Elizabeth Powell (19 page)

His conscience persisted. Everly drew back and gazed down at Amanda. Her eyes heavy-lidded, her lips swollen from his kisses—she had all but surrendered herself. So
much trust. Such innocence. Everly swallowed hard. He mustn’t do this. With a great effort, he set her away from him.

“Jack? What’s wrong?” Her voice echoed the confusion on her dainty features.

He could still feel the warmth radiating from those lush curves. He imagined running his hands over that lovely pale skin, caressing her narrow waist and flaring hips, her body against his without the constraints of fabric between them…. Cynicism slapped him. She didn’t know what she was doing. She had been distraught, and he had just taken advantage of her. Again. He cringed. Would he never learn?

“I seem to forget all sense of propriety where you are concerned, Miss Tremayne.” Addressing her in a formal manner helped put some distance between them, but it was not enough. Everly levered himself over to the opposite bench. Both of them would be safer this way.

“One would suppose me a bad influence.” Her smile was a pallid version of its normal self, not even enough to evoke her dimples. She rubbed a finger over her lips and slid her gaze away.

Disappointment pricked Everly with sharp, spiteful fingers, and he shifted his expression to blank neutrality. She had come to her senses; she was trying to remove the traces of his touch. What on earth had possessed him to kiss her like that? Felicia had screamed and run from his shambling form. Other women had curled their lips in disgust. At least Miss Tremayne was more polite. Everly damned himself for a fool.

He offered her a weak smile of his own. “Nonsense. Tonight you did what few others could have accomplished—you managed to get the information from Locke’s study.”

Amanda bit her lip. “Well, not exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

She fingered the drawstring of her reticule. “Locke moved whatever had been in that secret compartment. It was empty.”

Everly bit back an oath. “But you said you found what you came for.”

She nodded. “By accident, really. I was looking around the study, thinking that Locke had hidden his secrets somewhere nearby, but I heard voices coming down the hall.”

Everly tensed. He remembered what had happened the last time she’d tried to hide in that room.

Amanda saw his expression and gave an odd little laugh. “No, they didn’t catch me—I fled out onto the balcony.”

“Small wonder you were shivering. You could have gotten pneumonia.”

“It was the only safe place, and a fortunate choice—I overheard their conversation, Captain. I heard every word they said.”

“They? They, who?”

“Locke, and the traitor from the Admiralty.”

Everly sat back, stunned. “The traitor? How do you know it was him?”

“He gave Locke orders, but Locke didn’t want to follow them. They argued.”

Something alive stirred within Everly, something he hadn’t felt since the battle of Lissa. He realized how much he missed the excitement of incipient combat. “Did Locke mention the traitor’s name?”

“No.” Amanda’s brow furrowed. “But there was something familiar about his voice.”

“How so?”

“I know I’ve heard it before, but I just can’t remember where. The more I think about it, the more it slips away from me.”

Everly gestured impatiently. “Don’t concentrate on that right now. What else did you hear?”

Her eyes lost their focus. “I know their next move.”

The hairs stirred at the back of Everly’s neck. “Go on.”

“Information important to their cause is coming in on the next navy packet; it arrives in Portsmouth on Tuesday. The traitor ordered Locke to retrieve the information
and deliver it to their contact at the George and Dragon Inn.”

“Good God.”

“There’s more.” She swallowed hard. “The traitor said that someone named Le Chacal would reward Locke once he completed his mission.”

“The Jackal,” Everly translated. “I should have suspected that the man in the Admiralty wasn’t the ringleader.”

“No—he gets his orders from this Frenchman.”

“This conspiracy runs deeper than we imagined,” he muttered.

Amanda leaned forward, a strain of urgency in her voice. “But the traitor said that this will be Locke’s last assignment. After this, he departs for a new command, and the traitor will leave for France soon afterward. We have to tell someone about this, Captain, and quickly.”

Everly rubbed his jaw. “And so we will,” he stated. He’d take her to Lord Carlisle…. Everly caught himself. He did not know where Carlisle lived, nor did he think the spymaster would want Everly dragging this business into his home. With the earl’s penchant for secrecy, Everly wagered that few others in London knew his vocation. The captain gazed at Amanda, at her pale, drawn face. Where else could he take her? To Admiral Lord St. Vincent? Everly grimaced. Given his patron’s prejudice against Amanda’s father, he did not think that a viable option. He would be able to convince the admiral of the veracity of their story, but Amanda would not be a credible witness in the old man’s eyes. No, it had to be Carlisle.

Everly thought of Grayson MacAllister, dressed in livery and riding at the back of the carriage, keeping careful watch. By the time he had the young Scotsman send word to the earl, then set up a time and place for the interview, it would be morning. Amanda—Miss Tremayne—needed to rest and recover from this evening’s events. They had over two days until Locke was to meet the packet; they could afford a few hours’ delay.

“I will send a message directly,” he said. “I imagine
my superior will wish to speak with us both. I shall arrange a meeting for first thing tomorrow morning.”

Amanda frowned. “Why not now?”

“I will need time to reach him. Besides, you have had enough excitement for one evening. You will make a much more credible witness after you’ve rested and changed into something more appropriate. As it is, I will have a difficult time explaining how you became involved in this whole affair.”

“Oh. Of course.” Amanda pulled her cloak more securely about her, hiding all traces of her gown beneath the velvet folds, then pulled the hood over her head. Her features disappeared into shadow.

He had embarrassed her. Somewhere in the course of these events he had evolved from a charming man into a complete oaf. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about his lack of manners when he was back at sea. Everly leaned out the window and ordered his coachman to change course.

They journeyed in painful silence broken only by the sound of the horses’ hooves and the jingling of the harness. The streets in this part of London were all but empty at this hour, and they soon arrived at Amanda’s lodging house. Not soon enough, judging by the way she hunched into the corner and avoided his eyes.

“Allow me to escort you up,” said Everly as they pulled to a halt.

“That is not necessary, Captain,” Amanda replied in a stilted tone. She did not even wait for the footman to open the door; she reached for the door handle.

He put out a hand to stop her, but she drew back. Everly’s jaw flexed. “Try to get some sleep. I will come for you midmorning.”

“I shall be ready.” The footman opened the door, and she was gone from the carriage. Everly descended behind her and watched her small form dash into the building. He waited until she was safely inside before he climbed back into the waiting coach. His leg twinged; more rain was imminent. Damnation. He glanced back at the drab lodging house and sighed. Tomorrow morning he could
finish this business and get back at sea, where he belonged.

When Everly arrived home, he gestured to Mr. MacAllister. “Come with me, Thomas. I require your assistance.”

“As you wish, sir,” answered the younger man. He followed Everly into the study and closed the door behind them.

“Thomas. Hmph. I’d never take you for a ‘Thomas,’ MacAllister.” Everly spared a glance at the young Scot, who looked out of character in livery and a powdered wig, before he went to his desk. He pulled out a sheet of paper and began to scribble a hasty note.

“My disguise must be complete, down to an assumed name. Besides, every household has a footman named Thomas.” The Scotsman’s smile dimmed. “You seem concerned, Captain.”

“As well I might be. Were we followed from Admiral Locke’s house?”

“No. I would have informed you if we were.”

This piece of news, while reassuring, did little to loosen the tight knot of tension in Everly’s shoulders. “Thank goodness for that, at least.”

“I take it that your foray into the admiral’s house was successful?”

Everly nodded, still focused on the letter. “Indeed.”

“And Miss Tremayne is well?”

Now Everly’s eyes flew to meet the Scotsman’s bland gaze. “What do you mean by that? Explain yourself.”

“She seemed quite upset when you left the admiral’s house.”

“As well she might, given what went on there.”

MacAllister cleared his throat. “I have been riding around in your carriage for nearly a fortnight, Captain, and although you have never said as much, I am aware that Miss Tremayne is involved in this affair—she’s in it up to her pretty neck. No, I have not mentioned this to Lord Carlisle. But I do wonder why you haven’t told him about her.”

“It hasn’t been important until now,” Everly growled. “She was seeking information to clear her father’s name, and to prove Locke’s guilt, but tonight she discovered a great deal more. She knows who the traitor is.”

“What?” All traces of color vanished from MacAllister’s face.

“She overheard Locke talking to him. She didn’t see the man or hear his name, but she knows his voice, and she knows where they’ll strike next. I need to get her to Lord Carlisle immediately. I assume you know where to find him.” The captain’s tone suggested he would accept nothing else.

“I can get the message to him at once,” the young man asserted.

“Good.”

“Ah, Captain … ?”

“Yes?” Everly folded the vellum and affixed his seal.

MacAllister clasped his hands behind his back. “I mean you no disrespect, sir, but are you certain you can trust the girl?”

Everly sat up, his brows pinched together in a line. Trust her? She had lied to him, manipulated him, and badgered him. She’d jeopardized his mission and ruffled his temper, not to mention wreaking havoc in his precisely ordered life. Yet, after all that had happened, he realized that he
did
trust her. He trusted her completely. Then again, he amended with a wry smile, Amanda Tremayne had a way of casting anyone’s wits adrift.

“Yes, Mr. MacAllister,” he replied, his smile fading. “Miss Tremayne is as loyal to the Crown as I am.”

The younger man seemed to accept this assurance; the tense lines of his shoulders relaxed.

Everly handed him the letter. “Deliver this to Lord Carlisle at once, and return with word of our rendezvous point.”

MacAllister tucked the message into his breast pocket. “Yes, sir.”

“One more thing.” Everly drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Do you have other men at your disposal?”

The young man’s expression turned wary. “I can arrange it, sir. Might I ask why?”

“I want you to have them keep watch on Miss Tremayne’s rooms at the lodging house, just to make sure she remains out of harm’s way until morning. I do not know if Locke suspects her true identity, but right now we cannot take any chances. Her safety is vital to our mission; she alone can make a positive identification of the traitor.”

The Scotsman nodded. “I’ll see to it, Captain.”

“Look sharp, then. Too much time has passed already.”

MacAllister inclined his head in salute, then departed.

Everly slouched back in his chair; the leather creaked a vague protest, as did his injured leg. Amanda—Miss Tremayne—would be fine. He’d take her to Carlisle in the morning, they would expose Locke, unmask the traitor, and he’d have a new command before All Hallows’ Eve. It was all quite straightforward.

Right. And he was the Queen Mother.

With an ungallant snort, Everly heaved himself out of his chair. He limped up the stairs to his bedchamber, his humor getting worse with each step, and bellowed for Stubbs.

“Confound it, man, where are you?” he roared.

“In a fine temper tonight, ain’t ye, Captain?” the grizzled servant muttered, carrying a laden tray into the room. “With the rain comin’, I thought ye might do with a nip o’ the hellbroth.”

Everly grunted his thanks and poured himself a glass of whiskey. Laudanum would leave him groggy in the morning; for tonight, alcohol would have to take the edge off his pain. “Here’s to an end to this blasted business.”

“Summat amiss happen at the admiral’s house, sir?” Stubbs asked, his lined face etched with worry.

“No. The mission was successful. We know who the rogue is. Now we have to catch him, and nab the French agent responsible for compromising our national security.”

“Sweet Jasus!” Stubbs’s jaw sagged.

A humorless smile stretched Everly’s lips. “Exactly.”

Stubbs cocked his head, his eyes clouded. “Then if ever’thing went so well, Captain, why the blue-devils? Wimmin trouble then, eh?”

“What the hell are you rattling on about?” grumbled Everly. He shrugged out of his jacket and tried to remove his cravat with a series of impatient tugs.

The servant picked up the coat and brushed it off. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Captain, but ye’re never this out o’ sorts unless a female’s involved.”

Everly shot the smaller man a quelling glare. “You’ve become quite an expert on my moods these days.”

Stubbs helped unknot the tangled neckcloth. “Aye, sir. Just an observation, sir.”

Everly harrumphed. “Well, it so happens that a young lady
is
involved.”

The servant shook his head. “No good will come of it, Captain. Females mean nothin’ but trouble.”

“Spoken like an old tar.” Everly chuckled dryly. “And a bachelor, to boot. That will be all for now, Stubbs—enough of your fussing. Wake me when Mr. MacAllister returns, and again at dawn.”

Stubbs’s gnarled brows lifted skyward. “Dawn, Captain?”

Everly lobbed his waistcoat at the nearest chair. The shirt followed, but missed and hit the floor. “What, are you deaf as well as impertinent?”