Angel In My Bed (26 page)

“I'm not crying.” She laughed and pushed at his weight. But he was an unmovable entity, his arm cast heavily across her chest and, suddenly, looking at the dark promise in his eyes, she no longer seemed to care. “You make me believe in the impossible, David. No one has ever given me that before.”

“Then you'll understand if your father is here, we'll find another way to catch him.”

Her voice came quickly. “If?”

“I'm not convinced Colonel Faraday fired that rifle. Or if he is even alive.”

“Is there a possibility he isn't alive?”

“Rockwell isn't sure if he is.”

“But that doesn't mean he is dead. Sir Henry won't leave here, David. If my father is alive, he would only follow me if I left.”

Not for the first time did she feel his crushing desire to shake sense into her. “I'm not here any longer as an agent to the crown, Meg. I'm here as your husband.”

“Does Kinley know that?”

He sifted his fingers through her hair. “He will as soon as I speak to Ravenspur.”

An unfamiliar vulnerability shone in his eyes and softened the uncertain edges of her heart. She kissed the corner of his mouth. “Because you hope to use your brother-in-law as an ally? Perhaps with your own family as well?”

“It does not matter if anyone else accepts my life.”

But it was the not the truth, she knew. His family's lack of acceptance of her might not keep them apart but it would hurt
David, more so than their rejection of the choices he had made that put him in this place. “Your family has only to know you to love you,” she said. “And if they love you they will love Nathanial and me, too.”

He sat and pulled her across his lap, where he cradled her in his arms. “Are you saying no one can resist me?”

His shameless smile captured her. “I would dislike such an observation going to your head.”

His fingers curled around her chin, and he kissed her. “I fear it has already gone there, my love.”

A
n image of a buxom mermaid swung from a sign above the heavy oaken door. Thunder grumbled across a leaden sky, turning the drizzle into a downpour as David stepped through the door into the common room. Men stood around tables drinking ale and talking. Long mullioned windows opened to the main road from New Haven.

The white weather-boarded hostelry tucked away near Smuggler's Cove aptly named the Buxom Mermaid was a fitting throwback to yesteryear and owned by a warmhearted couple David had met the first week of his stay in this part of England. Mr. Smith managed the livery while his robust wife handled the affairs of the inn. “Right this way, m'lord.” Mrs. Smith held a lantern aloft as David followed her up the creaky narrow stairs to the second floor. “They're expectin' ye.”

Walter Kinley looked over his gold-rimmed spectacles as the pocket doors opened and David stepped into the drawing
room, serving as Kinley's temporary quarters an hour outside town. Heat from the fireplace radiated throughout the cluttered room, dissipating the cold. Yet, as David glimpsed the second man standing at the hearth, a chill in the silver-edged eyes looking back at him, the room could not have felt more frigid.

Raindrops had gathered on the black cashmere wool of David's coat and dripped on the floor as he surrendered the wrap, hat, and gloves to the servant. “Ravenspur.” David acknowledged his brother-in-law with a subtle nod. As tall as David, the Duke of Ravenspur could look him in the eye.

“I see that the two of you need no introduction,” Kinley said with some industry, seemingly content that there would be no family reunion to suffer. “Ravenspur insisted that we talk, else you would not have been summoned. How you leave today is up to you.”

David's mouth crooked, though no hint of humor touched his eyes. “Implying that you intend to take me out back and shoot me?”

“Unless you prefer a rope around your neck,” Ravenspur said.

“Sit, if you will, Donally,” Kinley suggested.

“Do either of you want to tell me what this meeting is about?” David asked, giving His Grace the benefit of a second appraisal as he walked to the window though he could see nothing in the pitch of the night. A glimpse in the adjoining room showed a servant cleaning the table of a recent dinner, but no men waiting in the wings.

After receiving Ravenspur's missive, David had ridden through a downpour to get here by nightfall. He'd left Meg and Nathanial at Rose Briar. He'd left a crew of workers at
the church, tearing down the burned-out infrastructure. Now, gazing at his brother-in-law dressed out in a dark jacket, burgundy waistcoat, and perfectly creased trousers, looking every bit the lord undersecretary, David felt the first sting of reality push aside the initial scope of hope that had brought him here. But if there was a man who could
not
claim to be without sin, his brother-in-law topped the list of the stubbornly defiant, a man who had more often than not in the past walked the line of sedition.

“You'll want a drink, I expect?” Kinley asked, accepting a tall-stemmed glass of claret from his servant.

For once, as David took his seat, he declined alcoholic libation. “I prefer to have my wits about me, if you do not mind,
sir
.”

“I'm aware you are seeking a pardon for Miss Faraday,” Kinley said.

David looked directly at his sister's husband, and felt his jaw clench. He had asked Ravenspur to intercede on his behalf for Meg. He had trusted Ravenspur with her life. Instead, he had given the London office reason to pull him off this case. “Clearly, reading my post must have been shocking to bring you racing to this corner of England, Ravenspur, when you could have relayed everything through Kinley. Have I ever called you a bloody bastard to your face?”

“Frankly? The last time I saw you, you were wearing vestments and raising holy hell in Ireland.”

“You forget yourself, Donally,” Kinley snapped. “Lord Ravenspur is your superior.”

“And you're both forgetting that without me, there is no bloody case against her.”

“We have your deposition from Calcutta,” Kinley said.
“
You
forget you've already helped convict her in her absentia, Donally. Or shall I call you Chadwick or Sir David. Who are you today?”

With credible indifference, David made a steeple of his fingers and rested his chin on his thumbs. “I have been many men while working for you.” He crossed his boots at the ankles. “Who is it you want me to be today? The knight errant? Assassin? Thief? Husband? I have been them all. Now you can bloody add
father
to that list.”

Kinley set the claret on the table beside the chair, a movement that surprised David for the subtle emotion it entailed. “I understand your dilemma…”

“No, Kinley.” David pushed out of the chair. “You do not.”

“You don't like me, do you?” Kinley challenged David's tone. “You question my judgment. You think I am too quick in my actions. That I am pompous. That I have no regard for the instincts of those who work for me. I have every regard for yours, which is why I requested to work with you again.”

“I thought it was because you were hunting my wife.”

Kinley's eyes flickered, but he did not rise to the bait. “I've followed through with every promise guaranteed you,” he said. “I can recommend taking everything away—”

“The deed to Rose Briar is in my name. Purchased with my coin. As for my title, I don't care what you do with it or anything else promised me. I've done all that you've demanded of me. What you choose to do, you do of your own accord.”

Kinley rose. “It is clear that your feelings are engaged where they should not be. I need hardly remind you that I can revoke your status and have you returned to London if necessary until this case is closed.”

“Are you threatening to arrest me for defending my family?”

“He is merely promising what will happen if you take one step out that door with any intent other than seeing this case brought to an end,” Ravenspur spoke. He moved away from the fireplace. “If you are even a hairsbreadth from defecting with Faraday's daughter let me remind you that Lord Ware has the power to slap a treason charge on your head. On that score, consider your son's future if he should lose both his mother and his father.”

David held up his hand staying any further comment. He was not yet at the threshold of his temper, but Ravenspur knew him too well not to recognize the weariness in the gesture. “What do you want me to say? That I won't help her run?” Hell, Ravenspur must know he would. “I won't put her through a public tribunal or let her go to some godforsaken prison for the rest of her life.” Or worse.

“Sit down. Please,” Ravenspur said dryly, compelled to add
please
, a surprising gesture considering the previously issued threat. “There's more you need to hear.”

Rain pebbled the window behind him, growing in strength, and David shook his head, reflecting on the knot in his gut, and the ramification of Ravenspur's threat. “Would you mind if I remained standing, Your Grace?”

“Would it matter to you if we did?” Kinley drew David's attention from Ravenspur, and reminded him of another memory similar to this one. His first meeting with Kinley.

A memory that did not often plague him. His purpose for traveling here was the reason it plagued him now; he was sure.

David might have grown up poor, but he'd grown up educated. Like his brothers, he had graduated at the top of his class at Edinburgh, but unlike the rest of his family, he'd
never held a desire to become an engineer or an architect—a man who built worlds. He'd wanted to
experience
the world, possessing the same romantic wanderlust he'd oft witnessed in his younger sister, Brianna. Sixteen years ago, working in the diplomatic corps, he'd been assigned to the British consulate in the Far East where Kinley eventually recruited him into the Foreign Service. And as the years aged, he did see the world, becoming many characters in his journey, and excelling as Kinley's protégé. With every job, he'd moved deeper and deeper into the darker tiers of his profession, eventually estranging himself from the very people who loved him most. He had come tonight seeking a place to begin that long journey home. Not to begin the journey all over again.

He would not go back to the beginning. He could not.

“There's more to this case than you've been told,” Kinley said.

“Find Faraday another way. I won't risk my wife's life anymore.”

Ravenspur dropped into the wing chair between him and the door. “Eleven years ago, you and Kinley were working operations with seven other people on this case in Calcutta.” He leaned forward on the chair. “In the last year and half, every man who worked that job has died. Seven months ago, the last man, Major Rockwell, Kinley's closest friend, was killed in a hunting incident. The bullet that slew him belonged to an Enfield rifle. We believe under the circumstances, the shot fired from the church was meant for you.”

David should have felt some measure of vindication for having already arrived at that conclusion but did not. “You and Kinley are the only two still alive,” Ravenspur said.

“How would someone get the names of those involved in the case?”

“Kinley suspected that over the last two years, someone has manipulated or purged most of the records from the case. Important files have gone missing. Also files containing names of our agents on other cases have disappeared.” Ravenspur sat back in the chair, his arms on the rest. “A week after Faraday's escape from Marshalsea, a body was recovered from the Thames. Faraday's identifying bracelet was found on the left hand of the male victim. We believed Faraday was dead. After the earring came in to Kinley, Lord Ware hired an anthropologist and we exhumed the body found in the Thames. We needed to know if the male victim matched Faraday's six-foot stature. It did. But the man was missing all of his molars. We know for a fact that Faraday had a perfect set of teeth. We have no idea who the victim was. Probably a drifter in the wrong place at the wrong time. By then, Kinley had already brought you in on the case.”

Ravenspur's study remained deliberate. “Since Colonel Faraday could not have had the earring in his possession, someone else obviously had it all these years. Someone within the organization who had access to the prison. Someone who would have the ability to secure the special key to that bracelet and place it on someone else. We believe that someone approached Nellis Munro a number of months ago. That someone is the man we are after. Our mole.”

David now understood Ian's passion about this case. He was after the mole who had killed his father. Splaying a hand across his nape, he met Kinley's gaze as he thought he might lose his temper completely and do something rash—like commit murder. “No one could bloody tell me this?”

Kinley snorted. “Considering your wife made a visit to
Munro's residence a few days ago, we're telling you now. Your job has been to keep her alive, waiting for Faraday to make contact. Of course, we've always given you leave to do that job any way you saw fit.”

A quiet dangerousness touched David. “Meg is no bloody traitor, Kinley. She isn't working with her father.”

“Does your wife have a gold locket in her possession?” Kinley asked.

Somehow, David managed to keep his expression flat. He thought about lying. “You must know that she does,” he finally replied.

“Have you asked her who gave her that locket and why?”

“Her father gave her the locket. As to the second question why don't you tell me?”

“We know through past interrogations of the original Circle of Nine that it is in some way connected to the treasure. She hasn't tried to run. Therefore, if Faraday is alive, it is possible he has been in contact with her in the last few months.” Kinley lifted an eyebrow. “It would be no difficult task hiding anyone in those caves beneath the bluff. People have turned traitor for a lot less than wealth enough to buy a small country in some corner of the world.”

Staring at Kinley, David no longer cared that he was stepping over the line, as near to sedition as he'd ever stepped. “Did you and Pamela see the old vicar who used to live at Rose Briar church?”

Kinley startled. “Bloody hell, no.”

David didn't bother launching into a dialogue about Doyle's ghosts nor did he mention the tracks he'd followed after the storm, or his suspicions about Pamela. “Someone fitting your description visited the cleric months ago asking about the caves beneath the bluff.”

“You are out of order, David,” Ravenspur carelessly slipped into the familiar, crossing the line from professional to family.

They faced each other across the stretch of worn carpet. “Out of order? My wife wakes up with nightmares. She has endured hell enough already. I won't let her bait your hook. I want her off this case—”

“She
is
the case.” Ravenspur flung out his arm. “The centerpiece of the investigation. This is more important than your feelings. Or guilt over some perceived wrong you think you committed against her. If you can't carry out your assignment professionally, I
will
remove you from this case now.”

“Hence we are back to the question of how you will leave here.” Kinley studied the claret in his glass. “Or more precisely—”

“Will you leave us, Kinley?” Ravenspur clawed a hand through his hair. “I would speak to my brother-in-law in private.”

Kinley set down the claret. “Is that wise, Your Grace?”

“I've handled desert brigands; I think I can handle my brother-in-law without help.”

David turned to look out the window and grappled for restraint. Rain pooled in an empty flower box outside. He could not see past the Stygian darkness, and the light behind him simply reflected the room back at him.