Elizabeth Powell (21 page)

“Amanda, I want you to listen to me. I overheard something about Captain Everly at the soirée.”

“What did you hear?” she asked cautiously.

“I heard that Everly wants a new command, but that he’s had difficulties obtaining one. He’s desperate to be back at sea, so desperate that he’ll do anything to get a new ship.”

“That’s utterly ridiculous,” she breathed, but Harry’s words had put her mind in turmoil. A lead weight settled in her stomach as she remembered Everly’s anger toward her for her interference, and his distance after their kiss. Would he use her knowledge of the traitor’s identity to get his new command? Would he leave and forget about his promise to her? She gripped the edge of the table to steady herself.

“It is true, Amanda,” Harry insisted. “I also heard that’s why he was at St. Vincent’s house—he’s hounding the old man for a ship, but the admiral doesn’t have the power he once did, and ships are hard to come by these days. Don’t trust him, Amanda. He wants only what’s best for himself, I’m sure of it.”

“I can’t imagine this to be reputable information, coming from that crowd,” she scoffed, although she did not sound convinced.

Harry persisted. “Once this is over, what do you think will happen? Everly’s a decorated officer—a success will boost his standing in the navy, so he’s sure to get a prime command. How well do you know him? Do you think he’ll want to concern himself with you and your grandmother when he’s got a ship waiting for him?”

“I … I don’t know.”

Harry reached across the table and took her hands in his. “I know how much you want to believe him, Amanda. Part of me wants to believe him, too, but you must consider the facts. He’s a career navy man, and a
baronet to boot. He doesn’t have time to deal with bumpkins like us.”

Amanda hesitated, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

“You trust me, don’t you?” asked Harry gently.

“Yes, of course.”

“Then come with me, and bring the letters. You’re much better off with me than you are with Everly. If you still want to help the captain after we meet with my patron, I’ll bring you straight home.”

Amanda swallowed the lump in her throat, torn between her duty to her country, and her duty to her father. Couldn’t she do both? As much as she was drawn to Captain Everly, and as much as she wanted to trust him, Harry had a point. Everly’s mission was to expose both Locke and the traitor, nothing more, and he had said he’d help her only if they found information linking Locke to her father. They’d found none. Well, nothing concrete. All she had was snippets of conversation between two traitors—information she had obtained by eavesdropping while hiding out on a balcony. What magistrate in his right mind would take her at her word? She had not even told Jack about what she’d heard; although it was unlikely, he might think her desperate enough to invent such a conversation. She needed hard evidence to prove what she had discovered. If she didn’t take the opportunity that Harry offered her, she might lose forever any chance to clear her father’s name.

She took a deep, shuddery breath. “All right. I’ll go with you.”

Harry beamed at her. “Capital!”

Amanda rose slowly from her chair. “But I must not be gone long. I have a responsibility to Captain Everly. I may be nothing but a country miss, but I know the meaning of duty and honor.”

Harry’s smile lost some of its luster as he, too, climbed to his feet. “You’re not a nobody. I’ll always be here to take care of you. You know that, don’t you, Amanda?”

Amanda fidgeted beneath his intense gaze. “You’ve always been my best friend, Harry.”

Harry took a step toward her, an odd expression on his face. “I want to be more than that.” He leaned down, one hand on her cheek, and kissed her.

As kisses went, this was a fairly nice one, Amanda supposed. Much nicer than the one he had attempted last night. His lips were dry, and his breath no longer smelled of spirits. Still, she could not help but remember Captain Everly’s passionate embrace, and the hot, heady sensations he had kindled in her body. Compared to that, Harry’s kiss was tepid and decidedly strange—as if she’d been kissed by her brother. She pulled away and retreated, her face aflame.

“Let me write a note for Grandmama. She should be up at any moment, and I don’t want to go haring off without leaving word.” Amanda busied herself with pen and ink and avoided Harry’s eyes, her jangled nerves making her hands shake. She almost upset the inkwell, but saved it before it could capsize. Botheration. She scribbled the note as quickly as she could, then read it over. Though worse than usual, her handwriting was still legible.

Leaving the note on the kitchen table, Amanda fetched her cloak and bonnet, then stuffed the oilskin-wrapped bundle of letters into her reticule.

“I’m ready,” she announced.

“Good. My carriage is below.” Harry offered her his arm, and after a moment’s hesitation, Amanda took it. She was doing the right thing, she told herself as they descended the stairs. So why did she feel as though she were sailing straight off the edge of the world?

Everly tossed the ruined neckcloth aside with an oath.

“That’s five,” Stubbs grumbled. “Ye’ve set a new record, Captain.”

“Devil take the bloody thing,” Everly muttered as he reached for a fresh cravat.

“Let me, sir,” Stubbs interjected. “If ye’re wantin’ to weigh anchor on schedule, that is.”

With a grimace, the captain handed the strip of linen
to his servant. “Nothing fancy, Stubbs. Don’t make me look like a peacock.”

“When have I ever?” Stubbs scowled up at Everly. “Ye’re in a fine mood this morning—cross as crabs.”

Everly sighed and forced himself to stand still while Stubbs arranged his cravat. “Lack of sleep, I suppose,” he explained in a heavy voice.

Well, that wasn’t entirely the truth. He had slept—long enough to have nightmares about being thrown overboard and swimming in vain after his ship. In the next, he tried to save Amanda from the clutches of dark, shadowy figures. He even had a dream in which he tried to kiss Amanda, only to have her turn into Felicia, who then screamed in horror and fled. Amanda, always Amanda. Even unconscious, he couldn’t get the little vixen out of his head. Small wonder he was grumpy.

“Ye’ll be able to rest once this to-do is over. There, Captain. Right as rain.” Stubbs stepped back to admire his work.

Everly glanced at the mirror and smiled for the first time that morning. “Well done, Stubbs. You’ve saved me again.”

“Part o’ my job, sir.” Stubbs picked up the captain’s jacket and held it out for him.

Everly shrugged into the coat. “Just don’t let it go to your head.”

Stubbs grinned as he began to collect the host of rejected, wrinkled neckcloths. “Aye, sir.”

The mirror caught his attention. Everly stared at his reflection, at his handsome face, so incongruous with his crippled form. “That will be all for now, Stubbs. I need some time to think.”

“Hmph. Ye been doin’ entirely too much thinkin’ of late,” was Stubbs’s acerbic comment as he vanished through the door.

Everly shoved a hand through his hair, rumpling the guinea gold waves. He limped to the window and back, then checked his pocket timepiece. A quarter past eight. Grayson MacAllister had arranged for Everly and Amanda to meet with Lord Carlisle at nine. He shifted
the weight off his aching leg. He had time to spare, but the last thing he needed was to fritter it away in fruitless pacing. Amanda would understand if they were early and had to wait. Besides—it would enable him to spend a few more minutes with her.

He did want to see her again, he realized. To see her, and make sure she was safe. Egad, he was even anxious about it, like a lovestruck schoolboy. Not even Felicia had smitten him so, and that thought worried him. Everly shut his timepiece with a snap. His regard for Amanda would mean nothing when he was back at sea. It meant little enough now; her reaction to his kiss told him that. How could she hold any affection for someone as lame as he? Everly squared his shoulders, angry with himself. He was still getting his hopes up. He should have learned his lesson by now.

The sea was the solution. He would forget about Amanda, and she about him. A patent argument. So why was he not convinced? Everly grimaced and reached for his bicorne.

Rain fell in shimmering sheets by the time he climbed into his carriage. Damnation. That’s why his leg hurt so ferociously. At least he’d had the foresight to bring his cane along with him. With any luck, Carlisle would not keep them waiting. Perhaps he wouldn’t even have to climb any stairs.

The carriage drew up before the lodging house, which looked even more dreary in the gray morning light. His hand on his walking stick, Everly opened the door and lowered himself to the pavement. Raindrops pattered a steady cadence on his high-crowned hat. He squinted through the downpour at the building’s coal-darkened walls and grimy windows. No doubt about it—Amanda would be much better off, and much happier, in Dorset. Sea air and sunshine was what she needed.

“Captain!” Grayson MacAllister, his footman’s livery discarded in favor of rough workingman’s clothes, detached himself from a doorway and hurried to Everly’s side. The Scotsman’s sea green eyes glittered with a feverish light.

Everly stiffened. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

The younger man drew Everly aside, away from the few passersby. “She’s gone,” he croaked.

“What?” Everly demanded.

“Miss Tremayne left a little before eight with a young navy lieutenant—”

A navy lieutenant? Everly knew of only one such officer connected with Amanda. “Did he have red hair?”

MacAllister nodded.

“Damnation!” the captain exclaimed. The orange seller on the corner cast a curious glance in their direction, but he paid scant attention. “Was there anyone else with them?”

“No—just the lieutenant.”

“And she went willingly?”

Again, a curt nod. “She seemed to.”

“Then where did they go? Why didn’t you send word to me?”

“I sent a man to tell you, but he was too late to catch you before you left your residence. I sent another to Carlisle, and the rest to follow Miss Tremayne and the lieutenant.”

“How many men do you have?”

“Enough.” The Scotsman’s lips quirked in a tight, humorless smile.

“And how can they tell us where Amanda went?”

If MacAllister was startled by Everly’s use of the lady’s Christian name, he gave no sign. “They work in a relay, Captain. They’ll mark the trail so we can follow it, then the last two will join us in case we need the extra support. Wherever they’ve gone, we can find them.”

Everly clenched his teeth. So the ginger-haired lieutenant had proved to be a factor in this intrigue, after all. Damnation! What was he up to? And why had Amanda gone with him, knowing that Everly was coming to fetch her? Whatever the lieutenant’s game, Everly needed to locate them, and quickly. Every instinct in his body told him that she was in danger.

“Then we haven’t a moment to lose,” he snapped. “How are you at the ribbons, MacAllister?”

“I’m a member of the Four-in-Hand Club, sir.”

So, the Scot claimed to be no good with horses, eh? Everly gave a bark of laughter. Carlisle’s agents were a talented lot, down to their strategic manipulations. “Excellent. You saw where Amanda and the lieutenant went; you can recognize the signs your men left to mark their trail. And you’re driving.” Then, to his coachman’s astonishment, Everly ordered the man to get into the carriage.

“A moment, Captain.” MacAllister reached beneath his jacket and produced a loaded pistol. “I hope you won’t need this.”

Everly jammed the weapon into his belt. “So do I.” Face set with pain, he climbed up to the driver’s box.

The younger man sprang up beside hm and grabbed the reins. “Hang on, then.” He whipped the horses, and they were off.

A
manda watched out the rain-spattered window as the carriage passed St. James’s Park, traveled eastward along the Thames, down Fleet Street, then crossed the Blackfriars Bridge. Her alarm grew as they progressed into the warehouse district of Southwark.

“Where on earth are we going?” she asked, her brows knit together in a frown. “I thought we were supposed to meet your mysterious patron.”

“We will be,” Harry assured her with a smile. “He wanted to rendezvous in a discreet location.”

“Discreet?” murmured Amanda, still staring out the window at the multitudes of docks and warehouses, the dirty streets and disreputable-looking shops. “Dangerous, perhaps, but discreet?”

Harry’s smile frayed around the edges. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe.”

Amanda twined her fingers in her lap and turned back to the window, lest Harry see the cloud of doubt that hovered on her brow.

The carriage threaded through the streets of Southwark, traveled into Bermondsey, passed the southern end of London Bridge, and halted in front of a dingy warehouse. The street outside the building was all but deserted. Small wonder—Sunday morning, in the pouring rain—most sane people would be indoors. As Harry helped her from the carriage, Amanda could see the top of the Tower of London, across the river from them, and her trepidation increased fourfold.

She turned her head against the driving rain and scowled at her companion. “Why does your patron want
to meet at such a location? A warehouse? I don’t like this, Harry, not by half.”

“He told me it belongs to a friend of his. Come on, Amanda. We’re late.” Harry bunched his cloak closed with one hand, took Amanda by the other, and hurried up the short set of stairs to the warehouse office.

Once inside the small room, Amanda slid her hand from his possessive grip. Wet tendrils of hair clung to her face; she pushed them aside with impatient fingers.

“You haven’t given me a single reasonable explanation as to why we are here,” she accused, shaking the water from her cloak.

“I told you my patron wants to be cautious,” replied Harry with a sigh of exasperation. “Who would suspect the presence of navy officers around a dock?”

Amanda evaluated their surroundings with a jaundiced eye. This warehouse had not been kept in the best of repair, if this office area was any indication. Two books propped up the truncated leg of one of the desks. Tattered papers and other refuse littered the floor, and the air was saturated with the smell of rotting wood and river water, punctuated by the heavier odors of cinnamon and cloves. Her nose twitched. A spice importer’s facility, unless she missed her guess. A rustling came from the ominous shadows at the end of the narrow corridor, followed by a shrill squeak. Amanda paled and turned back to Harry.