by Laura Landon
Callie shook her head.
“It would have to be someone who is familiar with the shipping schedules,” Ford continued, “as well as someone with enough business acumen to take care of all the details. Can you think of anyone who fits that description?”
Callie breathed a sigh. “No.”
“It could also be someone who spends a great amount of time in the shipping office with the intent of gathering information,” Hugh said. “Is there anyone who visits you or your grandfather regularly?”
“No one other than the admiral’s old friend Viscount Shatterly. He and grandfather fought together in the war. They enlisted at the same time, and Shatterly was grandfather’s first mate throughout the war.”
“There’s no possibility that he—”
“No,” Callie said. “They’ve been close friends their entire lives. I can’t imagine Shatterly would do anything so traitorous.”
“Very well,” Hugh said. “Who else visits regularly?”
Callie thought for several minutes. “The office is a beehive of activity whenever one of the ships docks, and again when the crew is loading the cargo. Most of the men who come are textile merchants offering to sell their goods, or dealers in tin and copper, or sellers of the other goods we export to China and India.”
“Do any of them stand out in your mind as being overly inquisitive, or overly intrusive?”
Callie shook her head.
“Can you recall one person showing up every time one of the clippers docks?”
Callie paused as if trying to remember. Finally, she shook her head, but the expression on her face told Ford something different.
“You did think of someone,” Ford observed.
Callie lifted her gaze until it locked with his. Her mouth parted as if she intended to speak, but she didn’t. She closed her mouth and shook her head. “No,” she answered in a whisper.
Ford waited in hopes that she would decide to say more, but instead she shoved back her chair and stood.
“It’s time I returned home,” Callie said. “The Bentley musicale is this evening, and mother is looking forward to attending. I promised I’d be home in plenty of time.”
Ford extended his arm and walked Callie to the waiting carriage. “Is there something you want to tell me?” Ford asked when they reached the carriage. He wanted to give her another chance to share what she was thinking.
Her eyes lowered, and she shook her head. “If I can manage it, would you mind if I left the musicale early and stopped by on my way home?”
Ford took both her hands in his, then brought her close to him. “I can think of nothing I’d enjoy more.” He held her gaze for several intense moments, then lowered his head and pressed his lips to her forehead.
He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her. He wanted to show her how much he cared for her. But now wasn’t the time.
“Be sure to rest,” she said as she daintily lifted her skirts to step into the carriage. “You need to get well.” When she was safely inside, Ford closed the door and nodded to her driver.
Tonight wouldn’t come soon enough.
CHAPTER 12
Callie thought the musicale would never end. She thought she’d never have the chance to escape, and then, when she did, her mother had refused to allow her to leave alone. She had insisted that Callie’s maid, Marie, accompany her.
Callie didn’t mind. Maybe it was better if Marie was with her. The girl’s presence might help her to better control those mystifying impulses that came over her when she was near Ford. She was reconciled to the fact that she could not trust herself to be alone with him. Each time she saw him, she wanted to step into his arms. Every time he kissed her, she wanted their kiss to lead to something more.
The thoughts that came over her weren’t at all the proper thoughts of a well-bred lady. Especially one of her age. She’d never had these feelings before. Even when she’d been betrothed. Even when she’d thought she could never live without the man she loved.
It was obvious now that she hadn’t truly been in love. She’d only been in love with the idea of being in love. Now she realized she truly would die if something happened to Ford. She was certain that she couldn’t live the rest of her life if he wasn’t a part of it.
The carriage came to a stop in front of Lieutenant Wythers’ townhouse.
“Do you want me to stay here?” Marie asked.
“No, Marie. It’s far too chilly to stay out here. And I’m not sure how long I’ll be.”
“Yes, my lady,” her maid answered, then followed her out of the carriage, up the walk, and through the open townhouse door.
“My lady,” Ford greeted.
“Captain,” Callie answered.
When Ford saw Marie behind her, he motioned to the butler. “Show Lady Calinda’s maid to the kitchen and provide her with a cup of tea and something to eat, Carson.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“I’ll send for you when I’m ready to leave, Marie.”
“Yes, my lady.”
When Marie was out of sight, Callie locked her gaze with Ford’s. He reached out his hand and led her to the study, where the map was still on the desk.
She was scarcely through the door before Ford kicked it closed and took her in his arms and lowered his mouth to hers.
She answered his kiss as if it were water and she’d been dying of thirst. She kissed him back with the pent-up passion building inside her. She clung to him as if she were in danger of losing him even though he was standing right here.
His mouth opened atop hers, and she responded with an eagerness that should have startled her. But didn’t. There wasn’t anything he could demand of her she wouldn’t give. Nothing he could ask of her she wouldn’t do.
He kissed her again, then slowly ended their kiss. Her moan echoed in the quiet room. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered, pressing her forehead against his chest.
“I’ve missed you, too.”
He held her a few seconds longer, then led her to the sofa and sat beside her. “We need to talk.”
Callie lowered her gaze. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”
He reached for her hand. “You know what I’m going to ask you, don’t you?”
She nodded.
“I asked you earlier if there was anyone you could recall who regularly visited the shipping office when the clippers docked and again when they set sail. There is someone, isn’t there?”
“Yes,” she answered, “but it has to be a coincidence. It can’t mean anything.”
Callie clenched her fingers in her lap. She’d thought of nothing else since Ford had asked his question earlier in the day. There was someone who always seemed to come to the office on those days, but it wasn’t possible that the visits were planned. If they were, that meant . . .
Ford rose and walked to the sideboard. He poured something in one glass and chose something else for another. When he brought them over, he handed her one of the glasses.
“Wine,” he said, anticipating that she needed something to quiet her nerves. Not something to get her foxed.
She smiled at him before she took a sip. He sat down beside her again. Closer than he ought. Farther than she wished.
“Now, what have you thought of that has you so upset?”
Callie couldn’t lift her gaze from her hands that remained clasped about her wineglass. She prayed she was wrong. Prayed that when she told Ford what she thought, he’s assure her she had nothing to worry over. But a voice inside told her that wouldn’t happen. Deep inside her she knew her fears couldn’t be dismissed.
She swallowed hard, then spoke. “There is one person who habitually arrives on the days when the clippers dock.”
When she hesitated, Ford placed his hand over hers and gently squeezed her fingers. “Who?”
“Oh, Ford. That person is my sister’s husband, Lord Grantly.”
Ford turned her hand over and twined his fingers with hers. “I see.”
“You were there the last time he visited the office. He used the impending birth of Maggie’s babe as an excuse to bring her to see the admiral. Then he excused himself to go to the docks to observe the unloading of the cargo. I never thought anything about his visits. He claims a love for the excitement when a ship docks. And I can understand that. I feel the same. But . . .”
Ford wrapped his arm around her shoulders and brought her close to him. Being next to him made everything seem better, even though she knew that if she was correct, her sister’s life was about to be ruined.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Let me ask you a question first. Do you think it’s possible that Lord Grantly is capable of connecting Fletcher and Palmer with unscrupulous merchants in India and China, then arranging for the purchase of opium in India and the sale of the opium in China? Does he have the connections that are required to organize such a complex deal? Does he have the capital to finance the purchase of a large amount of opium?”
Callie didn’t have to think long. “No.”
“I’m not all that familiar with Lord Grantly’s financial situation,” Ford said, “but from what I’ve heard, he isn’t known to have a great deal of money at his disposal.”
“He doesn’t. More than once Maggie’s mentioned that she’s been instructed to curb her spending. And I don’t consider my sister at all extravagant.”
“So. Grantly doesn’t appear to be profiting.”
Ford was silent for long moments as if considering several possibilities. Callie waited for him to explain what he was thinking.
“Does this mean you think I’m wrong?” she asked when she ran out of patience. “Could it be that Grantly has nothing to do with the smuggling?”
“It could,” Ford answered. “Or it could merely mean that Lord Grantly is what is known as the leg man.”
“What does that mean?”
“That he is the man who follows the orders of the man in charge. That he takes all the risks while the person who runs the operation provides the money and keeps his hands clean.”
“But why? Why would Grantly do something so risky?”
Ford leaned forward and planted his elbows on his knees, shaking his head in answer to her question. Callie rose to her feet. The more she considered what her sister’s husband might be doing, the angrier she became. “He has an adoring wife and a wonderful family. Why would he risk losing it all?”
“It’s possible he has no choice.”
Callie blinked. “Has no choice? I don’t understand.”
“There are several reasons people do something like this. One is money. Perhaps your brother-in-law is desperate for money. Or . . .” Ford hesitated.
“Or what?”
“Or, perhaps Grantly is being blackmailed.”
Callie couldn’t hide her shock. “Blackmailed? Over what?”
“That’s something we have to find out.”
“Oh, Ford.”
He rose and chucked a finger beneath her chin. “Don’t worry, Callie. Things will work out. But we have to move fast. We can prevent the clippers from sailing for a few days more, but not indefinitely. From what you’ve told me, for Crown’s to stay afloat it’s necessary for the clippers to make two trips to China every year. And for that to happen, you have to stay on a tight schedule. Correct?”
Callie nodded.
Ford paced the room as if he were forming a plan. When he stopped, Callie knew he had something in mind. “What?” she asked.
“Can you arrange to have a small family dinner party tomorrow night?”
“Yes.”
“Other than your family, the only guests would be Lieutenant Wythers and myself.”
Callie nodded.
Ford returned to her side. There was something more. Something Ford was reluctant to tell her.
“Your grandfather will have to be told,” he finally said.
A stabbing of regret rushed through her, buckling her knees and forcing her to sit. “Must we?”
Ford joined her on the divan. “Yes, Callie. I’m not sure how this will end, but I do know there’s no way we can keep it from him. I’d rather he heard it from us than read it in a broadsheet when the news comes out. Or worse, be accosted by friends at his club.”
“Oh! Oh yes! You’re right, that is best.” She’d hoped that they could keep everything from the admiral, but realized now that was impossible. It would be best if they broke the news in small bites.
“I’m sure it is. This way Admiral Barclave can be seen as the righteous avenger of those who have used his ships for their illegal pursuits,” Ford answered. “We’ll tell him tomorrow. Instead of going directly to the shipping office tomorrow morning, bring your grandfather here first.”
“Very well.”
Ford smiled. “I, obviously, cannot go to the office, since Fletcher may believe I’m dead. Unless we’re completely wrong about him, we can’t risk him discovering that I survived the murder attempt.”
“No. That wouldn’t do at all.”
“There’s one more thing.”
Callie waited.
“Are there any clipper captains you can call upon to sail your ships on short notice? When this is over, Captains Fletcher and more than likely Palmer won’t be sailing anywhere.”
“Yes,” Callie answered as she rose. “I’ll speak to the admiral. I’m sure he’ll have some captains in mind.” She paused for a moment, then looked up at Ford who had risen and stood with both her hands in his. His eyes locked with hers, then he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers.
She’d waited for his kiss, wanted so desperately for him to kiss her. She never thought she’d have these feelings again, but she did. They were real. And they were a thousand times more intense than they’d been before.
Ford drew her close against him and his tongue skimmed her lips, urging her to open for him, and she did. She accepted his entrance and welcomed him.
He deepened his kiss until they breathed as one. Each taking from the other as well as giving. It wasn’t until Ford heard commotion at the front door that he lifted his lips from hers.
Footsteps neared the study, and the door opened. “Pardon me, Captain,” Lieutenant Wythers said with a glowing smile on his face. “I won’t bother you—”
“Come in, Hugh,” Ford said. “Lady Calinda was about to leave.”
“My lady,” Lieutenant Wythers greeted as Ford dropped Callie’s hands.
“Lieutenant.”
Ford extended his arm and Callie looped her arm through his elbow. They walked across the foyer and waited at the front door until Marie joined them. Callie sent Marie to the waiting carriage, then turned to Ford. “If Grantly is involved in this, what will happen to him?”
“That depends on the authorities.”
“Will he go to prison?”
“I don’t know.”
Callie thought of her sister and her heart ached. She held Ford’s gaze, then stepped away from the open doorway. “Hold me,” she whispered. “Please, hold me.”
Ford gathered her into his arms and comforted her as only he could.
Callie let his warmth seep through her bones, then stepped out of his arms. “I’ll be by with the admiral in the morning.”
Ford gave a short nod, then pressed a kiss against her forehead and escorted her to the curb.
When the door closed behind her and the carriage lurched forward, the first tears trickled down her cheeks. So many people she cared about were going to be hurt . . . and there was nothing she could do to protect them.
CHAPTER 13
Ford stood at the window and watched for the Marquess of Brougham’s carriage to arrive. He was so used to referring to the marquess as “the admiral” that he had forgotten he was in fact the Marquess of Brougham and that Callie’s father was the Earl of Dunhurst.
He hoped the admiral’s title would provide enough influence to help Lord Grantly when the authorities arrested him, which they would most c
ertainly do if this played out as he suspected it would.
Ford lifted his teacup to his lips and took a drink. Tea was supposed to help calm the nerves, but so far it wasn’t having that effect. He knew how much their conversation would upset the admiral and how desperate Callie was to spare her grandfather from finding out what they knew. And how she hated to tell him they suspected Lord Grantly was involved.
“Have they arrived?” Hugh asked from the doorway.
“Not yet. But I expect them any moment.”
Hugh walked to the tea service and refilled his cup, then sat in one of the wing chairs in a cluster of seating arranged for their meeting. “Have you sent word to Major Thrush concerning your progress?”
“I sent a message this morning. I didn’t include any details. Only asked him to have some of his men at the ready in case I have need of them.”
“Are you afraid this could get messy?”
“It depends on who is at the head of the smuggling operation. I can’t imagine they will give up easily.”
Hugh didn’t have a chance to say more. The admiral’s carriage stopped in front of Hugh’s townhouse and Ford strode to the foyer to welcome them.
“Lady Calinda. Admiral Barclave,” he greeted when they walked through the front door.
“Captain Remington,” Callie replied.
“Captain,” the admiral greeted.
“Please, join us.” Ford escorted Callie and her grandfather to the salon where Hugh waited for them. After their customary greetings, he offered tea. Waiting an appropriate length of time before launching into the business at hand grated on him. Ford observed the minimum of propriety before placing his cup on the table. He leaned forward in his chair opposite Callie and her grandfather, who sat on the divan. The admiral seemed to be the only person in the room not ill at ease.
“Admiral Barclave,” Ford began. “I’m sure you realize that meeting here instead of the shipping office is somewhat out of the ordinary.”
“What I realize is that something is wrong, and Callie has avoided telling me what it is.”