“Of course, Travis. I…I cannot tell you how much this means to me.”
“No need, sir. I gave you my oath that I would keep Whitlock safe until you could find the evidence. Given that Whitlock has disappeared, bringing you the evidence is the least I can do. If this is not it, I shall continue the search.”
Lord Kilgrew went to his door and made a whispered request. Within two minutes, a balding secretary with hunched shoulders rushed in with a folded felt pouch. Kilgrew dismissed him with a wave of his hand and, once the door was closed again, took a set of picks from the pouch and began picking the padlock.
Ethan returned to his musings as he watched the people in the street scurry about their business. He wondered what Sarah would be doing this morning, and then it occurred to him that he’d never seen her by daylight. By all that was holy, he knew her as he knew no other, and yet he did not know her at all.
He heard a click, the scrape of metal as the padlock opened, and the rasp of a hinge as Kilgrew lifted the lid. There was a shuffle of papers, then a long silence. The next sound was a deep exhalation of breath.
When he turned, Kilgrew’s face was ashen.
“Sir?” Ethan asked.
“My God,” the man muttered, looking up from an unfolded letter. “I never expected…”
Ethan stood still, waiting.
“He…he lied.”
“Who, sir? Whitlock?”
Kilgrew gestured at the open strongbox and shook his head. He seemed beyond speech.
How had Lord Kilgrew been deceived? Ethan took a few steps toward the desk and the page and envelope scattered there.
Kilgrew looked up, a bewildered expression on his face. “I should have seen it. My God, all the signs were there, but I did not see it.”
Brandy seemed in order. Ethan poured half a glass from the decanter on Kilgrew’s desk and offered it to the man. “Is it the evidence you sought?” he asked.
Kilgrew downed the brandy in a single gulp. “Have a look.”
It was Ethan’s turn to shake his head. “This is none of my business.”
“’Tis very much your business, lad. Very much, I fear.” Kilgrew poured himself another brandy. “You see, I wasn’t the one being blackmailed.”
With mingled feelings of misgivings and fascination, Ethan turned the envelope over. Lord Lieutenant Cedric Broxton to Mr. Harold Whitlock!
He glanced up at Lord Kilgrew’s stricken face and recalled that Kilgrew was Broxton’s uncle. Bloody hell. No wonder the man was stunned. Well, he’d best know the worst. He unfolded the sheet and read.
July 1, 1816
My Friend Harry,
What a sweet little setup I’ve found here. The Dey of Algiers wants to buy information. He suspects the British are preparing an attack on the port and wants warning enough to remove and hide slaves and hostages. Use your position at the Ministry to discover what you can. Meantime, my unit is posing as French merchants while Captain Travis is trying to locate the British captives. I have paid the innkeeper a pittance to intercept his mail. Advance news of the attack should earn a tidy sum. Should you learn anything, you may post me by way of the Gibraltar courier. Yrs. C.B.
Ethan had always suspected Broxton of treachery, but this was beyond his expectations. This letter had been passed mere weeks before twenty-five ships left Plymouth bound for Algiers. Pieces of a puzzle three years in the making began to fall into place. Here was the proof of Ethan’s innocence.
And Cedric Broxton’s guilt. So it was Cedric Broxton that Kilgrew had been trying to protect, and it was Broxton who was behind the attempts to find this very evidence. And, likely, Cedric who had knocked Sarah over the head, who had killed the Carmichael woman and who had tried to kill him at the chimney sweep’s home.
He dropped the letters back in the metal strongbox. “What will you do with this, sir?” he asked.
Lord Kilgrew shrugged, still looking dazed. “I thought the scandal had died. I thought it was over. Now we shall have to dredge it all up again.”
Oddly, Ethan was not jubilant with the prospect of clearing his name. For years, he had wanted exoneration more than anything else in the world. But now, clearing his name would require him to sully Sarah’s. The cruel irony was not lost on him. He smiled. “Sir, I shall leave it to you to handle as best you see fit. The people I care most about never believed I passed information to the Dey—or that I committed treason. That is enough for me.”
The old man smiled and sighed. “You are a good man, Travis. Not many men wouldn’t jump at the chance for vindication.” He stopped and waved his hand in dismissal. “I need to think. I need to talk to my sister about her son.” He shook his head. “I need to talk to Cedric.”
“Take all the time you need, sir,” he said. The more time the better, because he had a more important score to settle before he settled privately with Broxton.
“I spoke with Cedric today,” Reggie began as they rounded a corner on their way to the Argyle Rooms. The entertainment for the evening was a masquerade to raise funds for acquisitions for the British Museum. The theme was Ancient Greece, and attendees had been asked to dress in Grecian style.
Sarah wore a Grecian gown of saffron, wound with silken cords of purple, and her hair was in a style reminiscent of the statues currently on display at the museum. Reggie had opted for the garb of a Greek soldier, complete with brushed helmet. Sarah knew they’d be dressed conservatively by the standards of the evening. If she hadn’t promised Reggie she’d accompany him, she’d have stayed home with a good book and a cup of tea.
She nodded now, afraid to ask the obvious question.
Reggie cleared his throat and offered another tidbit. “He is not pleased.”
She smiled, imagining a temper tantrum of monstrous proportions. Cedric could forgive much, but not being made to look a fool.
“He demanded a reason for the cry-off,” Reggie continued.
“What did you tell him?” she asked.
“That you had convinced me of the unsuitability of the match. When he demanded an explanation, I did not give one. I told him that, beginning tomorrow, I would put out the story that we were unable to reach agreement as to the settlements and that my announcement had been premature.”
Sarah knew that society would interpret this in one of two ways—that Reggie was niggardly or that Sarah felt she was too far above Cedric’s station. In either case, it would reflect poorly on the Hunters, and she was sorry for that. But worse was Cedric. “Was he…terribly angry?” she asked.
“‘Terribly’ does not do it justice.” Reggie smiled. “I had not realized he was so smitten. And your settlements are not insignificant, you know.”
“Papa left me well-situated,” she acknowledged. “And Cedric wanted me, I knew that, but I never knew why.”
Reggie regarded her with a long look. “Sarah, you know you were blessed with all the beauty in the family, do you not?”
She tapped his arm with her ivory-slatted fan. “The female half of the ton would disagree. I have heard more than one sigh when you pass by, Reggie.”
“Hmm. Well, the point is, dearling, that Broxton has been a very patient swain, and his displeasure is in proportion to his wait. I had not realized how thoroughly unpleasant he could be when he is crossed. Please be very careful of him.”
Ethan scanned the entrance hall of the Argyle Rooms for the third time. The light thrown by the elegant Grecian lamps provided a clear view of the crowd. Groups passed him on their way to the vestibule, and thence up the grand staircase. Ethan watched for any sign of Kilgrew. Perhaps he’d already gone in.
Ethan felt conspicuous in ordinary evening clothes, but it appeared he would have to brave it. He caught a flash of another uncostumed attendee. Cedric Broxton lurked in the shadows of the staircase, taking great pains to remain in the background. He had the look of a man with a purpose, and Ethan could well guess that purpose—to persuade his uncle to protect him from exposure. Would he succeed?
H
e handed the engraved invitation that had arrived by messenger from Lord Kilgrew that afternoon to a footman guarding the stairway. He climbed the elegant staircase to the first of several lounges. The festivities tonight would flow over into most of the larger rooms available, including the ballroom. He hoped it would not take long to find Kilgrew and find out why he’d been summoned. He had other fish to fry this evening.
And there, standing next to an ionic column holding a glass of frothy punch while her brother handed her wrap to a footman, was another of his fishes. She took a sip from her cup, put it on a passing footman’s tray and walked into the Saloon Theatre.
The faint strains of an orchestra reached him as he claimed a glass of wine from a side table and continued his pursuit. He caught a flash of blue and gold in a far corner and turned to see his brother and the Lady Amelia glowering at him. He merely lifted his glass to them, shrugged and proceeded on his way.
The Saloon Theatre was lit by the radiance of six glass chandeliers and the orchestra played on a raised platform. Couples were scattered about the dance floor and lined the sides of the room. Ethan spotted his quarry standing in a group of women. Her brother had evidently deposited her with her friends and gone off to join his own.
He approached slowly, savoring the moment. He’d been less than pleasant last night when she’d brought him the strongbox. How would she respond now? He needed to know if she was prepared to honor her words, because it was not likely that Lord Kilgrew would clear Ethan’s name at the expense of his own family.
Sarah stood with her back to him and was unaware of his approach. Only when her companions fell silent did she turn to see what had inspired their sudden reticence. He could see her tense as she acknowledged him with a smile and a proper curtsy—not too deep, and not insultingly small—just enough to accord him respect without being overt.
He bowed to the group. “Ladies,” he said.
All eyes turned to Sarah. “Good evening, Lord Ethan. How nice to see you here.”
Her companions followed her lead and offered like curtsies and greetings. Ah, yes. This was what it was like to be a paragon, he mused. He had almost forgotten how that felt. To have your peers waiting to mirror your reactions and take their direction from you. He could not help but smile wider when he wondered if Sarah’s friends would follow her through London’s seedy streets dressed in trousers, too.
“And you?” he asked. “I hope you have been well?”
“Quite well, thank you.”
“And your family?”
“Thriving, Lord Ethan. My brothers are all the picture of health and high spirits. I came with Reggie tonight. I am certain he would want to pay his regards.”
“Thank you, Lady Sarah. I shall look for him.”
Another pause. How far would she go, he contemplated.
“I am wondering, Lord Ethan, if you will give me the opportunity to waltz with you tonight. I was sorry to have missed our dance at my brother’s party and would be glad of the opportunity to make it up to you now.”
He heard the soft intake of breath from the gathered women at this boldness, but Sarah pretended not to notice. “I am at your disposal,” he said, realizing that she had just put society on notice that Ethan Travis was acceptable. Even desirable.
Sarah turned to her friends and said, “Should you have the opportunity, I would recommend Lord Ethan as a dance partner. He waltzes divinely. Lady Amelia Linsday first recommended him to me.” She smiled brightly and waved to a point over his shoulder. He turned to see Amelia and Collin watching their little gathering.
Amelia flushed guiltily and waved back. There was little else she could do when caught in such a blatant study. He grinned and nodded a greeting, realizing that Sarah had just forced Collin and Amelia to acknowledge him. Even Sarah’s banter with her friends had hinted at the nod of approval from his brother and sister-in-law.
“I should very much like to waltz with you, Lord Ethan,” Grace Forbush said. “If not tonight, then soon.”
“It will be my pleasure,” he returned.
“Here’s a waltz now,” one of the young ladies announced as the orchestra transitioned from a quadrille into a waltz.
“Lady Sarah?” he asked with a slight bow in her direction.
She offered her hand and a shock went through him. The heat of her body, the scent of lilacs and the delicate hue of her blush enchanted him. When she placed her hand on his shoulder, he had to restrain himself from pulling her the rest of the way into his arms. That temptation doubled when he saw Cedric Broxton watching them from the safety of an alcove.
“Nicely done, Lady Sarah,” he said as he led her into the measure. “To all appearances, you have approved me.”
She smiled. “Not appearances only, Lord Ethan.”
“What are you up to?”
“Making amends. ’Tis the night for that.”
God, how he wanted to believe that. He led her into a quick turn and a lock of polished hair loosened from the purple cords and uncoiled down her back. She tilted her head back and laughed with pleasure. He could barely rip his gaze from the slender column of her throat and the spot there he knew could bring her to a boil.
“You did that apurpose,” she accused. “That is why being with you is so exciting. I never know what you will do next.”
She matched her step to his, reminding him of the little waif on the rooftops. She had always followed his lead with such grace and determination. “Whatever I do,” he whispered, “I will keep you safe, Sarah.” The words were out before he could think better of it. He had learned nothing if not that he had to be cautious when dealing with her.
She looked into his eyes and her smile faded, as if some burden had been remembered. “The…box? Was it what you needed? For your friend?”
“Yes.”
He could feel some of the tension ease from her slender body as she nodded. “Thank heavens. Is it over, then?”
“Almost,” he said. He glimpsed Lord Kilgrew on the sidelines, gesturing for Ethan to join him. “Just one or two loose ends to tie up. Afterward, I think you and I may have some things to discuss.”
Her step faltered but she recovered quickly. “I have some loose ends of my own to tie up,” she murmured. “I have made amends to you, but I still owe my brother a friend.”
He did not like the sound of that, but he had no time to argue it now. He returned her to her group, bowed and turned away to go find Lord Kilgrew, but not before he overheard Sarah’s next ploy to repair his reputation.
“Oh, Sarah!” one of the younger ladies said. “That was such a brave and daring thing to waltz with someone of Lord Ethan’s reputation. I mean…treason!”
Sarah’s laugh sent a thrill up his spine. “Treason? Oh, Beatrice, have you not heard? That rumor was just a ploy to draw out the real traitor. Lord Ethan, while undoubtedly mysterious, is quite a gentleman.”
“And so handsome,” another of the girls said.
Sarah, it seemed, was not finished repairing his reputation. He would speak to her about that once he’d met with Kilgrew and settled with Broxton.
Lord Kilgrew took the letter from an inner fold of his toga and tossed it on the small dining table in the center of the small private room. “It isn’t good, my boy,” he said. “I showed him the letter and demanded an explanation. He merely shrugged and asked where I’d got it.”
Ethan knew Cedric Broxton’s capacity for treachery well enough, but Broxton’s uncle was new to the concept. It was bound to be a painful awakening.
“Sorry to use your name, lad, but you haven’t told me who gave this to you or where it was found, so I told him you were the man I’d put on the job. A man has the right to know who his accuser is.”
And he never would tell where the letter came from, Ethan thought, but he’d have to find some way to prevent Kilgrew from finding out.
“My sister has taken to her bed. She begged me to reconsider exposing Cedric. Burn the damned letter, she said. Forget I ever s
aw it. I could not make either of them understand that you’d bear the taint of treason the rest of your life. Honor is apparently beyond Cedric.”
“Sir, I’ve grown used to scandal and disrepute. Indeed, it has had some rather beneficial results.”
“But you should not bear the blame for something you did not do. I shall make Cedric’s letter public on the morrow,” he said. “And Monday next, I shall read it in Parliament. That, with the testimony of the person who found the letter, will exonerate you. Then everyone will know you are innocent.”
Ethan’s stomach clenched. How would he keep Sarah’s name out of this mess then? No, he had to end Kilgrew’s plan without revealing who had found the letter. The less attention it drew, the better. “Please do not do that, sir.”
“The public should know you did not—”
“Not necessary. I seem to be enjoying a resurgence of popularity.” Ethan lifted the letter from the table and went to the small fireplace in one corner of the room. Before Kilgrew could protest, he dropped it into the embers and watched as it curled and blackened. Now Sarah was safe. With no letter and no authenticity to establish, there was no reason to pursue where they had come from.
“You’ve earned my gratitude, Ethan. I cannot hope to repay you. That you are willing to endure censure…”
Willing to endure that—and more—to protect Sarah, he thought. He cleared his throat and stood a little straighter. “I am glad I was able to return the favor.”
Kilgrew cleared his throat and continued, “Anything you need…ever.”
“Broxton and I have to settle accounts, but that will be in private. I will find him and throw down the glove. Before I leave you, sir, will you tell me what disposition you proposed to Broxton?”
Kilgrew nodded. “I gave him a choice. Surrender to the authorities and confess, or leave England and never return. Australia or the Americas would be a good place for him, I said. I gave him twenty-four hours to make the choice.”
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