Beware of Virtuous Women (31 page)

Jack sat in the dimness behind a table situated in the rear of a nameless tavern at the bottom of Bond Street, looking into a mug of ale rather than drinking from it.

Cluny had been with him until a few minutes ago, the two of them discussing the events of that afternoon. The actions of that afternoon. The disgust of that afternoon.

But now the Irishman was gone, heading back to the small inn and the locked room where their prize snored away his drunkenness. Cluny would stay with the man until he was recovered, until he was needed, and Rian Becket would have to take Cluny's place tomorrow when Eleanor drove out in the coach.

Rian was young, but he'd plenty of experience, riding the Marsh with the Black Ghost. Jack had no worries on that head; the boy would obey orders.

Unless that plan was no longer necessary.

He already had his man, and he only needed the one. Two men betrayed, one of them dead—Chelfham had made himself an enemy Jack could use. Now to discover exactly
how
to use him. Draw Chelfham out, bring him face-to-face with Eleanor at a time and place better suited to keeping her safe. If she felt she had to confront him, hear the words from the man's own mouth, Jack would by damn find a way for her to safely hear them; put the past in the past, where it belonged.

There was a way. There had to be a way. He simply had to find it...

Jack was so intent on his thoughts that it took him a moment to notice that someone had slipped into the chair across the table from him. He looked up slowly, taking in the sight of the well-tailored but not flamboyantly dressed man. A sophisticated gentleman of means.

Yet not many London gentlemen had such startlingly intelligent eyes, or moved quite so quietly. The stranger sat at his ease, but Jack could feel the tension in the man, the alertness born of a soldier...or at least of someone accustomed to having to deal with unexpected attack. Accustomed, and unafraid.

He was a handsomely put together man. The intelligent eyes were darkly green, his thick light brown hair long and tied back at his nape. His hands, that he'd been careful to rest on the tabletop where Jack could see them—to show that he was harmless, Jack supposed, and which Jack had already sensed was a misnomer— were well shaped, the fingers long, almost artistically formed.

But most of all, more than anything, there was this
air
about the stranger. A certain unexplainable aura of confidence and danger that was no longer any stranger to Jack. "Good afternoon to you, Mr. Eastwood," the man said, his voice low, pleasant.

"Yes, thank you. Good afternoon to you. Please allow me to hazard a guess here, my good sir. As you're the only one left, at least as far as I know, you're Chance Becket, aren't you?"

"Ainsley told me you were sharp as a tack. Yes, I'm Chance Becket. A pleasure to meet you at last, Jack."

Jack's mind was racing furiously. "Of course, and a pleasure for me, as well. Rian nearly gave you away, didn't he? He told me he'd not come straight to London, but had first gone somewhere else. He went to you, didn't he? To tell you about the countess's new babies. To tell you Eleanor was in London, and so much more. I should have realized. And here I was, deluding myself with the notion that Ainsley trusts me."

"He does trust you, Jack, or else we wouldn't be having this conversation. You would have been dead two years ago," Chance Becket said amiably as he lifted his hand to a passing barmaid, signaling that two more mugs of ale were needed at the table.

"Yes," Jack said, smiling. 'There is that, isn't there. So, if you'll allow me to refresh my memory? You'd be the oldest, correct?"

"Correct, if that matters to you."

Jack was in no mood for evasive banter, so he went straight to the heart of the matter. "It does, if you are willing to believe that I'm in love with your sister. Madly, deeply and irrevocably in love with Eleanor Becket."

Chance raised one well-defined eyebrow. "Well, you're direct if nothing else. I have a wife like that. Go on. You're going to ask me for her hand in marriage?"

Jack sat forward, rested both arms on the tabletop. 'There's nothing I'd like more, but first things first. You're not Ainsley, but you are the oldest, and you are here. There's something I have to say."

Chance picked up one of the heavy mugs of ale the barmaid slapped down on her way to another table, and held it an inch from his lips. 'That sounds ominous. Does this have anything to do with Chelfham and the Red Men, or are you about to complicate things further with some sort of confession I'd then be forced to deal with?"

Jack smiled. He liked this man. This man might soon slit his throat, but he liked him. "I'm going to complicate things, I'm afraid. As you've already pointed out, I've been with Ainsley for about two years," he said, as it was always best to begin at the beginning. "But I came to be with him under false pretenses."

"Really. More than ominous." Chance put down his mug, untouched, and tossed two coins onto the table top. "Shall we walk?"

They were out on the flagway before Jack spoke again. "I tricked my way into Becket Hall because I was fairly certain you Beckets had something to do with the smuggling trade in the area."

Chance smiled. "Well, shame on my dear brother Courtland. I warned him about his flair for the dramatic. The cape, the mask. Overdone. I told him so. But I interrupt. How did you decide that?"

Jack stole a look at Chance Becket, who was walking with his hands clasped behind his back, and looking no more dangerous than any other gentleman passing up and down the flagway. If anything, he seemed genuinely amused. "Your father's friend Billy is a talkative drunk."

Now Chance laughed quietly. "Such is his reputation, yes. As I'm sure you heard."

"I asked the right questions, and only guessed at the rest. He didn't betray you," Jack said, defending the older man. "I was with Wellington for a time, and learned how to ask the right questions, then make reasonable deductions. But that's another conversation for another time, and what I'm trying to do now is confess. I was a gentleman of little means, as I portrayed myself to Ainsley, but I was not earning my daily bread after returning from the Peninsula by traveling about England, playing at cards."

They stopped at an intersection, waiting for a break in the crush of town carriages on the roadway. "No. You were looking for freetraders, isn't that what you said? Were you—are you—working for the Crown? Because that would be a bloody pity, my friend."

They moved on, carefully skirting a large puddle in the middle of the street, then joining up together on the other side of the road. "No, not really. And before I tell you anything else, I want to say that what happened with Ainsley was a complete surprise to me. Being accepted that way, taken in, made a part of the entire enterprise. My reasons for being in Romney Marsh at all are no longer important, but I feel I must reveal them before I can be comfortable asking for Eleanor's hand in marriage."

Chance stopped, looked at Jack. "And will you tell her, as well?"

Jack grinned. "If I'm still alive to do so, yes."

"An honorable man. What
will
we do with you, Jack Eastwood?"

"Hear me out, I suppose. Only after I found myself a part of.. .of your family business did I dismiss the idea of turning you all over to the Waterguard. You should know that. My loyalty lies with Ainsley Becket, who I consider to be one of the most amazing, and amazingly intricate men I've ever met, and I've dined with Wellington and his staff."

"You'll have to tell my brother Spence all about that dinner when he's finally home again. I enjoy watching him go green with envy at times."

Jack smiled at that, as the remark eased some of his tension. If he was to see Spencer Becket again, the odds were good that Jack wouldn't be finding himself dead before nightfall. "You should also know that I have forwarded the occasional anonymous note to the War Office, warning of rumors I'd heard about French spies being transported back and forth across the Channel. I did this both before and after I met Ainsley. I think, know, I did this to salve my conscience, as I was now a freetrader myself, and not about to walk away from either the excitement or the comfortable living I was beginning to enjoy very much."

"Honorable and refreshingly honest. An adventurer with a conscience. No wonder you admire Ainsley. Please, continue."

"You'd like to wring my neck, wouldn't you? Right here, in the middle of Bond Street. But I never put your family in danger, I can swear to that."

"I'd say thank you," Chance told him, "except for the fact that you'd be hanging just as high as the rest of us if you did. I believe I read one or two of those anonymous notes of yours, when I was still with the War Office. You signed them
A
Friend of the Crown,
correct? We were of course very interested in the idea of information crossing the Channel to Napoleon. In fact, I was sent to Romney Marsh to poke my nose about, looking for spies, thanks to what was probably the first of your little notes. I believe we missed each other by mere weeks, as a matter of fact."

"You actually worked in the—God, that's rich, and rather brilliant. Serve your country and at the same time keep your ear to the ground to learn if your family ever came under suspicion."

For the first time, Chance's smile left him. "I served the Crown as my choice, Jack. There was nothing devious or self-serving about it. Now, are you done?"

"With my confession? Yes, I think that's it."

"Then I suppose it's my turn. While I appreciate your honesty, we already knew what you told me just now, Jack, except, I'll admit, for that
Friend of the Crown
business. Ainsley has known from the beginning."

Jack turned to him in surprise.
"What?"

"Oh, my, now you're upset. Ainsley said you'd be upset. Think about this for a moment, Jack. Knowing Ainsley now, as you think you do, is this a man who carelessly opens his home to strangers? A man who would risk his family by embracing that stranger?"

"Christ. No. No, he isn't. God, I thought I was being so clever. But Ainsley still holds to the charade, and so does Jacko. Hell, Jacko came to my room and played cards with me nearly every day and—Christ, I'm an idiot! So you already knew?"

"I received a few communiques from Ainsley about you while you were recovering from the wounds you invited in order to impress us, yes. And, as I was still at the War Office, it wasn't difficult to investigate your background. So, if you feel better now, having confessed your...sins...shall we get on with it? I want to hear more about Chelfham."

"Not yet. What about Billy? Did I use him, or did he use me? While I was thinking I was learning secrets from Billy, was he actually just feeding me information, reeling me in like some fish on a line?"

"You were asking too many questions in the area, Jack, and, sad to say, not being quite as discreet as you thought you were. You came to our attention. And Billy? Oh yes, definitely, he was sent from my employ to Romney Marsh to do exactly what he did. As well as Demetrious, once our ship's chandler, who you paid to help start the fight that night in the tavern. You shouldn't have fought so well, Jack. Demetrious had the devil of a time avoiding your fists and keeping his knife directed at.. .nonfatal areas. We needed you injured and helpless. Down, but not out. Billy's injuries, of course, weren't real at all, as every last man and barmaid in the tavern that night was ours, all of them playacting quite convincingly. So yes, I think you can say you were reeled in like a fish. My apologies, I'm sure, but we needed a closer look at you."

"Well, I'll be damned," Jack said, at last seeing the rather twisted humor in the whole episode. "I'm also probably very lucky to be alive, aren't I?"

"You've proved yourself loyal," Chance said, gifting Jack with a companionable slap on the back. "Now, finish it, because I know there's more, unfortunately. In fact, that's why I'm here, rather than anyone else. To answer what we knew had to be your rather burning questions so that we can all move on. Ainsley, in his infinite wisdom, thought it might be time, that after more than two long years you were probably suffering from increasingly annoying attacks of conscience."

Jack shook his head, ridding it of the rather embarrassing remnants of Chance's earlier revelations. "Since I have little choice, I suppose I have to accept that, although if you're hoping to hear me thank you, I don't think that's going to happen. So, yes, let's finish it. Tell me, while at the War Office—did you work with the Dragoons along the coastline?"

"Ah, and here we are, at the heart of everything. Not directly, Jack, no. Now I'll be helpful yet again—my wife tells me it's only polite to be helpful when possible—and ask you why you want to know, so that you can tell me."

After all that he'd already admitted, mention of his cousin was only the last hurdle Jack needed to jump over before he knew whether or not he was accepted, or was about to become a dead man. Or at least that's what he'd thought a few minutes earlier. But Chance Becket already knew what he was going to ask.

"Then let me tell you what you already know. Tell you why I came to Romney Marsh in the first place. I was there to find out what happened to my cousin, a lieutenant with the Dragoons patrolling the marsh until he dropped off the edge of the earth a little over two years ago. My mother and I live with my widowed aunt, and she'd begged me to find out what happened to him."

Chance was all seriousness now. "You couldn't get that information from his commanding officers?"

"No, not enough to satisfy me at any rate. They were rather curiously closemouthed, and the most I could get anyone to say was that he'd disappeared the morning after intercepting a smuggling run. Their evasions made me more curious than I'd been when I first asked my questions, so I thought up the idea of passing myself off as a traveling gamester, always carefully listening for any information about smugglers in the area. Richard wasn't much of a son, and I doubt he was much of an officer, but my aunt deserves some sort of answer as to what happened to her only child. Did he desert? Is he dead?"