Dangerous Weakness

by Warfield, Caroline

  I have no idea. Despair washed over her. Idiot. Women have even less freedom in his country than here. What were you thinking, Lily? She tried frantically to recreate the notions that drove her here.

  “I thought,” she began, spelling out the only strategy that had presented itself in long days of searching for alternatives, “you might suggest a place where I can teach. I will call myself a widow, have my child, and earn my keep.”

  “And then?”

  “In a few years, with my father’s help, I can return to England, a widow with a young child. It would work if—”

  “—if you had ‘employment,’ a refuge, among people easily fooled.”

  “No! I don’t mean to fool anyone, I just—I have told you the truth, favored uncle.”

  The old man nodded. “Yes. Truth is good.”

  Neither swish of fabric nor footstep warned Lily. The tall, dark man behind her moved to Sahin’s side. He made obeisance and spoke in rapid Turkish. Sahin appeared to object. Lily strained to hear. She understood the language. Sahin’s visits to her father helped pass long winter nights in Saint Petersburg, and it entertained him to teach her. The men’s soft whispers, however, made it difficult to sort the words. The tall man’s responses sounded respectful but emphatic. He glanced at Lily, spoke a few more words, and returned to his place.

  “My debt weighs in your favor,” Sahin said. “Ahmet reminds me that I must help you find a solution. He has suggested a way.”

  Lily’s hopes soared. She felt her heart beat in her throat. She glanced up at the one called Ahmet and quickly back to Sahin.

  “My aunt is Valide Sultan. Do you know what that is?”

  “The Sultan’s mother, I believe.”

  “Usually, although not currently. She is a woman of great influence and power, the head of the sultan’s household. She administers the entire household, the Seraglio, hundreds of people. You understand?”

  “What has this to do with my problem?”

  “My aunt devotes herself to good works, most particularly education. The Sultan, or in reality the Valide Sultan, requires that every man and woman in the household be literate.”

  Lily sat up, attentive. “Hundreds of people? The household? You called it the Seraglio?”

  “The Seraglio, yes, a complex that requires considerable administrative skill. It is vital, you understand, that no scandal upset the smooth running of the household.”

  Lily nodded.

  “I will take you to my aunt. You will tell her everything. What happens after that is up to the Valide Sultan.”

  “Time, favored uncle. I don’t have time to wait.”

  A slow smile spread across Sahin Pasha’s face, reached his eyes, and warmed. “God is with you, little one. We have packed up our delegation. We leave in two days.”

  “Two days?” she gasped.

  “If you wish our help, you must take it now. If you choose not to, I will consider our debt filled.”

  “Very well, favored uncle. I will come with you in two days.”

  “Your father?”

  “I’ll leave word for him and pray he reaches London to get it.”

  “He may follow you, as is his right. I won’t hide you.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to.”

  “And your marquess? Will he pursue you?” The shrewd old man held her eyes.

  “He is unlikely to expend effort for a troublesome woman.” And he isn’t my marquess.

  “Besides, I believe he is about to become betrothed,” she continued.

  “I see,” Sahin said sadly. “I regret—but no matter. It is good he will not pursue.”

  Stepping out the back of Sahin’s London townhouse, swathed in her scarf, Lily hoped he was correct. A dark-skinned servant slipped silently out behind her. She wanted to protest but knew it to be futile. Sahin, in his way, could be as stubborn about her need for protection as the marquess.

  As to his lordship, a niggling doubt about his willingness to pursue her would not stop teasing at her mind. Glenaire might not care about her personally, but he did hate to have his will thwarted. She pitied Roger Heaton.

  Chapter 15

  “Any half-pay corporal, any semi-intelligent boot boy could have stayed with one small woman. A sickly schoolgirl might have done a better job. A—” The list of those who performed better than Heaton had gone on for some time, and still Richard’s anger boiled over.

  Why can’t the damned woman do what she’s told? That Thornton woman has cut up my peace since—

  “Find her, Heaton. Find her before the sun goes down.”

  “Yes, sir, we have men—”

  “Yes, yes, you have squads of our men looking. Not good enough! Don’t try, man. Succeed. Find her!”

  Heaton left too beaten down to register relief.

  Where the hell are you, Lily? That snake Volkov is loose and— What if she went to meet him? To beg for her father?

  Richard felt ill. He did not like the feeling. He grit his teeth and sat down. The naval reports on the waters around Naples and Sicily lay on his desk.

  I have too much work to worry about one foolish woman determined to put herself at risk.

  He sorted the papers into stacks: one for naval reports; one for dispatches from his agents on the Italian peninsula in Malta and on Sicily; one for those actually inside the Kingdom of Naples. Yet another, dark with age, came from the ambassador in Washington. It quoted verbatim Stephen Decatur’s reports on his destruction of the Barbary fleet off Algiers and the concessions he wrenched from Algiers and Tunis.

  Lily would find this interesting, he thought. He dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling. Lily Thornton, with her fine mind, ought to know better than anyone how dangerous Volkov could be. Why can’t she think sensibly?

  He reread Viscount Exmouth’s report on the bombardment of Algiers and the concessions England extracted in 1816. He pulled the current analysis from Maitland, England’s governor general on Malta, to the front and read it through. The man sent one brief page to tell the Foreign Office no danger existed, patent nonsense. The corsairs scaled back their raids but never ended them entirely. Richard flipped it over twice as if he could find better intelligence. The words swam together, and Lily’s face, pale and frightened as he saw it the night he found her with Volkov, came into focus.

  She knows, and takes risks anyway. What is driving the fool woman?

  He pushed Maitland’s assertions aside and began to read dispatches from Naples, listing each known fact on one list and speculation on another. It would take him hours to go through the mountain of reports in detail. Perhaps then he would have some idea what to suggest to Castlereagh.

  Malta matters to England, matters greatly. Lily Thornton doesn’t.

  He tried to focus on the first dispatch, but his own harshness shamed him.

  She doesn’t matter to England, but she matters to her father. Her aunt. Her friends.

  He scribbled lists for precisely eight minutes before he threw down his pen. He looked at what he’d written. Tripe! He balled up the paper and through it across the room, instantly felt childish, and picked it up to spread it open. The Marquess of Glenaire never stooped to childish acts.

  He stared at the paper a moment longer, his mind on Lily Thornton. Work had become hopeless, another charge to put at Lily Thornton’s door.

  If those puppies can’t do what I told them, I will have to do it myself.

  He called for his hat and his carriage. Castlereagh’s report could wait another afternoon. The woman would be taught she could not evade surveillance.

  Lily almost reached the rear of Aunt Marianne’s house through the mews before an arm snaked from the shadows. A hand clamped down on her shoulder, jarring her to a stop. Her heart stuttered and gave
a leap of fear.

  Volkov?

  “What have you been doing?” a familiar voice demanded.

  Relief filled Lily at the sound of Richard’s voice; warmth pooled inside her at his touch. Traitorous body.

  “None of your business.” The words came instinctively to her mouth, but the stench of horses and dirt wafting from the mews undermined any force she may have given them. Her recently sensitized stomach clenched.

  Traitorous body, she thought, in so many ways. The ebb and flow of fear, the strength expended to meet Sahin, the weakness of her pregnancy, and the feel of Richard’s hand overwhelmed Lily’s senses. Blood drained from her face, and her knees buckled.

  Strong arms caught her up until she looked into the face of a very irate male, inches from hers. “Damned foolish woman,” he grumbled, taking her back stairs with ease.

  Lily’s aunt employed a tiny staff. The sight of a marquess carrying their mistress’s niece through the tradesmen’s entrance sent them all into a frenzy. Only sharp words from the marquess himself gave order to their efforts: one to fetch her aunt, one tea, one a coverlet.

  He laid Lily down on the settee nearest an open window and stood with his hands behind his back.

  “You needn’t glower so,” Lily said. “And you did not need to frighten our staff. I could have walked.” She tried to sit up; he pushed her down.

  “You are pale.”

  “You gave me a fright. What did you expect?”

  “Lilias Thornton is not a weak-willed ninny who goes faint.”

  “You, sir, are not the expert on what Lilias Thornton does or doesn’t do.” She sat up. When he put out a hand to stop her, she held one of hers up in front of her and dared him to try. He pulled back.

  “Why were you lurking in the mews behind our house?”

  “Waiting for you. I suspected you would sneak in.”

  “Your man could have confirmed it. I waved to him at the corner of the street,” she said. She stared, chin high, and refused to apologize.

  “I told you not to go out without escort,” he said.

  “Even the Marble Marquess does not always get what he wants.”

  Marianne Thornton fluttered into the room to stand wringing her hands at Lily and bobbing a crooked curtsey at Richard.

  “Your niece felt faint,” he said. “She is much improved.” He gestured to the corner of the room. The far corner. “Could you allow us a moment?”

  “Of course, of course,” the woman said breathlessly. She patted Lily’s hand. “I’m glad it was a false alarm, dear.” She fluttered off.

  Richard spun back toward Lily.

  “What have you been doing?” he demanded.

  “I believe you asked me that once. I told you it is none of your business.”

  “Whom did you meet?” he pinned her with his eyes. She didn’t look away; she didn’t answer.

  “Volkov?”

  “Good God, no,” she choked. “Why would I want to be anywhere near that man?”

  Richard let out a breath. He stayed where he stood but seemed to back off. “Not Volkov,” he said more quietly.

  “Of course not,” she answered. “Do you take me for a fool?”

  He does. He thinks me foolish.

  “Who then?” he asked less forcefully.

  “A friend.” She looked directly at him until he looked down.

  “Someone safe?” he asked.

  “I said friend, so yes, safe.”

  “You should have taken Roger Heaton.”

  “I grow tired of your watchdogs, Richard, those eager puppies. We’ve exhausted the weather, the gossip, and fashions, every damned polite topic I can dredge up. I tried foreign affairs. Stewart is coming along, but Heaton—for a would-be diplomat, he has no sense of reality. He is simply not devious enough.” Unlike you. Or I.

  He unbent at that and pulled a chair closer to her. “He is able enough to do what I ask him, and what I asked him to do is keep you safe.”

  “I am safe as you can see.”

  “Volkov is a threat to you. Until he does something overt, we can’t arrest him or expel him.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  He nodded.

  “In England?”

  Another nod. If I can elude you, he can too.

  “Until my father returns safely to England, you dare not expel him. Bring my father home, Richard.”

  He opened his mouth to reply, but she held up a hand. “Shortage of trees for masts. No ships available. The man hates overland travel. I know. What news of Thessaloniki?”

  “Little. Rumblings of unrest, but no specifics. No sudden beheadings in the Pasha’s court, at least word of none has reached us.”

  Shivers ran down her arm when he picked up her hand and held it in his.

  “There is no change and no reason to believe you are any safer from Volkov. Take Heaton or Stewart when you go out.” It wasn’t a request, but softness crept into his voice and Lily couldn’t resent the implied command. She couldn’t tell the truth either.

  “I will take one of my champions whenever I go about London,” she agreed submissively. She didn’t mention Falmouth, the sea, or Constantinople, about which she made no such promises.

  He looked at her as if trying to sort through her words for some escape clause. “There’s more you aren’t telling me,” he said at last. “I can’t fix anything without information.”

  She kept her silence. His eyes had softened; their intensity touched her deeply.

  “My life isn’t yours to fix, my lord,” she said at last over the lump in her throat.

  “‘My lord’ is it? Very well, ‘Miss Thornton.’ I will continue to see to your welfare whether you wish it or not.” He leaned a bit closer, eyes moving toward her mouth. “I worry for you, Lily,” he whispered. “Don’t frighten me again.”

  Lily’s mouth fell open. She thought for a moment he meant to kiss her. She thought for a moment she wanted him to. She pulled herself upright and looked away.

  “I apologize for causing distress,” she said. “That was not my intent. I’m used to seeing to my own welfare. Your concern, while sweet, is not necessary.”

  He snapped upright. “My concern is damned well not ‘sweet,’ madam. My concern is for England’s welfare, and you find yourself embroiled with dangerous forces.”

  “Life has risks,” she said, desperate to change the subject. “I will risk a walk to Chadbourn house tomorrow night.”

  “Too far. Ride. Take Heaton,” he retorted.

  “Will you attend?” she asked.

  “I’m engaged to attend the theatre,” he responded.

  “With Lady Sarah Wharton.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Who I choose to escort isn’t your concern.”

  “You will suit each other,” she said. She meant it.

  He bristled at that, but said, “I believe so. She is of good family.”

  Lily nodded. “Lands, polish, and breeding that is well beyond adequate—all that is needed in a marchioness,” she said, throwing his assessment of her breeding back at him.

  The marquess looked momentarily puzzled as if he couldn’t be sure whether or not she had insulted him. Lady Sarah could have him. Lily had her own life to live.

  “I wish you well, my lord,” she said.

  “And I wish you safe,” he responded, rising to leave. “Stay with Heaton when you are out.”

  “I already promised, didn’t I?” She couldn’t meet his eyes. “Roger Heaton may escort me about the city.”

  But no further.

  Chapter 16

  The maneuvers—small but effective—that Lady Sarah carried out in order to time her entrance to his parents’ box at the Royal Theater, Co
vent Garden, exasperated Richard. They arrived late but still early enough to be seen by all.

  Generals launch campaigns with less planning.

  Her erect posture, serene countenance, and gown, carefully chosen to reflect light from the newly installed oil lamps, showed to perfection in the flickering lights of the theater. Tiny diamonds discreetly nested in her suitably demure pearl necklace glowed in that light just as she must have known they would.

  Every eye in the pit followed her graceful descent into the Duke of Sudbury’s box on Richard’s arm.

  She sees me as nothing more than an ornament to perfect the image she wishes to project—Lady Sarah Wharton on the arm of a duke’s heir. Though any heir would do. Richard winced. He thought he ought to give the girl more credit, but the thought persisted. She can’t help it. She’s caught up in my mother’s schemes.

  Avid glances from the other boxes took in the powerful and highly titled companions around them: the Duke and Duchess of Sudbury, the Duke and Duchess of Lisle, and Castlereagh—the Marquess of Londonderry, foreign secretary, Richard’s superior, and one of the most powerful men in Europe.

  Tactical error, Richard. Not one but two dukes—both parents and the foreign secretary? May as well send notice to the papers.

  He attempted to ignore prying eyes. Taking notice of the masses, he had been taught, gave one an air of vulgarity. He handed his companion to a seat next to Lord Castlereagh and sat on her other side.

  At least Her Grace is content to take a back seat for once.