucked the papers in his coat, his fingers brushed the poem he’d written about Mari. He caressed the edge of the paper, then froze. She was no sprite. She was the woman he’d been charged with protecting. A woman who committed treason. A woman whose father he’d nearly murdered.
The thud of his boot echoed in the quiet streets. He still didn’t know what to think. She’d betray England again if she thought it would help one of her friends. She’d said as much. Every part of him that had been molded by the army rebelled at her reasoning.
But the few meager parts of his soul that remained untouched wished he had been the one to earn that type of loyalty.
That was a vain hope now.
He circled back around Mari’s home, but everything was quiet, windows dark. An exhaustive search of the surrounding area revealed nothing. Her follower wasn’t currently there.
After checking the locks on all her doors and windows, he returned to the ambassador’s home. It seemed he was long overdue a conversation with his cousin.
When he arrived, footmen and maids still scurried about the corridors, cleaning up after the soiree. A brief inquiry with the under-butler informed him that Lord Daller had retired a few minutes before.
Bennett knocked on the door to his cousin’s bedchamber.
“Enter.” Daller stood in his dressing room. A valet was removing his evening jacket. Daller glanced up as Bennett entered. “Ah, Prestwood. I was wondering where you had gotten to. The ladies hounded me over it all night.”
“Miss Sinclair was feeling unwell. I escorted her home.”
Daller dabbed some sort of cream onto his chin. “Nothing serious I hope.”
Bennett shook his head. “Just a headache.” He paused. “There is something we must discuss.”
“Now?” Daller asked.
Bennett nodded.
Daller shooed his valet from the room, then turned to Bennett. “What can I do for you?”
“What happened after Chorlu?”
“Pardon?”
“Did Mari inform you she was finished drawing?” Bennett asked.
“I see. She must have told you about our deal.” Daller frowned. “Yes. I hadn’t received any drawings from her so I went to make sure she was all right. She informed me she was finished drawing for the British. I, of course, understood, but she’d placed me in a rather difficult spot.” Daller unscrewed a crystal bottle and poured some of the liquid into a bowl. “There had been discussion of removing Abington from his current assignment, but I pointed out to my superiors he was why Miss Sinclair was helping us. They agreed to leave him so the drawings would continue.” Daller dipped his finger in the oily substance and smoothed it on his mustache. “So when Miss Sinclair told me she planned to quit, I warned her of the repercussions.”
The story was a bit too sugarcoated for Bennett’s taste. “You threatened her.”
Daller’s eyes widened. “Is that w
hat she thought? No wonder she seemed so angry at me tonight.”
Was this what he had sounded like that night in the inn? Disgust churned in his gut. No wonder she hadn’t trusted him. “Why didn’t you let her quit?”
Daller sighed. “The information she was gathering was too vital.”
“Or did you enjoy the prestige her information brought you?”
His cousin straightened. “I do perfectly well without her information.”
“My father helped you receive this post, did he not?”
Daller glared at him. “He also bought your commission, didn’t he? But since then we have both built a reputation based on our own actions. I regret forcing Miss Sinclair’s hand, but the choice was her own. I didn’t place a gun to her head.”
“Someone did,” Bennett said, watching the other man’s reaction.
“I didn’t even know she was working for us until after Chorlu! As soon as I found out, I requested they send someone to protect her.”
Bennett studied the other man. Both of those facts did seem to exonerate Daller.
His cousin tapped his snuffbox on the dressing room table in agitation. “Surely, you’ve done things for the greater good of England.”
“Yes. I have.” Yet duty seemed like a damned poor excuse when it issued from someone else’s mouth. “I apologize for the late intrusion.”
His cousin’s agitation disappeared behind a composed, calm façade. “No. It’s your duty to see to Miss Sinclair’s safety. I don’t hold it against you. Do you know when she’s going to draw Vourth?”
“We’re still making plans,” Bennett answered.
Daller opened his snuffbox, then closed it again with a snap. “I fear you’ll need to hurry them. I’ve received intelligence that the construction at Vourth is progressing ahead of schedule.”
Bennett stiffened. “I was told the information is needed by the end of the month.”
“For once, it appears the wheels of this empire are spinning faster than anticipated. The longer you wait, the greater the danger to you and Miss Sinclair.”
The sooner he escaped this madness the better. “We will leave as soon as we’re prepared.”
Chapter Sixteen
Mari snapped the head off another delicate flower and flung the bud into the corner of the garden. Two more followed.
“Hmm . . . That one was green like his uniform, but I think the first two were quite innocent.”
Mari jerked at Achilla’s voice and ripped up the plant by its roots. Growling, she gently replaced it in the soil, rearranging the tuberous tentacles toward the wall.
“Your father is awake,” Achilla said, carefully keeping her face neutral.
“How is he?”
“The same as he always is after one of his indulgences. Although he did insist on wearing a high collar.”
“I don’t suppose he remembers anything?”
Achilla snorted.
“I know. But you’d think something like that would be memorable.” Mari dusted the dirt off her hands. No doubt the attack blended into his nightmares—which were occurring more frequently of late. “I expected Major Prestwood to be here already this morning.”
“Major Prestwood? He’s been demoted from Bennett?”
Mari glared at her maid.
“Your Major Prestwood has been here for the past hour.”
Mari scrambled to her feet. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You didn’t seem interested in seeing him this morning. Besides, he requested to talk with Selim.”
With Selim? What could Bennett have to discuss with her butler and why hadn’t he approached her first? “Where are they?”
“The front parlor.”
Mari stalked into the house. If he thought she’d be too overwrought by last night to notice his meddling, he’d soon learn differently. The way she felt about him might not make any sense at the moment, but that didn’t make her pliable or foolish.
She paused outside the room to listen.
“Then there were no ill feelings toward the Sinclairs after Sir Reginald had you thrown in prison? I can’t imagine a Turkish prison is a very pleasant place.” Bennett’s voice was too smooth and conversational.
Mari slammed open the door. “I would have a word with you, Bennett dear.”
Selim started at her entrance, almost tumbling from his chair. His face was pale, his expression nervous.
This was beyond enough. Did the major have to torment everyone in her household? “Now, Bennett.”
He rose to his feet, as did Selim. Bennett cast her a cold look as he approached.
“Major, Miss Sinclair, I—” Perspiration now dotted Selim’s forehead under his red velvet cap. “I am, in fact, I have been . . .” He wiped his brow. “I am behind in my duties this morning. Will you need me further, or may I return to my work?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Mari glared at Bennett. “Yes, Selim. We will have no further need of you this morning.”
Bennett conceded the point with a slight tip of his head.
With a low bow, Selim hurried from the room.
Mari shut the door with exquisite gentleness. It was either that or snap it off its hinges. She whirled around. “How dare you! Selim is my servant. You have no right to question him without informing me.”
“Someone in your house betrayed you.”
She stiffened. “Not Selim. I would trust him with my life.” She drew in a deep breath that failed to calm. “What makes you think there’s a traitor in my house?”
He frowned at her in his annoyingly superior way. “Someone found us at the inn. Very few people knew where we were headed.”
“We could have been followed.”
“We weren’t. I watched the road behind us.”
“Well, perhaps you aren’t as infallible as you think.”
His lips thinned. “Did you spy anyone behind us then?”
She flicked a dry flower petal from her sleeve. “No, I was fool enough to trust your judgment.”
A slight crease dented his brow but then disappeared. “Someone discovered what you’re doing. They are watching you.”
“Not Selim.” But he did have a point, confound him. “There are others who know about me. Your cousin, for instance.”
Bennett shook his head. “The shooting at Chorlu occurred before Abington informed him of your identity.”
“It wasn’t Abington, either.”
He studied her. “You have a lot of trust for a woman who’s had a shot fired at her head. But I happen to agree with you. If Abington is behind this, there would be no reason for him to have informed my cousin of your identity, and I suspect Abington prefers knives and dark alleys to guns and daylight.”
“So where does that leave us?” Mari asked.
Bennett shrugged. “You have ordered me to eliminate all my suspects.”
“But you aren’t planning on obeying me, are you?”
His lips quirked slightly. “Not until I’ve found proof that supports their elimination.”
His amused expression twisted her jumbled emotions. She didn’t want him amused, and she didn’t want him evoking a matching reaction in her. They were no longer friends. He thought her a traitor and she thought him—
She still didn’t know.
“What happened last night?” The words burst out before she could temper the anguish clinging to them.
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I overreacted.”
“Why?” Please let it be a good answer, she begged silently. She wanted to be able to explain everything away. She wanted to be able to see that man she’d met in the poems and again at ball; she wanted to be able to draw him out again.
Bennett stiffened like he’d been ordered to attention. “I cannot say.”
Could not or would not? His control, no doubt, had been frayed by the night’s events as hers had, but there was more to his explosion. “Who is Sophia?”
Bennett gripped t
he back of her father’s wooden chair. “How—?”
“You yelled her name at me last night. Who is she?” If he would tell her that much, she could figure out the rest for herself.
He spun away and strode toward the window. “She is none of your concern.”
Mari followed him, not stopping until she could see his face again. “Your lover?”
He grimaced.
“Someone in your family then?”
He pressed the window open, letting in the dusty air from the street below. “It is none of your concern.”
She folded her arms. “I deserve an explanation.”
“I cannot give one. But it will not happen again.”
“And I can take your word on that?” Bitterness burned in her chest.
He flinched. Actually flinched as if she’d struck him. Anger clipped his words when he spoke. “Is that what concerns you? That I’m a man who will beg forgiveness time and time again only to repeat my actions?” Bennett strode past her. “I’m not that man.”
“Bennett, wait!” She stumbled after him.
He went straight to her father’s study and entered without knocking. “Sir Reginald. Interesting collar.”
“Why, er, thank—”
“Bennett—” Mari reached the door. Her father sat behind the desk, a frown of bewilderment on his face.
Bennett ignored her. “I gave you those bruises on your neck.”
Her father straightened. “The devil!”
“No, I believe last night you called me a giant.” Bennett grabbed Mari’s arm and pulled her into the room. “Do you see the bruise on your daughter’s cheek? The one she thinks she’s concealed so well with rice powder? You did that last night while inebriated. You knocked her into a table.”
Her father paled. He picked up his teacup and took a sip. “Mari-girl, is that true?”
She tried to shrink back, but the iron grip on her arm held firm. “Stop it, Bennett. That’s enough.”
Bennett dropped her arm. “Yes, it is true,” he said. His gaze burned into hers. “My actions are my own. I don’t make excuses for them.” He turned back to her father. “You will not hurt her again, poppy-eaten or not.”
The teacup rattled back into the saucer. “I will not. Saints above, I will not. I won’t touch opium again, I swear. Mari, I am so sorry.”