by Gayle Wilson
Although she had known nothing about Delgado, other than his friendship with her father and his avowed dedication to their mutual cause, there had been something about him that had made her view the possibility of such a union with near loathing. Without even consulting her, however, her father had refused the offer, having no intention of seeing her wed to a common soldier. Neither of them had understood then that Julián could not endure to be refused. Not anything.
“My father’s dedication to his king and his country were based on his family’s long loyalty and service to the crown. Julián, on the other hand…”
Even now it was difficult for her to articulate what he had done. If the Englishman were to have any chance at all in this insane quest, however, he had to know everything.
“Julián is an opportunist. Had he believed Napoleon could hope to maintain control of Iberia, I have no doubt he would have backed the other side. It’s possible he did that in the early years of the war. Then he came to the realization that the French would eventually be driven out. And, far more important for him, to the realization that those who helped to bring about their defeat would be suitably rewarded.”
“As he has been,” Sebastian said.
She lifted her eyes, shutting out those painful images from the past. For the first time she noticed the signs of exhaustion in his face. The skin under his eyes was dark with fatigue. Of course, since he had kept watch over her all night…
The memory of that vigil touched her. It had been a long time since anyone had been truly concerned about her well-being. Those who were expected to care for her now did so, not out of love or even loyalty, but out of fear.
“He has the king’s favor,” she said, “but he has not yet been rewarded to the extent he expects to be. That’s why my father had to die.”
Julián had made it seem as if her father’s death had nothing to do with his proposal. Even then, even before she had come to understand the kind of man he was, she had known in her heart that he was somehow responsible.
“Delgado killed him?”
“In the midst of a war it’s easy to rid yourself of someone who stands in the way of what you want.” She took a breath, remembering her shock the day she had listened to Julián’s explanation of her father’s death and his supposed dying wish for her future. “Julián claimed that before he died, my father appointed him my guardian. He produced a document to that effect, although…”
The words faded. She had been convinced that the wavering signature had been forged or—and the thought of this was far more horrifying—that it had been obtained by force.
Since her father was dead and conveniently unable to dispute the claim, however, the document had been accepted as authentic. Julián had gotten his way. He always did.
“My father’s death gave Julián the opportunity he needed. He took over the army my father had raised, and he used it to great effect in the waning days of the war. Then, as soon as the king was restored to the throne, he began his petitions. He’s been promised his answer in a matter of weeks. Considering the king’s gratitude, what that answer will be is a foregone conclusion.”
“Petitioning the king for what?”
The Englishman couldn’t possibly have followed that part of her explanation, she realized. Not without knowing something of the men who were involved, as well as the laws governing inheritances.
“For permission to marry his ward, of course. And in doing so, to inherit the lands and titles that belonged to her father, Antonio Rafael Lázaro Mendoza de Covadonga, Conde del Castillo. You didn’t imagine Julián wanted to marry me for love, did you?”
She had told him that in the garden. She had believed then she would never see this man again, so she hadn’t tried to explain the complicated motivations that drove Delgado.
“Don’t worry, Captain Sinclair. Wealth is a much greater enticement to Julián than love. He’ll do what you want. He’ll come after me because, if he doesn’t, he stands to lose a great deal. Or perhaps I should say, he’ll come after you. And when he finds you, he’ll do exactly what I convinced him not to do that day by the river. He’ll kill you as slowly and as painfully as he possibly can.”
“I think he can be trusted,” Sebastian said. “I’ve paid him enough to assure his silence, but…”
“You want me to keep an eye on things,” Malford said. “See to it that he doesn’t leave the house.”
“And especially that he doesn’t send a message to anyone outside it.”
Last night it had seemed he had no choice in trusting the cook. He had felt then that bringing Pilar here was a reasonable solution. In the light of day, however, he had realized there were a great number of things that could go wrong.
The cook’s reluctance to give him the fishmonger’s name might well speak to his ability to keep his mouth shut, but an offer of money had loosened his tongue quickly enough. And he imagined Delgado had much more with which to bargain than he had.
“I’ll look sharp,” Harry’s batman promised. “Don’t you worry on that score, Captain Sinclair. You concentrate on finding the bastard that killed Lord Wetherly.”
“Good man,” Sebastian said, gripping his shoulder.
Malford was the ideal conspirator, virtually without duties now that his master was dead, and with his own grudge against Harry’s murderer. It had taken Sebastian only a few minutes of mental debate to decide to let the batman in on what was going on. He would certainly be more trustworthy than the accomplice who had been thrust upon him last night.
“Oh,” Malford said, turning back after he had gone part of the way down the passage that led to the kitchens. “I almost forgot. His Grace is looking for you. Sent word near half an hour ago.”
Sebastian’s response to that information was the same as when one of the masters at school had sent for him, magnified perhaps a hundredfold. A cold dread settled in the pit of his stomach like a stone.
He thought of asking Malford if he had any idea what the summons was about. Only the knowledge that, even if Wellington had somehow learned what was going on, he would have to face the accounting prevented him.
“Thank you,” he said instead.
He watched until the batman had disappeared, and then, running his finger around the collar of his uniform, which seemed to have tightened against his throat, he turned and headed upstairs. If the duke had been waiting for half an hour, any further delay could only exacerbate his always uncertain temper.
Even if Wellington had no idea what Sebastian had done, he was probably in for an unpleasant few minutes. If the duke had somehow gotten word that one of his officers had kidnapped the ward of the Spanish king’s favorite…
Then being late was going to be the least of his problems, Sebastian acknowledged. The very least.
“Captain Sinclair,” Wellington said, looking up from the papers spread across the surface of his desk.
Sebastian was experienced enough with the moods of his commander to know that the tone didn’t connote displeasure, and the knot that had settled in his stomach began to dissolve. Whatever this was about, it wasn’t the disaster he’d been anticipating.
“Your grace?”
“I received some news this morning that I thought you would be interested in. It concerns the subject we discussed privately the last time we met,” the duke said somewhat cryptically.
“Lord Wetherly’s death,” Sebastian said, refusing to avoid a direct reference to the topic.
“In a way. I’ve inquired, of course, but it seems there were no witnesses to what took place in the church yard of Santa Maria de la Rosa that afternoon.”
It would be the rare murder that was carried out in front of witnesses, of course, but Sebastian refrained from pointing out the obvious.
“No, my news concerns the Spanish gentleman we spoke of,” the duke continued.
“Julián Delgado.”
“Who is to be, it seems, His Majesty’s ambassador to the court of his royal cousin, Louis of Franc
e. He was given the appointment yesterday afternoon. Short notice, especially if he is expected to reach Paris before the agreements that are to be the products of the current negotiations are signed. Or perhaps that isn’t the intent. Perhaps Ferdinand simply feels it necessary to have a representative there at this critical juncture.”
“Forgive me, your grace,” Sebastian said, almost interrupting the spate of speculation. “Are you saying Delgado is going to Paris?”
“Has gone, according to my informants.”
Wellington had always had remarkably well-informed “correspondents,” as he had called his secret sources during the war. Apparently, some of those were still in operation, and given the accuracy of their past communiqués, Sebastian had little cause to doubt what the duke had been told.
“I must confess, knowing how you felt about Wetherly and what you believe about Delgado’s role in his death, I was relieved to hear of his departure,” Wellington said.
The implications of this appointment were only now beginning to penetrate. The primary one was, of course, that Delgado was no longer within his reach because he was no longer in Madrid. It was even possible, Sebastian realized, that he had watched Julián’s departure for France last night.
His servants had been placed under the threat of death to keep his ward secured until he returned. Perhaps they hadn’t been particularly eager to track Delgado down in order to inform him that she was missing.
“By the way,” the duke added, “the colonel’s been given a title commensurate with his new duties. Apparently he had been petitioning for it for some time. Ferdinand decided that his representative should carry with him all the pomp and circumstances of the Spanish court—the pre-Bonaparte court, of course.”
“And Delgado is now Conde del Castillo,” Sebastian said.
It seemed the bastard had succeeded in what Pilar believed he had set out at the beginning to accomplish.
“It appears your sources are as good as mine, Captain Sinclair. How surprising.”
Wellington was no fool. Sebastian could only hope that in the press of his own duties, his commander wouldn’t have time to wonder too long about how he, a lowly staff officer, had obtained information about the inner workings of the Spanish court.
“And with the count in Paris,” the duke went on, “you must do exactly as I advised you before. Whatever your suspicions, he is certainly beyond the reach of them now. I should suppose his ward is traveling with him. I understand they are to be married soon. Perhaps they will honeymoon in Paris, something no one but the French have been able to do since the Peace of Amiens.”
This time Sebastian was wise enough to hold his tongue. Whatever Delgado would be doing in Paris, it would not involve his ward, the girl he had hidden in the kitchens of this very house.
“As for the rest of us, we shall be leaving soon for Bordeaux to meet the transport ships there. I promised you should be home before the end of June, and so you shall. I’m very glad you did nothing to jeopardize what should be a joyous reunion with your family. I suspect Dare should never have forgiven me if I’d allowed you to come to harm after the dangers of war were past. As it is, you may be home in time to interrupt Major Sinclair’s honeymoon, which, I assume, is not taking place in Paris.”
Wellington was almost jovial. He had probably been worried that Sebastian would do exactly what he had done. Now, of course, he believed the danger of the youngest Sinclair precipitating an international incident had passed. And his relief was obvious, both as His Majesty’s envoy and as the Earl of Dare’s friend.
“I think you may safely make that assumption, your grace.”
Wellington smiled. “I confess, Sin, the idea of your attempting to avenge Harry’s death gave me more than a few sleepless hours. Given your previous… shall we say impetuousness, I applaud your control in this situation. I can only imagine what a temptation it must have been to act upon your suspicions. The fact that you chose not to demonstrates a maturity and attention to duty I commend. I know your brothers would be very proud if they knew.”
“Thank you, your grace,” Sebastian answered, because there was literally nothing else he could say.
Delgado was gone, and in a few days he himself would be leaving for England. And the only thing left to be settled…
For a moment the image of the girl’s face, as she had lain in his arms last night, filled his head. He had taken her by force. And in doing so, he had promised her that he would kill her guardian and free her from the bastard’s control.
It seemed that accomplishing the first was now an impossibility. And as for the second, he could think of only one way he could possibly guarantee that now.
Chapter Six
“And there’s none braver, my lady,” Malford said. “Lord Wetherly always said he’d rather have Captain Sinclair—Sin, as he called him—by his side in a hard fight than anyone else in the whole army. A very fine officer, as well as a gentleman from an old and distinguished family. A younger son and untitled, you understand, but much favored by his brothers. Or so I’ve been told.”
In the circle in which Pilar had grown up, it would have been considered highly improper to entertain servants’ gossip and almost unforgivable to solicit it. In these circumstances, however, it had seemed this might be the only way to obtain information about the man who had abducted her. And Lord Wetherly’s valet had proven a veritable font of that.
Now she had a much clearer understanding of the relationship that had existed between Malford’s late master and Sebastian Sinclair. She had also been provided with more details about Julián’s deception, which had led to the viscount’s death. Hearing them, she understood why the captain had been suspicious of her role. She also knew why he was so bent on revenge.
As she had listened to Malford’s praise, she found she was considering the tantalizing possibility that Sebastian might actually succeed in his goal. Given both his courage and ability, believing that he might be the one who could best Julián was a temptation.
“And his oldest brother is an earl, I believe you said?”
“The Earl of Dare, my lady. Friend of the Duke of Wellington as well as a member of the Regent’s inner circle, if you take my meaning.”
They turned almost guiltily as a soft knock sounded at the door. It opened before either of them had time to respond. Sebastian stepped into the room, closing the door quickly behind him.
His eyes had sought Pilar first, and he seemed surprised she was sitting on the edge of the bed rather than lying upon it as he’d left her. Or perhaps it was her appearance that shocked him. Since he had abducted her in her nightgown, however, just as he had threatened, she had been left little choice in her attire.
She had managed to fashion a shawl from the thin coverlet she’d found at the foot of the bed. Draped about her shoulders and held together over the front of her rail, the makeshift garment was more modest than her ball gown had been. Sebastian’s eyes had made a quick downward survey of its arrangement before they fastened on her face.
“Your headache seems improved.”
She couldn’t decide if there had been a note of censure in the comment. Even if there were, her answer would be the same.
“Yes, it is, thank you,” she said almost formally.
His eyes held on hers for a moment before he turned to the batman. The tilt of his head toward the door was almost imperceptible, but Malford responded eagerly, springing up from the windowsill where he’d propped his hip.
“If you’ll excuse me, my lady,” he said, as he started across the room, “I’m sure I’ve taken up enough of your day with my chatter.”
She inclined her head, smiling an unnecessary dismissal. After all, it was very apparent from whom he was taking his orders.
As soon as he had slipped out the door, closing it behind him as furtively as Sinclair had opened it, Pilar looked back at the man who had kidnapped her. He was watching her with what could only be called speculation. Seeing it, she raised her brows
questioningly.
“What is it?” she asked.
When he didn’t answer immediately, anxiety began to tighten her chest, making it difficult to breathe.
“It seems your guardian is no longer in Madrid.”
His tone had been without inflection, but as she absorbed the news, she realized what a bitter disappointment this must have been for him. It was not until several seconds later that she even thought to wonder what it would portend for her.
“Then…where is he?”
Normally she would think that the farther away Julián was, the better. In this situation…
“King Ferdinand has sent him to Paris.”
“To Paris?”
“As his representative. There are talks going on there between the ambassadors of the crowned heads of Europe concerning what to do with France’s conquered territories, now that Napoleon has abdicated.”
“And the king sent Julián to represent Spain?”
Despite Ferdinand’s gratitude over her guardian’s efforts in his cause, it was bizarre that a man without any official standing at the royal court should have been given such a responsibility.
“It seems your guardian’s petition has been granted,” Sebastian said softly.
Still coming to terms with the shock that Julián was no longer in Spain, it took longer than it should have for that more emotionally significant piece of information to register. When it did, she felt a flood of renewed grief and bitterness on her father’s behalf.
“The king has given him my father’s titles.”
“Apparently he felt that would be in keeping with Delgado’s appointment.”
“And the rest?” she asked.
A small crease formed between the midnight brows. “I would assume the lands are attached to the title, although I have to confess, I was told nothing of what was entailed in the appointment.”
“I had reference to the other.” She wondered if he had forgotten what she had told him or if it were simply unimportant to him.