Nicole Jordan (35 page)

“So what do you know about Deverill’s occupation, my dear?” Sir Gawain asked Antonia pleasantly.

The question surprised her as much as had the baronet’s invitation to accompany him fishing. She and Sir Gawain were now sitting on a riverbank on the castle grounds, dangling their lines in the lazily moving water, shaded from the bright morning sunshine by the branches of a willow tree. Isabella was currently visiting her sister-in-law, who had been delivered of a strapping baby boy, and both mother and infant son were reportedly faring extremely well.

Antonia had presumed that when Sir Gawain offered to expand her horizons and teach her how to fish, he would reminisce about his friendship with her late father. But the question about Deverill’s occupation caught her off guard.

“I gather Deverill spends much of his time ridding the seas of pirates,” she answered. “And Isabella mentioned that he works for a small department of the Foreign Office. For you, in fact.”

Sir Gawain nodded. “Our department is headquartered on Cyrene, true, yet there is much more to our organization than a governmental bureaucracy. The details are normally a well-guarded secret, but in this instance, my dear, I intend to break our code of silence, for I want you to understand the enormity of what we deal with. But you must promise that you will hold what I am about to tell you in strictest confidence.”

The sudden intent look on the baronet’s face disquieted Antonia. “Yes, of course. I promise.”

“Our department is not actually a branch of government.”

Her eyes widened with curiosity. “Then what is it?”

His look turned grave. “It is a centuries-old order dedicated to fighting tyranny and injustice and protecting the weak. A league of protectors, if you will.”

Antonia found herself staring at Sir Gawain. His solemn declaration was not at all what she had expected to hear. “Protectors?” she said after a moment. “Please tell me more.”

With an enigmatic smile, Sir Gawain obliged. “We are called Guardians, my dear. Guardians of the Sword—for reasons too complicated to go into just now. Suffice it to say that our alliance with the British Foreign Office proves mutually beneficial. We perform tasks too difficult and perilous for Whitehall to undertake, and the official connection helps us to protect our identities and to explain away our clandestine activities.”

“What sort of clandestine activities?” Antonia quizzed, unable to hide her amazement.

“They vary considerably. For the past several decades, we have endeavored to meet the challenges fomented by the French Revolution and Napoleon’s subsequent attempt to conquer the known world. Saving imprisoned aristocrats from the guillotine, for instance. Striving to bring about Bonaparte’s defeat in any manner possible. We even have several female members in our order, since there are some tasks better suited to women. But few people realize the vast extent of our organization or know the remarkable tale of our inception. Your father was one.”

“My father knew about your order?” Antonia echoed in surprise.

“Yes. Samuel was an invaluable ally to us. He supplied ships to the Guardians for many years.”

A memory of her father unexpectedly welled in
Antonia’s mind—his booming laughter, his bold, powerful personality, his ardent notions about class and gender and society.

He had never mentioned a word to her about a secret league of protectors called the Guardians. But then, she was a mere female, and more crucially, a
lady.
Her father had always purposely shielded her from his business affairs. It wasn’t surprising that he hadn’t trusted her with the secret.

Nor had Deverill, for that matter, Antonia realized suddenly. The reflection made her wonder why Sir Gawain was telling her now.

“I suppose Deverill is a member of your order?” Antonia prodded.

“He is indeed. But he would never divulge our existence because he swore an oath of secrecy.”

“Then why are
you
telling me, Sir Gawain?”

“Because I would like our special relationship with Maitland Shipping to continue. That was out of the question once Lord Heward became involved in the company’s business affairs. But if you find it necessary to replace your Director Trant, I hope to persuade you to hire someone supportive of our order’s endeavors.”

“I expect you could persuade me,” Antonia replied quite seriously, although her mouth curved in a smile.

Sir Gawain’s return smile held gratification, before he pursed his lips thoughtfully, as if debating whether to continue. “There is a further reason for my divulgences, my dear—one perhaps even more important than desiring your patronage. I wish you to see that there is far more to Deverill than meets the eye.”

Antonia’s brows drew together. “I never doubted it. I always suspected he was more than an adventurer.”

“He is worth any ten noblemen, my dear.”

It was a puzzling comment, but Antonia was thinking about her previous interactions with Deverill. Perhaps his being a Guardian also helped explain why he’d been so adamant about rescuing her from her betrothed’s clutches. And why he had always made her feel safe and cared for—at least when he wasn’t provoking her to distraction. He belonged to a league of protectors whose duty was to defend others.

It certainly made sense now why Deverill had no desire to live in England and run her father’s shipping empire.

“I wanted Deverill to become the company’s director,” she mused aloud, “but he declined. He claimed he cherished his freedom too much to settle down in such a routine role.”

“That is partly true,” Sir Gawain replied. “He cherishes his freedom so he can devote his life to
our cause. His work is not only his vocation but his passion—as it is for all of us who serve the order. Yet Deverill is even more driven than the rest of us. Not only because he believes fiercely in our noble ideals, but because he has made it his personal mission to save others.”

Antonia’s eyes locked with Sir Gawain’s in understanding. “Because he couldn’t save his crew.”

Sir Gawain raised an eyebrow. “You know of his captivity in a Turkish prison?”

“He . . . mentioned it. I can only imagine what a terrible experience that must have been for him.”

“Indeed, it was. And it has driven him ever since. When he was invited to join our order, Deverill leapt at the chance.”

“So he could atone for the men he couldn’t save.”

Sir Gawain nodded sadly. “I believe it is his way of trying to redeem himself. Of paying penance for his failure.”

And Deverill was still seeking redemption, Antonia realized. Still punishing himself for his failure. The thought wrenched her heart.

“To my mind, Deverill has paid his penance a hundred times over,” the baronet added quietly, “but he won’t accept it. I would guess that is partly why he has never settled down in marriage. Because he will not allow himself the possibility of contentment, of happiness.”

Antonia thought the comment odd, as was Sir Gawain’s speculative regard of her, but she made no issue of it. “Thank you for telling me about Deverill, Sir Gawain.”

“Yes, well . . . I love him like a son.” There was an awkward pause before he ventured to observe, “Your father also thought quite highly of Deverill, you know.”

“Yes, he did. He would have been pleased to see Deverill take the reins of his own life’s work.”

Sir Gawain suddenly looked uncertain. “That is not quite what I meant, my dear—”

Just then Antonia’s fishing line jerked, and she had to grab at the rod to keep it from slipping through her hands. The next instant the line went slack, and when they pulled in the line, the hook was gone.

Sir Gawain shook his head with regret, but Antonia was more disappointed by the untimely interruption. “What were you saying about Deverill, Sir Gawain?” she asked as he began to thread another hook and rebait it.

“Never mind, my dear.” His smile was a trifle wry. “An old man should know better than to interfere in affairs that are not his purview. Now, enough of this serious talk. We don’t want to drive the fish away.”

He changed the subject then, and spoke of other things, leaving Antonia to puzzle over his enigmatic comments on her own. Yet he had given her a great deal to ponder.

When they returned home from fishing, Antonia promised herself, she intended to go straight to her rooms, where she could be alone with her thoughts about Deverill.

Isabella intercepted her, however, as soon as she stepped foot in the entrance hall. “I trust you won’t mind if I steal you away after luncheon, Antonia. Clara has been asking for you, and you have yet to properly admire Baby Jonathan. I hoped we could spend the afternoon with them.”

“Of course, Isabella, I would enjoy that. But first allow me to change my gown. I caught my first fish today, and I doubtless smell of trout.”

Antonia curbed her impatience throughout the congenial luncheon with Sir Gawain and Lady Isabella, and then for several more hours during her visit with Lady Kenard and Baby Jonathan. The afternoon passed pleasantly enough. Antonia duly praised the tiny child and, on the return carriage ride home, listened as Isabella sang the infant’s praises.

“He is a squirming little red-faced bundle,” Bella pronounced, “but admittedly precious. I vow holding him almost makes me regret never having children of my own.”

“You did not want children?” Antonia asked curiously.

Isabella forced a smile, but Antonia could see the sadness behind it. “I was barren, my dear. Even with three husbands, I never was able to conceive.” She gave a dismissive laugh. “But I was much too busy traveling the world and having adventures to lament the absence of offspring. I had a marvelous life full of passion and excitement, Antonia, with two husbands whom I adored and who adored me. That more than made up for my loss, I assure you. And even now I am hardly ancient. I may yet experience another grand passion, one never knows.”

Observing the countess’s vivacious beauty, Antonia smiled with genuine warmth. “I’ll warrant the odds are greatly in your favor.”

“I wish the odds favored you more,” Isabella said with a shrewd look. “I cannot like the thought of you settling for a marriage of convenience. But that is precisely what you will do when you return to London, is it not?”

Antonia cast a glance at the driver perched in the coachman’s box. Although the landau was open in front with the forward half of the double hood folded back, their conversation couldn’t be heard over the rattle of carriage wheels and horses’ hooves.

Even so, she lowered her voice when she replied. “Yes, Isabella, I will make a marriage of convenience when I return. But I have always known what fate held in store for me, and I willingly accepted it. Marrying into the nobility was the only thing my father ever asked of me. It is not, however, just my duty as a daughter that obliges me, but my love for him as well.”

“I understand, my dear, but duty can be a cold bedfellow.”

Averting her gaze from Isabella’s much too perceptive one, Antonia pretended to study the passing Cornish landscape as a bittersweet ache filled her. She wished there
were
something more in her future when she
returned home to London than an insipid union of convenience.

“You could always wed Deverill,” Isabella suggested equably. “Sir Gawain supports the match as much as I do, did you guess?”

Antonia turned back to regard the countess in surprise. Was that what Sir Gawain had been insinuating earlier today? That Deverill would make her a good husband? She’d thought he was hinting her away, trying to make her understand why Deverill would never want to assume control of Maitland Shipping. But perhaps the baronet had meant something quite different. Nevertheless . . .

“You know a match between us is out of the question, Isabella,” Antonia replied quietly.

“I believe Deverill is still willing to wed you.”

“Perhaps, but only because his sense of honor won’t allow him to shirk what he sees as his duty. He has no desire to be tied down in marriage. Any union between us would be one of convenience, not love. Deverill is not the kind of man to allow himself to fall in love, Isabella.”

“But it is possible to win the heart of such a man.”

Antonia felt her own heart give a sudden leap. “How?”

Isabella’s smile was very feminine. “An adventurer like Deverill responds best to a woman who understands his need for independence. One who will not chain him with demands and pleas or interfere with his life’s calling. A woman as brave and daring and adventuresome as he is. In short, you must prove yourself his match, Antonia.”

Antonia stared. Was it possible for her to prove his match? Deverill had long been her ideal—strong, courageous, bold, exciting—and discovering the noble cause he served had only increased her admiration and respect for him.

In truth, Sir Gawain’s revelations today had made her feel rather small. What had she ever done that was noble or self-sacrificing? Other than supporting a number of charities, honoring her father’s wishes was the sole thing that could be considered admirable.

But she could change that, Antonia reminded herself. She owned Maitland Shipping. Surely she could use her ownership to aid the Guardians . . . and more importantly, to support Deverill’s calling.

Yet that didn’t mean she could win his heart. He most certainly didn’t want to be tied down in a marriage of convenience to her. He wanted the freedom to be a Guardian.

At least now, however, she better understood why Deverill had been just as willing as she to keep their relationship on a physical plane. Why he seemed resistant to forming any long-term emotional bonds, any entanglements.

Was it even possible for him to form a deeper attachment for her? she wondered. Could he give up his self-imposed penance if he knew she could help his cause rather than hinder it? Could he ever allow himself to love her?

Her thoughts agitated, Antonia returned her gaze to the passing countryside. No doubt it was a foolish fantasy to think of having a future with Deverill. He had merely given her an unforgettable experience, had taught her about pleasure, about passion, nothing more.

But it isn’t only passion that I feel for him,
her heart whispered.