by Lucy Monroe
The way her body pressed against his belied any belief his business acumen was of primary consideration to her at the moment, but he’d learned he liked her teasing.
“Mr. Drake?”
She looked around his shoulder, her eyes widened in surprise. She had just realized they had visitors. Her gaze shifted back to him, a question in their beautiful blue depths.
“I’ve brought some guests.”
She broke away from him, her pretty cheeks turning the color of a rose in bloom, and turned toward the two men occupying the other end of the drawing room. “So I see.”
“Barton was making a mad dash for parts unknown when Hansen, the bright fellow standing next to him, convinced him to come talk to me instead.”
Thea crossed the room and stood in front of Barton. “So, you’ve brought him here so I could question him as well?”
The blonde assistant swallowed audibly, his nervousness apparent in his shaking fingers and pinched lips. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Then why were you leaving the city?” Thea did not sound like she believed the assistant.
Drake had his own doubts, but Merewether, not Barton, had been seen going into the warehouse storing the stolen goods. Barton’s tale sealed the other man’s guilt.
Knowing the news that her adopted uncle’s family was to blame for recent events would upset her, Drake slipped his arm around Thea and hugged her to his side. “Tell my wife what you told me, Barton.”
“Mr. Merewether came to me and said as how you suspected me of stealing from the warehouse. He offered to help me hide in the country until he found the true culprit and cleared my name. He told me you planned to have me sent to Newgate.” Barton shuddered at the name of the prison. “I didn’t steal anything. I noticed discrepancies in the ledgers months ago. When I went to Mr. Merewether with my concerns, he said he would look into it, but that it was probably simple calculation errors. Since he kept the books, I had no choice but to accept his word.”
“You could have contacted me via letter,” Thea chided.
Barton nodded, clearly miserable. “Yes, but I wasn’t sure of anything and Mr. Merewether took over all the accounts after that. He kept the ledgers locked in his office. I had no way of substantiating my claim.”
“You should have tried.” Drake was not as calm about it as his wife. His hold on her tightened. He could not bear the thought of losing her. “When Thea discovered the thefts, he sent someone to try to kill her.”
Barton’s face lost what little color had remained after being accosted while trying to flee the city. “I didn’t realize.”
Thea squeezed Drake’s arm. “He did not succeed, my love.”
Was he her love?
He could not demand an answer to that question in the middle of their investigation, but soon he would.
Thea measured Barton with a glance. “I don’t suppose you would have any idea of who Mr. Merewether sent to our island?”
“You mean you don’t know?” Barton asked, sounding surprised.
“No.”
A little color returned to Barton’s face and he pulled himself erect. “I believe I know the answer to that. I saw Mr. Merewether pay one of our previous dockworkers a substantial sum of money before sending him aboard a Merewether ship bound for the island. It could be someone else, but I doubt it.”
Drake’s irritation nearly spiraled out of control. “Didn’t you find that behavior odd?”
Barton held himself perfectly erect now. “I do not make it a policy to question my superior’s actions.”
The only thing that prevented Drake from doing the prissy assistant bodily injury was the restraining hold Thea had on his arm. “Pierson, you must remain calm. We now know who the infiltrator on the island is. Mr. Barton can give us his name and description.”
Barton nodded vehemently. “Yes. I can.”
Drake decided to wait until the man had given them the information to knock him senseless for allowing Thea’s life to be put in jeopardy.
******
He was still annoyed two hours later as he drove his curricle toward Merewether Shipping’s office, the assistant and Hansen following in a hansom cab. Thea had not allowed him to beat even a modicum of sense into the irritating Barton.
Thea sat silently by Drake’s side as they made their way through the congested London traffic. Her voice surprised him when she decided to speak. “Lady Upworth came to call.”
“She had said she would.”
“Yes.”
He waited, knowing that she would get around to whatever occupied her thoughts eventually.
“She told Langley the truth.”
“No one can force you to see him. I won’t allow it.”
He saw her nod from the corner of his eye. “Thank you.”
“Do you want to see him?”
“I...” She fell silent for almost a full minute. “I want him to tell me why he never searched. Why he married Jacqueline.”
A completely unexpected thought came to him.
“If he never searched, then he did not know for certain your mother had died. He could have been committing bigamy.” Then an even more disturbing thought took its place, a possibility that should have occurred to him before, but never had. “Was your mother dead when he married the current countess?”
“No.”
No wonder Thea had so strongly resisted the idea of acknowledging her father. “The bloody bastard.”
“You were right when you said that he lacked honor. He also lacked morality.”
“Yet your aunt told him the truth about you. Why?”
“She feels responsible for my mother’s death and for Langley’s marriage to Jacqueline. She is convinced that had she told him the truth about my existence and mother’s flight to the West Indies, neither event would have transpired.”
“That is a heavy burden to carry.”
“Yes, I know. Almost as heavy as the burden a woman might carry believing that had she not been born, her mother would never have left her son and country to live on an island that eventually killed her.”
Drake understood this type of guilt and he refused to allow his wife to carry it. “You were a gift to your mother, not a curse. You must accept that, Thea, or you discount all the sacrifices she made to keep you.”
He felt her gaze burning into him and slid his away from the surrounding traffic for a moment to meet it.
“It’s true,” he assured her.
“Then, you too must accept that you are a gift to your mother and that her sacrifice in keeping you has not been in vain.”
Drake laughed harshly. “She had no choice.”
Thea shook her head. “Do not be a fool. She could have gone to the country, given birth to you and given you away with no one the wiser. Your grandfather’s connections are certainly enough to have insured the safety of her secret.”
Feelings inside of Drake shifted in a way that left him breathless. He had always defined himself by the fact that his father did not value him enough to acknowledge him, not the reality that his mother had wanted and loved him so much she had accepted a lifetime of society’s censure to keep him.
To have the right to call him son.
Unfamiliar moisture gathered in his eyes and he blinked it away. “She is a very special woman.”
“Yes, she is and the evidence is in how well she raised you.” Thea’s words reached down into his soul and wrapped themselves around his heart.
Since meeting her, he had begun to care less and less about proving himself to society and his father. In that moment, the desire to show his father he had value, disappeared entirely inside of Drake. Thea had been right, his life was defined by his mother’s love, not his father’s rejection. And his value resided in the man he had become, not the man who had helped make him.
He also understood Thea’s lack of desire to know her parent. His own father was a man completely lacking in honor and Drake realized that should the man ever lay
claim to parenting him, he would be hard pressed not to deny it.
The freedom he experienced at Thea’s words was unlike anything he had ever known and another reason to give thanks to his Maker for the incredible woman agreeing to be his wife.
When they reached the warehouse, he had been so mellowed by his thoughts that he only wanted to kill Emerson, not torture him first for trying to hurt Thea.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The fever has caught me. I am weak and I know that it will only get worse. I have watched others die of this malady for over a decade and know what is to come. I have tried to fight it, but I feel I am getting weaker. I have only one regret, that I did not return to England to see my son sooner. So close. The journey has been planned, but now I know it cannot be made. I will never touch his face or hear his laugh. And he will never know me, never know my love that has grown for him all the years of our forced separation.
May 16, 1807 Journal of Anna Selwyn, Countess of Langley
Thea felt slightly sick as she and Drake entered Merewether’s Shipping Office for the second time since she had arrived in England. The prospect of having Ashby Merewether’s nephew arrested left her feeling hollow.
Had the thefts been the only consideration, she would have simply fired the man without a reference, but he had hired someone to try to kill her and she could not be sure that Uncle Ashby was safe even now.
The corridor leading to Emerson’s office echoed with the sound of her and Drake’s footsteps as well as those of Hansen, Barton and the two Bow Street Runners that accompanied them. Drake had insisted on bringing the runners along to take Emerson into custody.
Certain Drake would have preferred to mete out his own kind of justice, she hadn’t argued. Emerson faced prison and possible exportation to Australia, but if he only knew it – those options were far more lenient than other ideas Drake had expressed.
Lightly tapping on Emerson’s door, she and Drake waited for an invitation to enter. When it came, her husband pushed her behind him and entered the room first.
Emerson sat at his desk, either oblivious to his predicament or a consummate actor.
He smiled when they entered. “Congratulations on your recent nuptials, Mr. and Mrs. Drake. I read the announcement in this morning’s paper.”
Thea could not believe this jovial man was responsible for the thefts and attempts on her life. He sounded so terribly sincere in his happiness for her, looking almost smug about it.
Then his eyes widened at the sight of the Runners as they came into the office. His smile slowly slipped away.
“I worried Uncle’s plan would go awry like this, but he was sure you wouldn’t call in the Runners.” He looked nervously between her and Drake. “There’s something I believe you need to know.”
Drake removed his driving gloves. “Unfortunately for you, we’ve already figured it out.”
“I’ve told them the truth, Mr. Merewether,” Barton inserted.
Emerson looked at Barton as if his brains had gone to let. “The truth?”
Thea’s heart filled with aching sadness. “Uncle Ashby is going to be so hurt.”
Drake stood beside her, emanating anger, his glare causing Emerson to flush. Sweat beaded at his brow and he dabbed at it with a handkerchief.
“I wouldn’t mind doing the old man a little harm myself right now.” He looked at the Bow Street Runners. “I assure you, their presence is unnecessary.”
Thea had gasped at Emerson’s first statement, unable to credit such a lack of loyalty. Now she glowered. Did the man have no conscience at all?
“On the contrary. Their presence is eminently necessary. My husband might be tempted to mete out his own brand of punishment were they not here. You should be grateful I insisted on bringing them along.”
Emerson frowned, dabbing at his brow again. “You mistook my meaning. Please, if you will allow me to explain, all of this can be cleared up.”
“No explanation is necessary. Your behavior speaks for itself.” Drake shifted beside her and Emerson flinched as if in preparation for a blow.
“Take him into custody.” Drake’s tone dripped ice.
The Bow Street Runners moved forward, but Emerson jumped from his chair and backed away, his eyes widening with obvious fear.
“Please, if you would just let me explain.” He looked imploringly at Thea.
She hardened her heart against the man who looked so much like her adopted uncle. “It’s no use denying the charges. The evidence is not in your favor.”
“Well yes, of course it would be.” He sidled further away from the approaching Runners. “It was all part of Uncle’s plan to get you here to England.”
Emerson should write Penny Press novels, his lies were so convincing.
Thea forced aside her desire to believe Emerson. “Uncle Ashby would never condone someone trying to kill me.”
Emerson’s fear became a palpable thing. “Kill you? What are you talking about?”
“You damn, bloody well know what she’s talking about.” Drake stepped to the right, cutting off any hope of escape for Emerson in that direction.
“They know about the man you hired to go to the island office and spy on Mrs. Drake.” Barton’s voice came from behind Thea.
Confusion showed on Emerson’s rounded features. “What man? I hired no man.”
“It’s no use denying it, sir. I’ve told them everything.”
“How could you have discovered Uncle Ashby’s plans? Did you read my letters?” Emerson did not sound in the least bit guilty. If anything, his voice accused and condemned. “I thought they appeared as if they had been read, but the wax seal was not broken.”
“I won’t lie for you, sir. Mr. and Mrs. Drake know the truth already. You’ve been stealing from the company.”
“Yes, of course I’ve been stealing. Well, not stealing really, but temporarily storing company goods in an alternate location. Uncle’s plan would not have worked otherwise.”
Thea stared at him. He was mad. He belonged in Bedlam. He talked of his perfidy as if it were something Uncle Ashby would wholly approve of. Perhaps he deserved their pity, but insane or not, he had hired someone to try to kill her. She turned from him, not wanting to look at him any longer.
“Please. Take him away.”
“No. You must listen to me. I have proof of what I claim. I assure you.”
“Wait.” Drake’s voice allayed her order to the Runners.
They stopped their cautious approach to Emerson.
“Explain this plan of your uncle to me.”
Barton shifted beside her and she caught a look of consternation on his face before the blonde man’s features went blank once again. Her attention returned to Emerson as he began to speak.
He moved back to stand behind his desk.
“Uncle Ashby wrote me several months ago asking for my help in a plan to get Miss Thea, I mean Mrs. Drake to come to England. I have his letters here as proof.” He knelt on the floor beside the desk and unlocked the bottom drawer. He rifled through the papers and then rifled some more. Finally, he stopped and looked up at Thea, his expression ashen. “The letters are gone.”
Thea’s anger broke free. “Of course they are not there. Uncle Ashby would never have condoned your actions. What a faraddidle.” She turned to Drake. “Must we listen to this?”
To her surprise, her husband nodded. “Yes, I think we must.” He turned to the Bow Street Runners. “Stand by the door, please.”
That brought a strangled sound from behind her and suddenly her arm was in a painful grip and cold metal pressed against the side of her neck. She registered the look of pain-filled rage on Drake’s face at the same time as she realized the hand holding her so bruisingly belonged to Barton.
“I won’t be staying around to hear the explanations, if you please. Mrs. Drake and I are going to take a little trip.” He started dragging Thea backward, the barrel of the gun pressed hard into the flesh of her neck. “If anyone attempts to fo
llow us, I’ll shoot her.”
Drake took a menacing step forward. “What good is she to you dead?”
“I don’t have to kill her,” Barton replied in a voice that made shivers of dread chase down her spine.
Her husband stopped moving.
“Everyone, over behind the desk.” When Hansen didn’t move fast enough to suit him, Barton barked, “Now.”
Soon all the men were behind the desk, effectively putting a barrier between themselves and her and her captor. Breath sawed into her lungs as she tried to think of how to get out of her predicament. But the feel of the gun barrel and the stench of Barton’s fear made it difficult to concentrate.
Frightened men did unpredictable things. She’d seen that often enough on her island.
“Toss your key over here,” Barton ordered Emerson.
Emerson glared, but did as he was told, picking up a large key ring from his desk and tossing it toward Barton.
“Pick it up,” Barton told her and pulled the gun from her neck, though he kept it trained on her.
This might be her only chance, she thought as she bent forward to grab the key ring. As she straightened, she swung her hand with the key ring in it back toward Barton, hitting him where Whiskey Jim had taught her hurt a man the most. She immediately threw herself to left, away from the direction the gun was pointing. A howl of pain accompanied a loud crack as the pistol discharged, its ball burying itself harmlessly in the scarred wooden desk.
Then an animal roar rose above the sound of running feet and she turned in time to see her husband pick up the already wounded Barton and toss him head first into the wall. The blonde man hit with an audible thunk and then slid down the wall to land in a motionless pile of dandyish clothing.
The Bow Street Runners took over from Drake, dragging the unconscious man to his feet as her husband dropped on his knees beside her. “Are you all right, my darling?”
She smiled up at him, liking the sound of that word on his lips very much. “Yes, but I should like to get off the floor.”