And he would make his declaration without delay.
For too long, he had allowed his past to define his present, and Elaine manifested his destiny. While he perused the surveillance notes, hoping to seize on something—anything of significance, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, so he returned to the first page.
As agents trailed Waddlington, he maintained a fairly routine schedule. Making notations, and marking various hours, a pattern emerged that did not deviate until a fortnight ago. On a separate sheet of parchment, he wrote down the unusual entries but could make no sense of them.
“Lockwood, is Waddlington a mariner of some sort?” Ross rubbed the back of his neck and mulled the possible conclusions. “Is he in trade?”
“Waddlington?” Trevor snorted. “That lazy bastard inherited his wealth, and he has done nothing to increase his holdings. Why?”
“Then what would he be doing at St. Katharine Docks on eleven separate occasions?” Ross inquired, as his instincts piqued.
Just then, Agent Barrett sprinted into the office. “Sir Ross, we picked up Waddlington’s trail, and you will never guess where he led us.”
“St. Katharine Docks?” Ross replied, as he stood and donned his coat.
“How did you know?” Barrett shifted his weight.
“You told me, in your intelligence reports.” After gathering his bulls-eye lantern, the notes, and additional tools, which he placed in a bag, Ross collected a pair of flintlock pistols. “Let us take my carriage and make haste.”
On the steps of the Corps, Ross waved to his coachman, as Lockwood and Barrett leaped into the rig. “To St. Katharine Docks, and be quick about it.”
Rife with tension, he made no attempt at conversation, but his imagination conjured an endless stream of torments, and Ross found himself engaging in activity he eschewed when Caridad died. He prayed. And in his thoughtful reflection, he vowed to make Elaine happy, and he knew just how to go about it.
First, he would tell her of his unrelenting love and affection. Second, he would renovate their townhome to increase the size of the master suite, which he would share with his wife. And third, he would relinquish full-time command of the Corps, so he could spend more time creating a family with his bride.
If only he got the chance.
An odd ensemble of high-pitched whistles greeted Ross, as they arrived at the docks, and the Marine Police scrambled to launch their skiffs. Near a stack of cargo containers, Everett and Lance motioned to the Thames, as two officers nodded, and Ross joined them. In the background, yellow tufts of light from a collection of lanterns danced as ethereal creatures in the indigo of twilight.
“What happened?” He displayed his credentials. “Is there any sign of the Countess of Lockwood or Mrs. Logan?”
“No, sir.” The young law officer raised a torch. “But a compliment of our best men are surveying the harbor.”
“We waited for Barrett to collect you,” Everett explained. “But we sounded the alarm when we overheard pistol shots coming from the direction of the river.”
“It could have been from aboard a moored ship, but it is too dark to tell.” Lance glanced over his shoulder. “Some rather menacing characters rowed Waddlington from the pier, and we lost sight of him, but neither Caroline nor Elaine were with him.”
A long whistle blast followed by two short bursts echoed off the adjacent buildings, and an officer snapped to attention. “We have found something.”
Again the combination pierced the air, and then everything quieted. The group perched at the wharf’s edge, and an armada of tiny boats cast an eerie reflection on the water as it neared.
Waving frantically, Caroline sat between two guards, and Trevor heaved a sigh of relief. “It is her. It is my wife.”
But no such comforting sight greeted Ross, as he scanned the area for some indication of Elaine. As the flotilla neared, he spied her lying motionless in the arms of an officer, and he clenched his gut. He told himself it was an illusion—that his bride was all right. She had to be all right, because he knew not what he would do without her.
“Trevor.” Caroline flicked her fingers, as Lance tied off the boat, and Lockwood lifted her into his arms.
“Are you hurt, my angel?” Lockwood gave her a cursory check and then pulled her into a heartrending embrace.
Elaine required more assistance, given she appeared unconscious, so Ross jumped into the small vessel and cupped her cheek. “Elaine, can you hear me?” Yanking aside her pelisse, he examined her for injuries but found none. “Raynesford, pass me the vial of smelling salts in my bag.”
“Of course.” Lance rummaged through the haversack and produced the requested item. “Here.”
It took a scarce second for the ammonia inhalant to revive Elaine, and she came alert with her fists flailing. “Easy, sweetheart.” He grasped her wrists. “You are safe.”
Bitter disappointment set in, when Elaine did not react in the same fashion as Caroline. While Lady Lockwood could not stop kissing her husband, in full view of the Marine Police and agents of the Corps, Elaine merely offered her hand, so he could help her stand upright.
“Where is Cavalier?” She peered at the river. “He did not kill me.”
“No, darling. You are fine.” Ross wanted to hold her. He needed to hold her. But she seemed distant. Then again, she had just endured a terrible shock. “Do you remember what happened? And where is Waddlington?”
Closing her eyes, she clutched her throat. “Cavalier shot Lord Waddlington in the head, thus I gather he is dead, but I fainted, so I know not what occurred after that.”
After a few minutes, Elaine recounted the events that led them to the docks, and Ross pressed a clenched fist to his mouth, as he realized just how close he came to losing her. But he could not reconcile the pirate’s final actions with the attempts on Elaine’s life. Why did Cavalier spare her?
“I was locked in the cargo hold, when I overheard the shots, and I feared the worst.” Caroline rested against Trevor. “Later, Cavalier set me free and carried Elaine to the jolly boat, which he tied to the mooring. He said my debt was erased, and I suppose he referenced the death of his younger brother. As the Black Morass cast off, I overheard a distinct splash, and I suspect that may have been Waddlington.”
“We can search for the body after sunrise.” The Marine Police officer consulted his timepiece. “You may take the ladies home, but we will need to take their statements in the coming days.”
“I shall have my solicitor schedule an appointment.” Trevor bent and swept Caroline off her feet. “Right now, my countess requires my attention. Shall we depart, Ross?”
“As you wish.” Ross gazed at Elaine, and she smiled, but something seemed amiss. “Shall I carry you?”
“Oh, no.” Wiping her temple, she turned toward the lane. “I can walk, but I thank you for the chivalrous offer.”
There was so much he wanted to say, but he did not want an audience, as his emotions ran rampant. On the verge of making a cake of himself, Ross tempered his concern, but he vowed to keep his promises, tomorrow.
to catch a fallen spy
chapter FIFteen
It was a touching scene, as two lovers, deeply committed, reunited with ardent pledges of undying affection and several heated kisses. As the wife buried her face in her doting husband’s chest, he wept unabashedly, as he clung to her. Problem was the happy couple celebrating in the squabs seemed oblivious to Ross and Elaine.
Indeed, Trevor and Caroline appeared lost in a world all their own, except they occupied the bench opposite a decidedly not so attached twosome, and the poignant display, fierce in intensity, served to confront Elaine with everything she desired but could never claim.
Tired of fighting. Tired of pretending to be something she was not. Tired of playing a game she could not win, she perched beside her detached spouse and tried her best not to touch him, as that might end her.
Gazing at the passing storefronts and buildings, as the coach rocked a
long the road, she realized she had failed in her campaign. While Cavalier had spared her life, he could not restore her soul, and an empty chasm occupied her chest where her heart once beat for Ross. Now, she slumped against the cushion and surrendered in silence, as hope shattered like broken glass.
When the rig came to a halt, a footman opened the door, and Ross stepped outside.
“I believe we are home.” Waving to Elaine, Caroline smiled. “Goodnight, sister. I will check on you, in the morning.” Then she scooted from Trevor’s lap, and he handed her to the sidewalk. “I want to see my babes, take a hot bath, enjoy a quiet dinner with my handsome husband, and retire.”
“Anything for you, sweetheart.” Then Trevor bent, swept Caroline into his arms, and carried her up the entrance stairs.
When Ross returned, he sat on the vacated bench, and that signaled the death knell, from Elaine’s perspective. Aware of nothing save the constant clip-clop of the horses’ hooves on the pavers, she pondered her options, and of that there were few, but she would no longer live a lie.
“Are you hungry?” Ross inquired in a soft voice.
“No.” In light of his continued rejection, even in the face of her near fatal incident, she feared she would revisit anything she consumed. “But I owe you an apology, as it appears you were right about Waddlington, and I should have listened to you. In my ignorance, I almost got myself, Caroline, and her unborn child killed, and I am so sorry.”
“You are alive, so you are forgiven. And you were correct in that the attempts on your life could have been mere accidents. But I have made my career out of worrying when there is nothing about which to worry.” Oh, why did he insist on making pitiful, insincere overtures, when he would ignore her tomorrow? “Would you favor a brandy?”
“I do not think so.” There was a time when his offer would have inspired hope, but she had been disappointed too many times to extend the minutest bit of faith in him. The simple but excruciating truth was he did not want her, and no amount of polite dinners or discussions in his study would change that.
“We have arrived.” Ross mirrored Trevor’s comportment, and she descended the coach.
Wodehouse opened the door. “Good evening, Mrs. Logan.”
“Good evening, Wodehouse.” Doffing her gloves, she peered at her husband, but he did not look at her. “I wish you a pleasant rest, Ross.”
“And the same to you, my dear.” So that was it. No fuss. No objection. He did not care what she did.
Swallowing her pride, she ascended the stairs, veered to the right, and strolled into her chamber. Inside, she wallowed in anguish, and she wanted to scream, but she knew the end result of such an outburst, thus she refrained.
Instead, she sat on the bed, still wearing her pelisse, stared at the door to her suite, issued a plea that could mend her broken heart, if he answered the summons, and waited.
“Please, come to me.”
Countless times she imagined Ross bursting into the room, to make his declaration and celebrate their mutual devotion with passionate lovemaking, but that never happened. In solitude, she centered her thoughts, issuing a summons to her errant spouse. She focused on the knob, willing it to turn. When the floor creaked in the hall, she flinched, and her pulse hammered in her ears, but anticipation came to naught.
“Please, I beg you, come to me.”
If only Ross would approach her, she would forgive him. If only he would make the next move, the pain of the past would disappear, in an instant. If only he would profess the smallest amount of attachment, she could overlook so much. If only he made some attempt to express interest, she would settle for that. If only…
“Please, I will do anything, if you come to me.”
The mantel clock signaled the hour, and she mourned the demise of the final vestige of hope, which disappeared like so many unrealized dreams. At the vanity, she studied her reflection, slipped off her wedding ring, and set it on the table. Then she exited her apartment for the last time.
As she suspected, Ross had repaired to his quarters and had no intention of visiting her. How predictable. In the foyer, she centered the floral arrangement and then tugged the bell pull.
Minutes later, Wodehouse appeared. “Mrs. Logan, how may I be of service?”
“Have the coach brought around.” As she lingered, she stared at the landing. Ross could stop her. He could end her flight. Instead, he slept. Pacing, she studied the top of the stairs, praying for a reprieve that never came, and so she made her farewells to her one-time sanctuary.
When the coachman drew rein, the butler opened the door. “What address should I give the driver, Mrs. Logan?”
“I journey to Raynesford House.” For the second time that night, she huddled in the rig. “And in the morning, tell Sir Ross I have gone home.”
#
Tossing and turning, Ross became entangled in the sheets, and he cursed as he sat upright. In a series of odd rotations indicative of his indecision, he flung back, resituated, and finally threw off the covers. Emitting a groan of torment, he punched his pillow. Seconds later, he leaped from the mattress, pulled on his robe, and stomped to the door. With his hand on the knob, he paused.
Given what Elaine endured, he should not disturb her rest, but he could not sleep without her beside him. Then again, they were married. There were no rules that forbade him from sneaking into her chamber to join her in her bed. He found himself in the hallway before he realized he had moved.
To his surprise, he discovered the oak panel ajar, and he inched inside the room, anticipation glimmering as he invaded her private space. In the light from the hearth, he searched for but did not locate his wife, as her bed remained empty, and his sails deflated.
“Elaine, are you there?” Glancing left and then right, he walked to her closet. Finally, he stood in the middle of the suite, with hands on hips, and surveyed her belongings. At the footboard, he caressed her silk nightgown, and the familiar and comforting lavender scent teased his nose. Had she gone downstairs for a brandy, after all?
He was halfway to the landing when he drew up short. What had he noticed? What was it that bothered him?
Upon returning to her quarters, he strode straight to the vanity and picked up her wedding ring, the gemstones flickering as if to taunt him. Never did she take off the bauble—not even when he made love to her. Rather, she preferred to maintain the symbol of their union.
A cold chill slithered down his spine, and Ross ran to his study, but it, too, loomed vacant. In a panic, he tugged the bell pull. When his patience grew thin, he charged into the foyer and almost knocked over Wodehouse.
“Where is Mrs. Logan?” Ross raked his fingers through his hair. “Have you seen her?”
“Indeed, Sir Ross.” The butler, still shrugging into his coat, rubbed his eyes. “Mrs. Logan departed for Raynesford House about an hour ago. She bade me tell you she was going home, which I was to convey in the morning, and that was the only message she left.”
“Bloody everlasting hell.” Ross took the stairs, two at a time, as he yelled over his shoulder, “Wake the stable master, and have my horse saddled, immediately.”
After a quick change into breeches, boots, a shirt, and a simple hacking jacket sans cravat, he retraced his path, stormed past his butler, claimed his mount, flicked the reins, and heeled the flanks of his stallion. As he traversed the relatively brief distance to Grosvenor Square, he rained a hailstorm of invective on his head.
It required no great powers of deduction to divine why Elaine ran from him, as her motives were simple—they always had been. What he could not reconcile was why he delayed apprising her of his devotion. Yes, she appeared exhausted after her ordeal, and who could blame her? But he should have sensed her distress, as she was his wife. And he should have made his declaration.
Well Ross would waste no more time, on that account.
As the Corinthian columns came into view, he sped through the gates and proceeded to the portico. His horse barely slowed, as
Ross jumped to the drive and dashed to the main entry.
Pounding his fist on the elegant portal, he shouted, “Open the door.”
After what seemed an interminable period, light shone beyond the glass, and Banks welcomed Ross.
But before the butler could extend a formal greeting, Lance, garbed in nightclothes and a robe, barreled into the foyer, snagged Ross by the lapels, and shook hard. “You gave me your word you would not hurt Elaine, and instead you destroyed her. I should kill you, here and now.”
“Lance, no.” Wearing what appeared to be one of her husband’s garments, Cara shoved between her fire-spitting spouse and Ross. “If Sir Ross did not care for Elaine, he would not have beaten a path to our home. He is here for a reason. Hear him out, and if we are not satisfied, you may dispatch him to his maker, and I will cheer you.”
Well that gave Ross cause for concern. “Where is Elaine? I must speak with her.”
“Why?” Lance shoved will full force, and Ross stumbled backward. “Have you not done enough? She was in tears when she arrived.” The marquess flexed his fists. “In tears.”
“And it is all my fault.” In that moment of truth, Ross realized something he had never quite fathomed, and he made a monumental and selfless decision. Pausing to gather his wits, he reflected on the reality he created. “There are things to say, and if Elaine still desires her freedom, I will let her go and never again darken your threshold.”
With a steely glare, his in-law pulled his wife to his side and sneered. “As if I would—”
“Lance, wait.” With a palm pressed to her husband’s chest, Cara stared at Ross. “Look at him. He loves her. More importantly, he is in love with her.”
“What?” At first, Lance scrutinized Ross, and he stretched tall for his lady.
Beneath not one but two penetrating studies, Ross vowed not to fail Elaine in the face of her relations. Given his blunders, he wounded his not so delicate bride, and while that could not be erased, he would embarrass her no further.
To Catch A Fallen Spy (Brethren of the Coast Book 8) Page 15