One Night of Passion (20 page)

At least for now.

So why wasn’t he elated? Because he couldn’t shake the feeling that the French ship’s sudden appearance in Volturno, on this night of all nights, wasn’t mere happenstance. Nor their raid on the sleepy little village just a coincidence.

His three encounters with French patrols in the last fortnight suggested otherwise.

Tonight had been a trap. And that could only mean someone had betrayed him.

Betrayed.
The very idea gnawed at his gut.

In addition to that, he had another problem . . . the lady belowdecks.

Georgie.
His impossible, unpredictable Georgie.

And yet not. The woman who had regarded him with such hatred, such vehement animosity, bore little or no resemblance to the woman he remembered passionately joining him in his bed. Her unfathomable coldness had kept him from sweeping her up in his arms and declaring his love for her.

Well, that and the French bearing down on his stern.

Now that he’d taken care of that minor problem, he thought with some chagrin, he’d solve whatever problems existed between them and then see that she never left his side, ever again.

Not that he blamed her for her anger or the punch she’d thrown—that he’d nearly tossed her baby into the water was enough to make him sink to his knees and beg for forgiveness. But there was more to her fury than just his temper getting the better of him . . .

The moment he’d gazed into her eyes, fell into their mysterious sable depths, he’d seen that something had gone utterly wrong for her, for them, in the last twelve months. For the life of him he couldn’t figure out what it was.

Other than that she’d had a child.

A baby! Colin’s heart swelled. Though he knew next to nothing about children, he’d counted the months and had a pretty good reckoning the babe was his. It had to be—with that shock of Danvers dark hair, it would be hard to believe it wasn’t his.

His daughter.
That in itself filled him with incredible joy and awestruck fear.

“Should we hold this course, Cap’n?” Livett asked, his question pulling Colin back to his immediate problems. “Or are we to go to Naples as that peevish lubber Pymm has been askin’?”

“Hold this course,” Colin said. There was no point in going to Naples, since Nelson was no longer there. He’d been unexpectedly recalled home, and was well and gone from that place by now. Though he doubted such information was common knowledge as yet. “Anything else, Mr. Livett?”

“Aye, Cap’n,” the ship’s master said. “It’s the lad. He’s been down in the stores again.”

Colin closed his eyes and counted to ten. Rafe!

His twelve-year-old half-brother, Raphael Danvers, had snuck aboard the
Sybaris
before they had sailed from London. He’d come out of hiding three days into their voyage, having declared that the school Colin had found for him was a waste of time, and that he wanted to learn about life firsthand. In the ensuing months, he’d tangled lines, caught the ship on fire twice, and nearly drowned after a fall from the head.

The devil himself would have been more welcome aboard.

“Where is he now, Mr. Livett?” Colin would deal with his brother after he’d seen Georgie.

“Can’t rightly say. He’s gone and disappeared since . . . since . . .” The man hemmed and hawed.

“Out with it,” Colin said. “He’s my problem, not yours.”

“He went and drank up a bunch of rum. He’s three sheets to the wind.” Mr. Livett glanced up into the lines. “At least he hasn’t tried to climb topside this time.”

A hand on either side of his forehead, Colin wondered what he had done to deserve such a brother. Why couldn’t Rate be more like his twin, Orlando? Orlando, who was probably right now reciting Latin verbs and excelling at the top of his class.

Not stealing rum and tossing up his dinner to the fish.

“See if anyone can find him before he gets himself in a worse scrape,” Colin said, “then throw him in one of the lockers—one without any liquor or rations—and I’ll see to him as soon as I can.”

With that, Colin proceeded below. With each step, he pushed Rafe’s escapades further and further from his mind, while his heart started hammering with excitement. Still cold and wet from the storm that had worked to blow them away from their pursuers, Colin didn’t care.

There was only one thing that mattered to him right now.

Georgie.

Whatever was troubling her, whatever he’d done to anger her so, he’d fix it. He’d be her true knight errant, ready to vanquish the demons tormenting her. He’d shelter her from harm, offer her his name, give their child—

“Captain, may I speak with you?” Mr. Pymm poked his head out of the quarters he’d been given, then waved Colin into the crowded compartment that at best was no more than a glorified closet.

“I think you’ll find my cabin more amenable to a discussion, sir,” Colin told him, motioning down the corridor.

Mr. Pymm snorted. “Mayhap a few hours ago, but that blasted woman has taken over your quarters. She’s gone and turned it into a regular nursery.”

“And that surprises you?” he asked. “Given her arrival in our midst, I’m amazed she hasn’t organized a mutiny yet. And since you mentioned it, I was just about to go have a discussion with her.”

“Before you confront the lady, Captain, we need to talk. I must get word to Nelson. As soon as possible.”

Colin eyed him closely. “Why?” Although he trusted Pymm—given the man’s longstanding association with his father, along with a few comments he’d heard Temple make—he still held anyone connected to Nelson as suspect. Besides, his only orders had been sketchy directions to pick up a Foreign Office agent on the beach near Volturno before the French overtook the village. He’d been shocked to arrive and discover that his passenger was none other than the infamous Mr. Pymm.

Whatever the matter, it must be very dire indeed to draw Mr. Pymm out of his comfortable London office and into the field once again.

“What is so urgent?” he asked.

“These,” Pymm said, drawing Colin into the cramped quarters and closing the door. The man held up a packet of letters. When Colin reached for them, Pymm pulled them back. “Don’t bother, sir. They are in code.”

“But you know what they say?”

Pymm shook his head. “No. Not exactly. That’s why I have to get to Nelson first, then London immediately afterward.” He fastidiously tucked the packet back into his jacket. “Lord Sutton will be able to confirm my suspicions.”

Colin remembered his father marveling at Lord Sutton’s skill at unraveling coded messages, no matter the language or difficulty. Yet even the use of the Foreign Office’s legendary linguist didn’t explain Pymm’s suspicions.

“If you don’t know what they say, how do you know these are so demmed important?” he asked.

Pymm’s beetle brows furrowed. He crossed his arms over his chest, apparently unused to having to justify himself.

Colin waited him out.

“Oh, if you must know, the agent who carried these offered some hints as to their contents before he met with an unfortunate accident,” Pymm said.

Colin knew enough of Pymm’s reputation to know that the courier’s “accident” hadn’t been a happy one. But most likely a telling one.

“What did this man say before his ‘accident’?”

“That we were too late to stop him. He’d already completed his mission, and was on his way back to Paris.” Pymm shook his head. “That is why we must get to Nelson.”

Colin felt as if he were dealing with his brother—another master in subterfuge. “Why Nelson?” he asked again in growing frustration.

“Because these documents are from
Mandeville.”
Pymm all but spat the name out.

“And Mandeville is . . . ?”

Pymm’s eyes widened. “You don’t know? Your father never mentioned him?”

Colin shook his head.

“My good man, he’s a French agent who’s operated in England for years. There are reports about him going back to Queen Anne’s time.”

“Impossible. Why, that’s nearly a hundred years ago,” Colin said. “It can’t be the same man.”

Pymm shrugged. “Possibly not. But then again, Mandeville is like no other agent. Some say he’s a ghost. There one minute, gone the next. I almost had him once. But I was too late. All I found in his wake were my best agents, dead. Murdered. I’ve been chasing him ever since.” Then Pymm’s voice turned so deadly, so full of fierce intent, that Colin felt the chill of it run down his spine. “And when I find him, he’ll pay.”

“So what has this Mandeville to do with Nelson?” Colin asked.

“The man I obtained these documents from boasted that Mandeville’s orders are quite explicit.” Pymm paused for a moment. “See that Nelson doesn’t trouble the French ever again.”

Colin’s mouth went dry. “The French intend to have Nelson murdered?”

Pymm’s grim features tightened as he nodded. “Yes. That is what I believe these documents will confirm.”

“Why would the French risk putting all that in documents anyone could read?”

Pymm sneered. “New regime. Apparently Mandeville hasn’t been paid in recent years and wanted their agreement in writing.” Pymm’s mouth moved in something that approximated a smile. “It certainly makes my job easier when no one trusts each other.”

Colin’s thoughts were still fixed on Nelson. “When? How? Whom do they intend to send?” It would be impossible to warn Nelson now—he had a good week’s head start and had mentioned he might go overland with the Hamiltons, rather than by sea. He wouldn’t have any notion where to start looking.

“But I have to warn him,” he muttered more to himself. He looked up at Pymm, a burning resolve warming his chilled heart. “I have to know how this is going to be done.”

The man shook his head. “Knowing Mandeville and his methods, he probably already has someone in place. Someone close to Nelson and willing to betray him.”

Colin’s gaze shot up. “That would mean—”

“Yes, the man you have been attempting to uncover,” Pymm commented.

“How do you—” Colin stopped his question. “Never mind. My father always said you could testify as to what color drawers the King wore on any given day.”

Pymm shrugged, as if such intelligence were mere child’s play. “And you have his flair for blustering into situations you are ill-prepared and ill-equipped to handle. If Mandeville is behind this, I would recommend you leave this to me.”

“I will not,” Colin shot back. “It sounds to me like you could use some assistance if it’s taken you this long to capture one man.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“As if you are any good to me now,” Pymm said. “They obviously know all about you.”

“So you noticed that tonight was most likely a trap?”

“That you’ve surmised the obvious gives me volumes of comfort,” the indignant man replied. “And here I thought Nelson was crazy to send you out to gather his intelligence. Still, you may prove useful yet.”

Colin chose to ignore the man’s jibes. Pymm was, after all, according to his father, the greatest spy who had ever lived. “When I get my hands around this bastard’s neck, they won’t need a hangman. I’ll go up and change course immediately.”

Pymm reached out once again and stopped him. “Have you considered, Captain, that Mandeville’s agent may be on this ship?”

“On the
Sybaris?”
Colin laughed. “I handpicked every man aboard. I trust them with my life, and I wouldn’t hesitate to trust them with Nelson’s welfare.”

“I wasn’t talking about your crew, I meant your passengers.”

“I’ve no other passengers on this ship. That was until tonight, until we picked you up. You and . . .” Colin’s words trailed off as suddenly all his earlier speculations and questions took form into an unthinkable answer.

Georgie.

Pymm let go of his arm. “You see my point.”

“Impossible. Mandeville’s agent a woman? It’s impossible.”

Not Georgie. It couldn’t be her.
Suddenly, it wasn’t just Colin’s sodden clothes that were giving him the chills. “Are you telling me you suspect a woman, a young girl, and a baby of being part of all this?”

“Women are capable of deeds as foul as any man.” Pymm shuddered. “In my business, I never credit that myth concerning feminine delicacy. Especially when they go about unsupervised. When they aren’t properly kept, they become quite unpredictable.” He nodded toward Colin’s cabin. “As for that widow and her child, the babe could well be a foundling brought along to complete her guise. As for Mrs. Bridwick’s sister, why, there was a Dutch agent who liked to use midgets to—”

“Bridwick?” Colin asked. “Did you say Bridwick?”

“Aye. Mrs. Bridwick.” Pymm eyed him. “You know her, don’t you?”

Colin nodded. “Yes. We met about a year ago in London.”

“And Mr. Bridwick?”

At that, Colin made a small, tight laugh. At least he knew the answer to one of his questions; Georgie wasn’t married. Instead, she’d taken the name of his house as her own. “There is no Bridwick.”

“And you say you met her in London? Under what circumstances? Who introduced you?”

Colin stepped back from the man’s sudden inquisition, bumping into the closed door behind him. “No one introduced us. We met by chance at . . . at a ball.”

“By chance? No such thing,” Pymm declared. “She must be the link. Sent to London to determine your plans and then returned to Naples to ingratiate herself into Nelson’s company.” The man rubbed his hands together. “Now all that is left is to interrogate, I mean, um,
question
the lady and determine who she really is.”

Pymm started for the door, but this time Colin stopped him.

“There will be no interrogations or questioning of the lady until you offer me solid proof.”

“Proof?” the man asked. “Of course I have no solid proof. That is what the interrogation will provide.”

Colin shook his head.

Pymm threw up his hands and paced around his small cabin. “Fine. Then consider this.” He held up one finger. “She appeared in Volturno the same day Mandeville’s courier passed through.” He smiled and held up a second finger. “I overheard her telling one of the other guests at the inn that she had come there at the suggestion of Lady Hamilton, who thought they might find the area perfect for sketching. Apparently, Mrs. Bridwick had spent the last few months in Naples, where she and Lady Hamilton had become friends. Close friends,” Pymm paused. “I don’t think I need to tell you that anyone within Lady Hamilton’s circle has direct access to Lord Nelson.”