All Men Are Rogues (21 page)

“And the gods rained teardrops of splendor from the heavens, yet wept for your burden, my darling. I love you, always.”

Balancing on the ball of his good foot, he traced his gloved fingertips over the inscription. Something was nagging at his consciousness, hovering on the edge, never coming clear. “‘And the gods rained teardrops of splendor…’” he read.
What burden did they weep for? Evelyn’s mother’s rootless life?
Justin rubbed his temple. It would come to him eventually; he just needed to let it go.

He rose just as a set of sharp blue eyes topped by a dirt-smeared forehead and scraggly blond hair peered over the edge of the wooden fence.

A squeaky voice shrieked, “Holy! You’ve got the greatest set a gallopers a man’s ever seen!” The man in question could not have been long out of leading strings. His head barely came to the top of the fence.

“You’ve an eye for horseflesh?” Justin countered, amused, eyeing the filthy clothing and hole-poked shoes.

“Won’t be before long and I’m gonna be a cavalry officer!”

“Really?”

“Pap says he’s gonna get me a horse. All me own fer when I grows up and can be in a regiment. I bet he’ll get me one as fine as yers, maybe even finer!”

“Your father sounds like a military man.”

“Not me father, me Pap,” he replied with the impatience of a young whelp dying to crow. “The king himself told me Pap what a crack job he’s done in battle.”

Truth slipped into place in Justin’s mind, as it always did when pieces of a puzzle found their address. “Colonel Wheaton is your…grandfather?”

“D’ya know him?”

“Oh, he’s very famous,” Justin assured. “Everyone’s heard of his daring exploits on behalf of king and country.”

Pride shone from those recognizable steely blue eyes. “Ya don’t say!”

A slender woman with dirt-blond hair and a haggard face stepped out the rear door to the boy’s house. A howling, butter-toothed baby was perched on her hip. She was the spitting image of her father, the colonel.

This bit of intelligence about Wheaton revealed more about the colonel’s character than any of the man’s actions thus far. Another piece of an exceedingly mystifying puzzle that Justin was determined to crack.

Adjusting the babe on her hip, she shouted at the boy, “Lee! Don’t be pestering the fancy gentleman.”

Lee. Justin almost smiled as information shifted in his mind. So Wheaton had sired a child out of wedlock, set her up in his childhood home, and, in return, had probably asked that she name her own first child Lee, in homage to his former mentor. The man who had seemed so without ties was tangled up indeed.

“Oh, he’s not bothering me at all,” Justin commented, noting how nervously she watched him. Trying for an amiable tone, he offered, “I am Lord Barclay, who are you?”

Her blue eyes slid away. “Miss Edwina Thomas, my lord. Come, Lee, stop bein’ a nuisance to the fine lord.” She slipped back inside without another word.

As the boy scrambled jauntily inside the house after his mother, Justin marveled at being so young, so brash, and without a care. At having a grandfather who did not acknowledge you to the world. Wheaton had probably considered their existence a potential weakness to be exploited by his enemies. Was Justin cold-blooded enough to take advantage of Wheaton’s Achilles’ heel? He wondered. Perhaps if he could use the information without targeting the struggling family…

The breeze picked up, bringing with it the sour odors of the refuse next door. Justin shuddered, yanking his gloves tighter on his hands and wishing the gods would not play him for such a fool. He would do the best he could for the woman who held his heart in her tender hands. He would erase the worry from her brow, give her a respite from these dastardly machinations, and set her free. If only she did not take his heart with her when she left.

“N
o, Justin. You cannot go,” Evelyn insisted. Fear was like a fever splintering across her flesh, making her want to scream, but she kept the panic from her voice, focusing on being convincing instead. “I cannot abide you placing yourself in peril. You’ve barely recovered from your last encounter with the colonel.”

Steely resolve infused his handsome features. “It’s the only way he agreed to meet.”

Señor Arolas nodded, assuring her, “I don’t think Wheaton will hurt him. He needs to tell us what he wants, and he’ll use Barclay to communicate. That’s all. Moreover, I know it’s only a gut feeling, but the men worked side by side for four years, the marquis knows his comrade.”

Crossing her arms to stop them from shaking, Evelyn scoffed, “If he knew the man so well, we would not be in this tussle. The knave would be behind bars, where he belongs.”

Justin had the audacity to smile. “I’m glad you’ve so much confidence in me.”

“I cannot afford to lose another of my friends,” she bit out.

Justin’s smile faded to a scowl. “As
my friend
, you don’t have much say in the matter. I will meet the colonel at the appointed place and time.”

She glared at him, her anger lying more with the puppeteer maneuvering their strings than with Justin. Her stomach was clenched in a knot no laundress could unwind. She tried once again, “There must be another way.”

“I know you’re worried, Evelyn, but I have this well under control,” Justin soothed. “And I’m going into this with a strategy of my own.”

She withheld her groan.

“Ye of little faith,” he chided, trying not to look hurt.

She stepped over to him and rested her hand on his arm. “There’s not enough faith in the world when it comes to your safety, Justin.” She willed him to see the affection behind her arguing. “I fear for you,” she whispered softly, for his ears only.

He kissed her forehead as one would a younger sister. “The plan proceeds as we discussed.”

This was unacceptable. Pasting a brittle smile on her lips, she turned to Señor Arolas. “Señor, if you would excuse us a moment?”

“Certainly, my dear.” He strode from the room, smiling a wicked grin. The door banged closed with a hard thud.

She turned on Justin. “I don’t want you to go.”

“What we wish for seems to have little connection with reality these days,” he echoed her remark from the day before as he slipped into a large armchair by the hearth. He could not hide his wince as he adjusted his bandaged foot.

She faced the fire, praying for an answer from the fanning flames. Thank heavens it did not burn with those spices the colonel seemed to favor. Instead, the natural scent of wood smoke filled the lavish drawing room, reminding her of the enticing scent of the stubborn man sitting in the chair behind her.

She turned and crouched before him. “Please, Justin. You admired the man for years. It’s too difficult for you to see him as he is, a vile monster.”

“Just because I am trying to understand his motives does not mean that I don’t loathe him for what he’s done. And what he’s become.”

She grabbed his hand and squeezed. “He will use you against me.”

“He has Angel and Sully, he doesn’t need me.” He stared into the blaze as if to discern the truth behind these treacherous games. He asked quietly, “Would he, ah, have much more to bargain with if he did happen to try to use me as leverage?”

She rubbed her hand over her weary eyes. Lord, if the colonel only knew how much she’d grown to care for Justin in their short acquaintance, she might as well just fold her cards now.

At her lack of response he grimaced, mumbling, “I guess there’s my answer.”

She rose and, without rational thought, dropped herself down on his well-muscled thighs, where she snuggled into his lap.

He quickly wrapped his steely arms around her and hugged her close to his chest, nuzzling his face in her neck. “You smell delightful.”

Sighing, she cuddled closer. “So do you.” In the past days she’d found herself leaning toward Justin, surreptitiously seeking out his scent, in their various conveyances, at mealtimes, in the study, virtually anywhere. Now she soaked in his flavor at her pleasure and relished the radiance of his warmth, which comforted her as no mere fire could.

He rubbed his hands up and down her arms, sending delicious shivers chasing down her spine.

Raising her hand, she lightly brushed his hair, loving the velvety feel of his locks. She rested her forehead against his chin and whispered, “I cannot stand the idea of anything happening to you.”

“You mean other than what already has?” he countered lightheartedly. “I’ve been shot at, had a bookcase fall on my head, been booby-trapped into damaging my foot.”

“It’s a wonder you’ve made it through all that as whole as you have!”

He curled a loose tendril around her ear, raising the delicate hairs on her neck. “But I’m not whole. I’ve lost my superior, my faith in following orders, in doing my duty…and I’ve lost,” he swallowed, “I’ve lost my heart.”

Shivers raced up and down her spine, and tears burned her eyes. “Then for the love of God, don’t go to this meeting.”

The arms encircling her tightened, then relaxed. He ground out, “It’s for the love of my country and for you that I must go.” He moved to shove her away, but she pressed herself deeper into his embrace.

She pushed back against those muscled arms, not letting him thrust her aside. “I am not toying with you to get you to do my bidding, Justin.”

“Why else would you do it, if you don’t love me?”

“I didn’t say I don’t love you.”

“Your feelings are quite evident,” he replied bitterly. “Since returning from the country we’ve been nothing more than—”

“We’ve been a bit busy, Justin,” she interrupted. Sighing, she shrugged. “But it’s more complicated than that.”

“It seems pretty apparent. I shouldn’t have hoped you’d reciprocate my feelings.”

“That’s not it, Justin. I have feelings for you galore.” Grabbing his dimpled chin in her hand, she pressed her nose to his. “But what I feel for you terrifies me down to my toes. I’m afraid to trust what I feel because it causes me too much hope!”

Those greenish-gray eyes watched her warily. “I don’t understand.”

She blew out a long breath. “Neither do I. All I know is that when you are near, I feel…giddy. My stomach does these annoying little flip-flops, my cheeks heat at inappropriate moments, chills seem to live under my skin, and yet I feel warm all over.”

“Sounds like a fever;” he quibbled, his minty breath tickling her cheeks.

“Oh, worse than any fever; I want to dream.”

“What’s wrong with dreaming?”

“It brings hope, which eventually leads to betr—pain.”

“Betrayal. You were going to say betrayal.” He shook his head. “I cannot fathom what I was thinking in deceiving you as I did.”

She looked away. “You thought it was in defense of your country—”

“Don’t defend me, it only makes it worse!” It was his turn to make her face him. He tipped her chin with his finger. “And don’t lie to me. I know you still have not forgiven me.”

“But I have. My heart just cannot seem to get past the hurt.” She felt it like a hole burning in her chest, so piercing it brought tears to her eyes. She pressed her hand over her breast and swallowed. “It hurts, and there doesn’t seem to be much I can do for the pain, other than to ignore it and move on.”

“Ignore it and move on,” he repeated, bitterness infusing his clipped tone. “Well, I cannot ignore it. It’s too real, too magical. Do you have any idea how you’ve transformed my pitiful existence? It’s as if my life were a painting, half-done. Incomplete for lack of color until you crashed into it with your joy, your courage, your laughter—” He captured one of her teardrops on the tip of his finger and brought it to his smooth lips. “And your tears. You make me feel more alive than I’ve ever felt in my lifetime, Evelyn. I cannot ignore it any more than I can ignore the beating of my heart.”

She sniffed. “You should have been the bard.”

They held each other close, cherishing the comfort in the chaos of their emotions and their madcap world.

He cleared his throat. “I want you to know that your inheritance is free from legal challenge.” He asked quietly, “Can you ever forgive me?”

“In many respects I already have.”

“But not in all?”

The fire crackled as the clock on the mantel chimed three times.

She toyed with the brass buttons of his sea green coat. “Part of me feels silly for not being able to just toss my anger to the wind.”

“Most folks would not be able to look me in the face for the things I’ve done to you. In contrast, you nursed me back from death’s door.”

“I did that for selfish reasons. I wanted your help to save Sully.” She raised her hand to that dear face and pressed her palm to Justin’s scratchy cheek. “I think the reason it hurts so much is that I care so much.” She frowned, trying to articulate her feelings. “I’ve never loved a man, I mean in that way, but I seem to love quite strongly when I do care for someone.”

“Are you saying that you don’t love Angel?”

“Not that way.”

“Not what way?”

“You are beginning to make this feel like a tooth extraction,” she gibed, only half-jokingly. She blew out a long breath. “If you’re going to make me say it, I’ve never felt for anyone else what I feel for you.” It was true. If she ever did consider marriage, Justin would be the one man to tempt her down that hallowed aisle.

He grimaced. “Well, I guess that’s something.”

“So I cannot convince you not to meet Wheaton?” she asked.

“No.”

“Then kiss me and make me forget about the vicious games for a few moments. Justin, make me forget….” She brushed her mouth across his velvety lips, willing him to understand how much he meant to her. His arms tightened around her and he parted his lips, claiming her mouth with gentle insistence. Those glorious hot chills infused her body from her hairline down to her toes. His tongue caressed her teeth, explored her mouth, and loved her tongue with such tender ardor it melted her heart. Justin Barclay tasted like the sweetest nectar of the gods, and she wanted to drink every drop he had to offer, for it would be over all too soon.

Evelyn could not recall the last time she’d ever felt so dreadfully alone. The world was crashing down around her ears and there was not a blessed thing she could do about it. Sully, Angel, and—her heart contracted—now Justin were all at the mercy of that vile monster, Wheaton.

She sat on her knees before the large bay window of her bedroom in Justin’s house, praying for the safe return of those she loved. It was all that was in her power to do. Staring off into the moonlit night through the billowing open drapes, she watched the stars flicker and the sliver of moon disappear behind the windswept clouds.

“I’ll never do this again,” she swore aloud. “I’ll go mad from all of this waiting.” Better to be out there, at risk with the others, than left behind. She whispered, “Better yet, all of us should be home asleep in our warm beds on a night like tonight.” Well, if her friends did not have that benefit, then neither would she.

A sense of foreboding overwhelmed her. “Please, dear Lord, please take care of those I love. And let Wheaton get exactly what he deserves.” She hoped her prayers would make some small measure of difference, for they could use all of the help they could get.

That night, the little boat rocked and swayed in the lapping waves of the foul-smelling Thames. Justin pulled his woolen cloak tighter around his shoulders and nodded for Señor Arolas to push him off.

Despite the half-moon perched in the starry sky and the low-lit lantern resting at the bottom of the boat, he could barely see past five paces in the gloom.

“Good luck, Barclay.” Señor Arolas waved as the craft drifted out into the torrent. “I’ll meet you at the far pier.”

Wheaton’s plan had been explicit and, just as Justin had expected, brilliant. He and the colonel were to meet midstream, exchange information, and float down to the next pier, where Justin would disembark to reveal the colonel’s demands. Wheaton had innumerable means of escape.

What the colonel had not counted on was Justin bringing along the passenger hunched over in the seat across from him in the rickety little boat. The lamp at his feet barely illuminated the old man’s thin, pallid face.

“How are you doing, sir?” Justin asked, worried for the frail gent.

“You’re the one who’s got to row this pile of wood, Barclay,” countered Sir Lee Devane. “I’m just taking a little moonlit cruise.”

Justin’s admiration for the elderly former master of spies had only increased since meeting with the man that afternoon. The old gent had taken the news of Wheaton’s betrayal hard, yet after an episode of mourning, he’d explored every avenue, sought out every fact as if sifting through glittering jewels, relishing each morsel for its significance. Justin could tell the man missed the spy trade enormously and, despite the abysmal circumstances, was ready to jump right back into the game.

The only fact that had seemed to unsettle the old fellow was learning that Wheaton had a grandson who was his namesake. “About six years old?” he had asked.

“Yes, sir,” Justin had replied. “What’s the implication?”

“I’d helped him get out of a tight spot about that time. I suppose it’s his way of saying thank you. After making it through that sordid mess, well, I’d never have thought he’d turn on his country.” The old gent had shaken his head. “It just does not add up.”

The muddied waters swirled around the hull of the little craft, high and rushing from the recent rains. Lights flickered in and out of view as they raced along, helped by Justin rowing on the long oars that had come with the borrowed craft.

“I see another boat,” claimed Devane in his craggy voice. “Two lamps, just as he’d said.”

Justin peered over his shoulder, spotting the other craft. He set the oars into their sockets and waited as the boat drifted downstream.

Two hulking figures draped in shadow hovered in the opposite boat.