Valiant Soldier, Beautiful Enemy (15 page)

Gabriel answered, “We are attempting to prevent a wrong. Emmaline’s son has vowed to revenge himself on Edwin and we are trying to intervene.”

Emmaline held her breath, carefully examining Landon’s expression to see if he would act as friend or foe.

“God knows Edwin deserves it.” Allan expelled a breath. “I presume you spoke to his valet at the Albany. Edwin was not there?”

“Out of town, apparently,” Gabriel responded. “We were hoping his cousin—” he smiled “—
your
wife would know where he had gone.”

“Is she here?” Emmaline broke in. “May we speak to her?”

Landon looked at her with kindness. “She is not here.”

Emmaline averted her gaze, disappointed tears stinging her eyes.

“Madame.”
Landon’s voice was soothing. “She will return later this day.”

There was a knock on the parlour door and the butler entered with a tray with a carafe, glasses and tea things. “Brought both, Captain,” Reilly said. He bowed out.

“Sit, now,” Landon said. “Gabe, I suspect you would rather have the brandy.”

“Indeed.”

Landon told them about meeting his wife during the battle of Waterloo and again when the war was over. They’d been married only a few weeks. “I cannot say if Marian knows Edwin’s whereabouts or not.”

They all fell into silence; Emmaline sipped her tea while the men drank brandy.

Alan drained his glass and set it on the table. “I have an idea, but I need time to work on it. You both must come for dinner tonight at eight.”

“Your wife will not mind?” Emmaline asked.

“Not at all.” His expression turned proud. “She is an exceptional woman. She will assist you if she can.” He smiled. “And she will enjoy having you as our guests for dinner.”

Enjoy it? Emmaline could not imagine that a lord’s niece who owned such grand things would enjoy dining with a shop girl. There was no
égalité
in England, it was said. But, then, the English did not use the guillotine; that was to their credit.

The rope, however, could be equally as lethal.

When she and Gabriel left and were seated in another hackney coach, she asked him, “Are you certain I should attend the dinner?”

He looked puzzled. “Why would you not?”

“I work in a lace shop.”

He shrugged. “What does that matter? This is about locating Edwin’s whereabouts.”

She sighed. He did not understand.

He walked her to the door of her hotel. “I will have a coach here at seven-thirty.” He bowed and walked away.

Emmaline descended the stairs and entered the hall of her hotel just as the clock sounded quarter past seven. If she had stayed one more minute in her room, she’d have perished from nerves. Once more she looked down at her dress and smoothed the skirt. Ladies dressed formally for dinner, she’d heard, but she had nothing like that to wear. Except for the dress she’d worn while travelling, Emmaline only had one more dress that Gabriel had not seen, a rather plain walking dress, but it was a pretty deep-rose colour. She’d quickly embellished the neckline with a lace ruff and added a peek of lace at the cuffs. She hoped it would be enough.

Gabriel was already waiting and stared at her as she crossed the hall to meet him at the door.

“Is my dress acceptable?” she asked him.

“Yes.” His gaze flicked over her again. “It is acceptable.” His voice was rough.

His reaction did not much relieve her mind.

A hackney coach waited on the street and Gabriel escorted her to it. The sky was still light and the evening as fine as ones they had shared in Brussels, but his company, much as she desired it, lowered her spirits.

As he assisted her into the coach, she set her chin. She must accept these difficult and confusing feelings about Gabriel for Claude’s sake. And she must remain hopeful. This night she would meet Edwin Tranville’s cousin and they would discover where to find him. Once Tranville was warned, they could work on finding Claude.

Claude would give up this foolish plan of vengeance for her. He must!

Her thoughts filled the time it took the coach to take them back to Bryanston Street, which was a good thing, because Gabriel did not speak to her.

He looked very handsome in his uniform, with dress trousers and shoes instead of boots. He was freshly shaved and, sitting so close, she could see some pink scrapes on his cheek. She wished she could soothe them with her fingers.

She sighed.

“What is it?” Gabriel asked her.

She nearly jumped. “I did not speak.”

“You sighed.” His voice was low. “Were you thinking of Claude?”

“No.”

He gave her answer no heed. “I suspect Mrs Landon will know how to locate Edwin, if that is what concerns you.”

It was her turn to be silent. What would he think if he knew what had inspired her sigh?

The coach stopped at Bryanston Street and, as he had done earlier that day, Gabriel took her hand to help her out. Their gazes caught and held for a moment. Emmaline’s heart quickened.

“Let us go.” He made it sound as if she’d deliberately delayed them by gazing into his eyes.

The same soldier-butler opened the door and escorted them to the drawing room. Emmaline heard voices and spied Allan through the doorway.

He strode towards them, gesturing for them to enter. “Gabe! Come in. Come in.”

Once they were in the parlour Emmaline’s attention was immediately drawn to the two ladies present, both elegantly dressed.

One was exceptionally beautiful, with shining auburn hair and a face that might belong to a portrait at Versailles. The other, a confident, smiling blonde, was already assessing her. Which was Edwin Tranville’s cousin? she wondered.

“Look who is here.” Allan extended his arm.

A second gentleman stood. “Hello, Captain.”

“Vernon?” Gabriel walked up to him, and the two men shook hands. “I am astonished you are here.”

Landon grinned. “He is my surprise.”

Emmaline knew this man. He also had been at Badajoz. He had drawn pictures of horses to amuse Claude.

He turned to her. “
Madame,
do you remember me?”

She clasped his hand. “I do. You are Ensign Vernon.”

He covered her hand with his own. “Now I am Mr Vernon. I sold my commission two years ago.”

“Come meet our wives,” Allan said.

The auburn-haired beauty was Vernon’s wife, who insisted she be called by her given name, Ariana. The blonde, then, must be the cousin.

She did not wait for Emmaline to be presented. “I am Marian Landon.” She gave her husband a quick glance. “I am Edwin’s cousin.”

Emmaline curtsied. “Have you learned why we are here,
madame?
”

The lovely lady looked stricken. “Allan told me. He told me what my cousin did to you and to your son. And that he was with men who killed your husband. I am so sorry.”

“Thank you,
madame.
” Emmaline had not been certain she would be received so kindly.

Mrs Landon reached out and touched Emmaline’s hand. “Please do call me Marian.”

Her husband walked over to a table with a decanter and glasses. “Let us not talk about that now. Dinner will be ready soon. In the meantime, some refreshment.” He lifted the decanter. “Claret, everyone?”

They drank claret and the men talked of the army and other officers they had known. The ladies talked of the theatre and the arts, things Emmaline knew little of, but she was not surprised to learn that Madame Vernon was an actress. How ironic that she’d thought the woman as beautiful as a painting, because her husband, the man who’d drawn pictures for Claude, now painted portraits.

At dinner Emmaline learned that Jack Vernon had a portrait of his wife in an important exhibition.

“I need to tell you,” Vernon said, “my mother and her husband are in town. They came only a few days ago, for the end of the Season and for the exhibition. But you must know…” He swallowed “You must know that my mother’s husband is General Lord Tranville.” He looked at Emmaline. “Edwin’s father. I might as well add that my mother, before she married Tranville, was in his keeping.”

Landon gaped. “No. I do not believe it.”

Emmaline turned to Gabriel. “What is this ‘in his keeping’?”

He paused a moment before answering. “She was his mistress.”

She lifted a shoulder. What was the fuss? In France such would be considered a trivial piece of information. In fact, she had been Gabriel’s mistress.

So briefly.

“Is that why you were forced to tell Tranville about Badajoz?” Gabriel asked.

Vernon glanced at his wife. “In part—”

Ariana interrupted. “And in part due to me, I’m afraid.”

Gabriel took a sip of the wine and seemed lost in thought.

“We will call upon the father of Edwin tomorrow, will we not, Gabriel?” Emmaline asked him.

“Not you, Emmaline.” His voice was firm.

“Why not?” she cried.

“Tranville must not know who you are.” The look on his face alarmed her.

“He is right,” Vernon agreed. He turned to Emmaline. “I was forced to tell Tranville what his son tried to do to you and your boy. He and I have a mutual agreement not to speak of it. He has good reason not to retaliate against me, but he would feel no such restraint in lashing out against you or your son, if he thought
his
son would be disgraced.”

Emmaline’s eyes widened. They acted as if this father was to be more feared than the son.

Gabriel set down his wine glass. “I will go alone tomorrow.”

“I’ll go with you, if you like,” Allan offered.

“No.” Vernon leaned forwards. “None of you can go. Tranville is shrewd. If he connects you to the incident with Edwin, he’ll find some way to silence you. I will go.”

Ariana shook her head. “Jack, he will never tell you what you want to know. He never speaks with you unless he cannot avoid it.”

Her husband shrugged. “My mother will convince him.”

She laughed. “She is more likely to side with him.”

“That is true, I’m afraid.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“I should go.” Marian straightened. “I am perfect for the task. Uncle Tranville will not question why I am asking about Edwin. I am the only one in existence who might care where Edwin is.”

“I shall go with you,” Allan said. “We owe your uncle and Vernon’s mother a call. It would be the most natural thing in the world for us to do so.”

Marian turned to Emmaline and Gabriel. “Come tomorrow for dinner. We will know something then and can decide what to do next.”

The ladies retired to the drawing room and Allan, Gabe and Vernon remained in the dining room, drinking brandy.

Gabe absently ran his finger along the rim of his glass, while Vernon and Allan continued to discuss the impending visit to Tranville.

Ever since Emmaline had walked into his life again, Gabe’s emotions had been in a muddle. It was best he stay out of Tranville’s sights; the man had the power to ruin his chances for a new commission, after all. At the same time, he was having difficulty sharing the task of helping Emmaline, even with his friends.

Vernon pointed a finger at Allan. “Take care you don’t even hint why you ask about Edwin.”

“We will be careful.” Allan smiled. “I’m afraid both Marian and I are well practised in keeping secrets.” He turned to Gabe. “What is between you and Madame Mableau?”

Gabe felt his face burn. “There is nothing between us.”

Allan persisted. “But she sought you out.”

“Who else? She does not know anyone in England.” He tried to sound matter of fact.

“I cannot forget those days in Badajoz,” Vernon said in a low voice. “It is difficult to blame her son for remembering it with such hatred.”

Gabe stared into his drink. “A lot of bad things happened during the war. We must leave it behind us.” At least that was what he aspired to do.

Vernon slid cautious glances at them both. “Did any of it ever come back to you?” His tone was hushed. “I had moments when I actually thought I was back there.”

“I have had nightmares about it,” Allan admitted.

Gabe dreamt of Badajoz as well, but the dreams always were about Emmaline.

How odd it was that one event in Badajoz bound him with Allan and Vernon and that none of them could escape being affected by it still. Even more ironic, they were all connected to Edwin Tranville. At least Gabe did not have to count Edwin among his family. Theoretically, he could walk away from all this and never think of it again.

Theoretically.

He could have refused to help Emmaline. He had no reason to be involved. None of them did, except that they had witnessed Edwin’s despicable behaviour and Gabe had learned precisely how acutely it had affected Emmaline and her son.

She had looked more beautiful than ever this night, a worthy rival even for Jack Vernon’s wife. The lace on her dress reminded him of the lace shop, of her busy fingers smoothing the delicate creations, folding them or presenting them for display. He imagined her selecting the lace for her collar and cuffs from the strips of lace hanging over rods in the shop. He could see her pleating it and sewing it to her dress, her eyes concentrating on her work, her lips pressed into a line, her fingers as graceful as a ballet dancer as she pulled the needle through. Those same fingers had stroked his naked skin, those lips had showered him with kisses, and her eyes, until that morning when he had proposed marriage, had looked upon him with desire.