Elizabeth Boyle (110 page)

“Not all of it. The little minx knocked me over the head afore I had the chance. I still don’t know what good it will do her to know. The Lord Admiral will never let her live.”

“She’s my wife. He’ll not harm her.”

The Captain shrugged and then lowered his voice. “That may be true, my boy, but you’re also a wanted man. He’ll hang you as well. Won’t bother him none.”

Julien wasn’t so sure. “I may not hold much power in this country, but surely not even Peter Cottwell would risk the wrath of the Marquess of Trahern or Viscount Weston. Maureen is their sister-in-law, after all. They are, shall we say, well connected with the Foreign Office and held in high regard by the most powerful men in the House of Lords and Parliament, as well as by the Prince Regent.” Julien stared into the flames. “He’ll not dare cross them. Not if he wants to spend another day outside of hell.”

The captain still looked skeptical, but he rose from his seat. “It matters not to Peter Cottwell. He’s been the Lord Admiral so long, he thinks he’s the law unto himself. If we are to save Maureen and that son of yours, we need to move quickly.”

Julien nodded. “Do you have any idea where he would take them?”

“Aye,” the Captain said, setting his mug down on the oak-planked table. “I’ve a hunch that coldhearted bastard will want Maureen to see everything she’s a right to before he takes it away from her.”

Maureen stood on the shore and watched with horror as the yacht sank, with no sign of Julien. If he’d been shot, coupled with the chill of the water, he’d never be able to make it to shore, and if he did, the Lord Admiral’s guards would no doubt be waiting for him.

She turned her fury on the man behind her, whipping around, first knocking the pistol out of his hand, then balling up her fist and sending it crashing into his jaw.

The Lord Admiral staggered back at her unexpected attack. But he wasn’t such an easy target for her second swing. He blocked her fist in midair and twisted her arm around her back with surprising agility and strength for a man of his age.

“You ill-bred bitch,” he seethed. “What other surprises do you have?” His free hand patted over her jacket and sides until he found the pistol tucked in her belt. He yanked it free and held it to her temple. “You’ve just earned the privilege of seeing your son die first. Then that interfering biddy of an aunt of yours and, finally, your own well-deserved death.”

A shout to his men brought two burly oafs lumbering forth. He ordered them to bind and gag Maureen, which they did with sure-handed efficiency.

She thought about fighting them but gave up that notion. She knew the Lord Admiral would only delight in seeing her clouted and battered further.

Besides, if she was to be any help to Ethan and Aunt Pettigrew, she needed to stay alert.

In short order she was slung over a shoulder and hauled out of the gardens along a dimly lit side path. Outside the fence she was dumped onto the floor of a foul-smelling carriage. The guards climbed in and sat on the rough benches above her, their feet resting on her supine figure.

The ride turned out to be an endless ordeal of being bounced along on rough roads at a furious pace. They’d obviously left the city and had driven far into the country. But where and for how long she couldn’t tell.

Every once in a while, Maureen swore she smelled the unmistakable odor of the Thames, and even at times a hint of the sea, but she couldn’t be sure.

It may well be this lout’s socks
, she thought, looking up at the lounging wall of muscle over her, his feet resting on her stomach as if she were his personal ottoman.

Finally, she caught a hint of dawn, as spidery threads of light started to drift through the ragged curtains of the carriage. Not long after that the horses turned from their course and ambled up a winding drive. They drew to a halt, and the carriage doors swung open.

At first the shock of daylight blinded her, and she blinked and turned her head away from the painful sunshine. Her guards caught her roughly and shoved her headlong into the brilliance.

She landed on her feet and for a moment stood there, her cramped limbs burning at this sudden freedom. Slowly, she raised her head and studied her surroundings.

She didn’t know what she expected, but it was hardly the bucolic splendor around her. Great oaks and willows graced a wide green lawn. Neatly tended beds of spring flowers bloomed in vibrant reds, yellows, and whites along the drive. Beyond the manicured grass lay freshly tilled fields, some of them bursting with the first verdant blush of spring, sturdy growth shooting up from the rich, black earth.

Out here in the freshness of the morning, a breeze ruffled over her, carrying with it a tang so sweet, so salty and familiar that when she strained her ears, she swore she heard the whispering hush of the sea close by.

Slowly, she turned and found herself staring at the most remarkable house she’d ever seen. She hardly knew anything about architecture, but she could tell the house was old, very old. It rose three stories above her, the stonework graced with ivy and flowering vines. On those stones that were exposed, elaborate carvings of grotesque creatures and villainous fiends peeked out, as if warning those who dared enter that they did so at their own peril.

There was something vaguely familiar about the animals and figures and their arrangements, as if she’d seen them before.

“In with you.” Her guard prodded her toward the massive oak doors before them. She looked again at the carvings above her and made out letters tangled within the devil’s menagerie of carvings. Just before she was shoved through the heavy doors, she made out the ancient script.

Hawthorne Hall.

She turned around and found the Lord Admiral following in her wake.

He smiled at her, the corners of his mouth barely rising from their usual menacing line. “Welcome home, Baroness Hawthorne,” he said. “Enjoy your lofty status while you have it, for I don’t intend for the likes of you to wear my title any longer than necessary.”

Given what Captain Johnston had told Julien about the Lord Admiral, he knew he couldn’t rescue Maureen without help, so Julien rode for Mayfair.

He found his brothers-in-law still up, holding court in the Marquess of Trahern’s private office, toasting their own fortitude at having survived their wives’ social events for the Season.

“… I would rather take another trip to the Russian court in January,” Giles Corliss, the Marquess of Trahern, was saying as Julien was ushered in, “than have to endure launching another daughter into this hellish Marriage Mart.” He looked up. “Julien, there you are, you devil. Don’t let Sophia see you. She’s hopping mad you didn’t show your face tonight. She was counting on you to cause a stir or some sort of scandal to ensure that her party was a complete success.”

“I think I can do that tonight, even to Sophia’s satisfaction,” he told his brother-in-law.

From a corner Charles rose up from an oversize chair. “Uncle Julien, what the devil! Where’s Maureen? I thought the two of you would be—” His mouth froze open, the words halted in his throat, all eyes now bearing down on him.

Especially his father’s. Giles’s intelligent, measured gaze moved from his son back to Julien.

“Maureen?” Webb Dryden, the Viscount Weston, asked from where he lounged in a chair near the fireplace. His legs were propped up on Giles’s desk and he held a glass of whisky. “Now, this sounds interesting.” A wide grin split his face. “I have a feeling Sophia is about to get her scandal and much more. Do tell, Julien. I want to hear all of it before she and Lily divide up your carcass over your latest
on dit
.”

Julien waited for a moment as the butler moved about the room refilling glasses and then left, closing the door behind him.

“Maureen is my wife.”

Giles let out a low whistle, his gaze snapping over his son. “You knew about this?”

Charles nodded. “But where is she, Uncle Julien? She said she could find you at Vauxhall on her own.”

Giles stared at his son as if he were seeing him for the first time. “You let Julien’s wife venture into those gardens alone?”

Charles turned a bright shade of red. “She was rather determined.” He took a large gulp from his own glass, then admitted the truth. “She fired her pistol over my team and sent them running when I refused to allow her to leave.”

Both Giles and Webb looked at each other and then burst out laughing.

“I like her already, Julien,” Webb said.

“I did my best,” Charles said miserably, slinking back into his corner chair.

“I don’t blame you, Charles. Maureen has a way about her,” Julien admitted. “She can give new meaning to the word
stubborn
.”

Giles’s expression grew serious. “But she’s missing?”

Julien nodded. He looked from one man to the other. He’d never been very close to his brothers-in-law, and what he was about to tell them would test all their loyalties.

Yet what choice did he have? He had little time left if he was to save Maureen.

“I’m about to ask you both to commit treason. To give aid to a known American spy and privateer. But it is a matter of life and death.” He looked over the now deadly-serious faces studying him.

Webb tipped his head. “What are you telling us? That this Maureen is all these things?”

“No.” Julien squared his shoulders. “I am.”

“Who lives here?” Maureen demanded, planting her feet in the middle of the entryway and facing the Lord Admiral.

The Lord Admiral dismissed the guards and took Maureen by the arm. “Why, you do, my dear. As the Baroness Hawthorne, this is rightfully your home. Let me show you around before you have to depart.”

Maureen stared at the man as if he’d gone mad. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“Baroness? I thought you would enjoy it,” he said, towing her down a long hallway, the walls decorated with portraits of Hawthorne family members. “Your great-great-grandparents, if I am not mistaken,” he said, nodding toward a matched pair of portraits.

He leaned forward, running a finger over the frame and checking it for dust. Then he looked up at the handsome man in fashions at least eighty years old. “Poor man; has your father’s weak chin about him. A weakness that has fortunately left the Hawthorne lines now.”

Maureen stared at the Lord Admiral. “You not only tried to murder my father, you stole his house, his title—you took everything away from him because you couldn’t have my mother.”

He raised his fist as if he was going to strike her, but he paused in midair when she didn’t cower or back down.

After a moment he lowered his arm, straightening his jacket and regarding her with the expression of an overtaxed parent.

“Your father was the one who stole everything from me.” While his features maintained their control, his voice held a manic edge. “Ellen loved me. She was to be mine. Then your father tricked her, deluded her, turned her against me.” The man’s gaze finally turned as wild as his accusations. “He killed her.”

Maureen shook her head. “You stole her life from her. As surely as you stole my father’s title, his identity.”

“I didn’t steal a thing, you little fool.” He caught her by the elbow and towed her farther into the house. “But imagine my surprise when the search for an heir turned out to be me. The next in line. Such a surprise. A fair trade for all I’d lost.”

Hardly that, Maureen thought, seeing beyond the mock humility of a man who hadn’t known a modest sentiment a day in his life. “So why did you bring me here?”

“So you could see what you’ve been working so hard for. Seemed a shame to have you die before you saw what you might have had. A glimpse of heaven, one might say, before you join your father in hell.”

Maureen yanked her elbow out of his grip. “Take this place and the title. I don’t care for any of it. Just let me and my son go, and we’ll never set foot in England again.”

The man laughed. “Your mother made nearly the identical plea when she came to me. Come, I will show you what I offered her.”

He led her up a staircase and down a hall. He threw open a door to a beautiful room. A lady’s room. Delicately striped wallpaper hung over the walls, lending a soft rosy hue to the room. A beautifully carved canopied bed, with lacy curtains and pink silk coverings, took up most of one wall. A dressing table sat ready and waiting before a gilt mirror, a selection of brushes and toiletries lined up as if their mistress had just arisen and left for her morning repast.

“Your mother’s room. She could have kept it, you know. She could have been the mistress of this house. Been my wife.” He turned from the untouched splendor of the room, his face twisted with ugliness. “She spurned my offer and left me.”

“So let her daughter go and keep your title and lands.”

He laughed. “I have the same answer for you as I did for her: never.”

He pushed her out of the room and closed the door carefully. “You can’t fool me that you don’t want all this. That is why you’re here, why you’ve been smuggling for all these years—to raise enough money to bribe your way back into my title and my home.” His eyes narrowed. “You have your mother’s cunning. But unfortunately, none of her charms.”

He grabbed her again and hauled her back downstairs. Throwing open a door to a room off the entryway, he beckoned her to come in.

She approached cautiously but then entered the grand room. Models of ships were displayed on every wall. Old barques from the fifteenth century, Navy ships of all ratings, merchantmen, Dutch traders. Every kind of seagoing vessel imaginable.

She glanced up at the wide windows at the end of the room. The room afforded an unobstructed view of a small, private bay. From the lay of the land and the color of the water, she judged they weren’t far from Sheerness, somewhere on the Kentish coast.

“You wouldn’t even be here if your father had died the traitor’s death he deserved,” the Lord Admiral said from the middle of the room.

“My father was never a traitor,” Maureen told him.

The Lord Admiral looked down his nose at her. “The Admiralty board disagreed. But they lost their nerve when it came to sentencing him. He should have died, but they granted him clemency. Life in prison. He should have died there. That was supposed to be how it would happen.”