Queen (Regency Refuge 3) (12 page)

Isabel's eyes widened, while his father’s face took on a waxy patina.

"You went to the minister with your evidence." The weight lifted from Owen's chest. "You tried to get Isabel back." His father nodded. "He refused."

The senior Loring nodded again.

"And he threatened me. What did he say to make you back off?"

Owen's father aged before his eyes. "He was a minister working with the War Department. Maybe he was trying to subvert
it from within. For all I knew, the whole department was in on it with him." Mr. Loring shook his head slowly, defeat reflected in his eyes. "The minister knew you had an interest in serving your country, and he told me… Nay, he promised me he would recruit you for government security work and that you would be dead within your first week."

His pacing came to a stop, and Owen rested his hand on Isabel's shoulder. "So you kept quiet, and he rejected me when I first approached him about working for the War Department."

"I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't let him hurt you. You're my son." Mr. Loring's voice broke on the last word. "I told him if he laid a hand on you, I'd kill him, and I meant every word, but I'm not sure I'd have known how to follow through. I am nothing but a small businessman ill-equipped for confrontation."

Isabel reached up and squeezed Owen's hand before addressing his father. "You did what you needed to do. I bear you no ill will for that."

Mr. Loring swiped at his face with the kerchief again. Then he rose from his seat behind the desk and came around to where Isabel sat. He held out his hands to her, and she placed hers in his. She stood and allowed him to pull her into an embrace. "I am so sorry for the loss of your parents and for the lost years since. I wish I had known how to do more."

Owen watched a moment as Isabel returned the embrace. Then he slipped out the study door and climbed the grand staircase two steps at a time. Without a sound, he collected the puzzle box from his former room and returned down the stairs. He paused outside the study door, which he'd left open.

"I can see he has feelings for you."

His father's voice gave him pause. Did he want to eavesdrop on Isabel's response?

Owen stepped through the door in time to catch Isabel's blush before it faded. Her face told him as much as her words would have if he'd stayed outside the door and allowed her to comment on his father's observation.

"Here, Father." Owen held out the box. "I never learned how to open it. Since you put the documents in the box, you must know how."

Mr. Loring picked up the wooden contraption carved to look like a small treasure chest, and with a handful of swift movements, he triggered the latch that opened a panel to a hidden compartment within the base. He slid the whole thing toward Owen, who lifted the fat packet of papers from within.

He weighed it in his hand, his mind spinning off in too many directions, before turning to Isabel. "We leave immediately."

"Won't you say hello to your mother before you go?" Mr. Loring held out a hand, imploring.

Owen took care to tuck the folded pages into an inner pocket in his waistcoat.

Meanwhile, Isabel stood and offered Mr. Loring a gracious smile. "I'm afraid Parliament wants Owen's head. And perhaps some other parts, too. We need to return with the evidence so he can prove to them he hasn't been erroneously fleeing their custody."

Mr. Loring's face lost its color again.

Owen tipped an imaginary hat to Isabel. "Go collect our bags. I'll meet you at the stable."

She gave him a grand curtsy. "Your wish is my command, sir." Then she giggled as she stood. Isabel gave Mr. Loring another quick hug and a kiss on his cheek with a whispered, "Don't worry. I'll take care of him," before she scurried toward the door. Throwing the words over her shoulder, she reproofed Owen. "Don't you dare leave me waiting."

"Wouldn't dream of it, m'lady."

Once Isabel was gone, Owen stared at his father, swallowing hard. "I owe you an apology."

"I can't blame you for suspecting me. I loathed myself for many a year because I was not strong enough to stand up to him."

Owen pulled his father into a tight hug. "No blame. No recrimination. I need to go take care of this mess and see to something on the western coast. After that, I expect to have a nice long sabbatical. I'll come visit you and Mum then. Maybe… maybe I'll be able to make it for Christmas this year."

The senior Mr. Loring squeezed his arms around his son. "I never wanted you in this line of work, but I am ever so proud of you for being the sort of man who wants to do right by his country."

Owen stepped back and pulled in a long draught of air. He nodded to his father before leaving the study and his childhood home behind. His step was lighter than it had been in days, possibly weeks.

So, if Father was not responsible for Isabel's parents' deaths…
He grinned at his own ridiculous thoughts. How does one go about asking to court a woman such as Isabel?
Pardon me, but since my father didn't cause your father's death, might you consider taking a turn around the dance floor with me?

Owen shook his head.
It might serve me well to leave off all mention of our parents.

"Is everything all right?"

He glanced over to see Isabel eyeing him from where she stood with Buttercup. He'd been paying so little attention, he'd not even realized he'd made it to the stables. "Everything's fine."

"You've got an odd look on your face. You're not going to be ill, are you?"

Owen stepped around
Despiadado
and put his hands on Isabel's upper arms. Her eyes widened before he leaned in. He held her loosely so she could break away at any time if she wished. She didn't pull back, though, and he felt the soft warmth of her lips beneath his own.

After that first touch, he couldn't help himself. Owen brought one hand up to feel her hair, but that proved not to be enough for him. He wanted the silken strands to run through his fingers, and before he could stop himself, he'd dug his hand into her hair and sent pins flying in every direction. Rather than break off the kiss, he deepened it, pulling her so close he could feel the racing beat of her heart against his chest.

He at last found the will to pull back from the kiss but still didn't step away. Owen looked into Isabel's blue eyes. They were darker than he'd ever seen. Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips were ripe with color. She looked like a woman who had been good and thoroughly kissed.

"We'd best be on our way." His words came out slow. He'd meant to make her laugh, but he didn't seem to have complete control of his faculties. He was confounded with having kissed her.

Isabel slipped away from Owen's arms and used the mounting block to gain Buttercup's back. Once she was seated, she gave Owen a single nod. "Do that again without my permission, and I'll flog you myself."

"Well, then. Shall I ask in advance? If you give me permission now, I'll already be set for the next time."

She gave him a severe frown for all of two seconds before the smile behind it broke through. She shook her head. "You're insufferable."

"You're beautiful."

"Hmph. You are taxing," was her rejoinder.

"And you are breathtaking."

Isabel rolled her eyes before signaling Buttercup. Together they were off, and Owen was left standing next to his horse, facing the slack-jawed expressions of the stable hands unlucky enough to have witnessed the whole scene. He mounted
Despiadado
, gave the boys a broad smile, and said, "She wasn't jesting about the flogging, either."

Then he wheeled
Despiadado
around and took off after the woman in question. His mind wasn't fully on the ride. He couldn't stop thinking about that kiss.

Isabel tasted like forever.

The members of Parliament did not appreciate being kept waiting. In retribution, they made Owen wait for his opportunity to speak to them. The delay put them early into the second week of December, but the closed meeting had at last been convened, and Owen had been called in to defend his actions. He'd been warned that some members of Parliament wanted him in the Tower of London for his subversive actions.

"Have faith," Rupert had told him. "Most of these men don't comprehend what you do. Explain and help them understand the importance of being allowed freedom to do your job."

No pressure.

He was led into a meeting room where fifteen dour-faced, prey-hungry men scrutinized him. Though he'd not met any of them before, he recognized several. The group had segregated itself into two components — those from the House of Commons and those, of which there was a slightly higher number, from the House of Lords. Some of the men had rheumy eyes and skin sagging after decades of use. Others speared him with keen gazes. This was not going to be an easy meeting. All in all, Owen would have rather been on safari in Africa facing a wild lion. At least he'd know what such a beast wanted with him.

"Mr. Loring, thank you for condescending to appear before us today." Owen didn't know the man's name, but he easily recognized the sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"I apologize for my delay. The necessity was unavoidable."

A man with a florid face and bulbous nose spoke next. "Several charges have been brought against you, but due to the sensitive nature of these accusations, a private meeting was in order. You are not under arrest at this time, but we do need you to speak for your actions over the last several weeks."

Owen nodded. "Of course, my lord. Where do you wish me to begin?"

Florid Face seemed to be the one in charge. "Tell us what took you so long to meet with us. One would think being called before members of Parliament would be adequate motivation to rearrange one's schedule."

Owen took a deep breath and reached into his coat pocket. "Charles Enderly, one of your ministers without portfolio, now deceased, was involved in treasonous acts against the Crown."

Gasps echoed around the room, and anger flared to life until it crackled like a live thing running rampant. Florid Face's voice was harsh. "You will explain yourself at once, young man."

"These documents show, going back at least twenty years, Enderly offered financial support to a conspiracy against England. He helped to fund the French at Trafalgar, and he financed a foiled attack on the London Docks. In addition, as soon as Mr. Ian Thorpe discovered the nature of Enderly's business, Enderly fabricated evidence against him. This led to the execution of Ian and Henrietta Thorpe for crimes they never would have dreamed of committing."

Rumblings swept through the room, but Florid Face didn't tell him to stop, so Owen continued.

"Mr. Thorpe's business partner tried to take in the surviving heir, a daughter, but Enderly took her and forced her into service to the War Department. She was twelve at the time, and she escaped several attempts on her life during her first year in service. I can only surmise Enderly was trying to clean up the mess he'd made, but God protected her, and she survived."

"You expect us to believe Enderly worked against the Crown?" The question had a bite to it, but Owen couldn't tell which of the disgruntled men had voiced it.

"We all know Lysander Enderly was a traitor. He sold England's secrets to the highest bidder, and when he ran out of secrets to sell, he became a killer for hire. His kind is the reason the War Department was created to begin with." The anger from earlier had faded into bitter denial and became a palpable thing, an entity of its own that swirled through the room and tried to choke Owen's voice.

The men from the House of Lords and House of Commons were closing rank. Owen pushed back against their resistance and continued. "That his father, Charles Enderly, had his tentacles deeply embedded in that selfsame War Department is no secret. I'm sure many of you wonder how Lysander became so evil if he was raised in a home that valued England's sovereignty so highly. The son may have garnered more notice, but I would hypothesize that he learned his ways from his father, the minister."

"Let me see these documents of yours." Florid Face spoke again.

Owen hesitated. "No offense intended, my lord, but I can't afford for this evidence to disappear. Can I trust you?"

The man's face became even more flushed.

With a sigh, Owen handed over the documents. Isabel had assured him it would be all right. Even if nothing came of the day's proceedings, if her parents were never officially cleared, she would be fine. She'd seen the proof and knew without a doubt her parents had done no wrong. What the English government had to say about the loving people who had raised her no longer mattered to her.

Florid Face studied the documents, grunted several times, then glared at Owen. "This explains the past fortnight. Now, pray tell, can you explain why you went against direct orders and took an assignment on England's coast, overreaching your jurisdiction? And why you evaded the agents in the area, attempted to keep your activities a secret, and, whereupon being summoned, refused to return to London?"

They made
him
sound like the traitor.

"I was working at a local London bank in an attempt to determine whether or not there was any basis to rumors of the bank funding the French. I found no evidence of such a scheme, but instead discovered some unusual transactions from the bank's branch in Gloucester. Since I was already with the bank, it was easy enough for me, under my alias, to transfer to the Gloucester branch. Establishing the cover for a local agent would have taken too long. So I went."

Florid Face raised a hand. "Why would it take too long to get another agent into place?"

"Good question." Owen tried to smile, but either the men had no sense of humor, or his smile looked like an attacking buzzard to them. "I checked into the likelihood of a new employee being hired in Gloucester and was told most applicants wait a year or more before getting an interview. A transfer from the London branch circumvented that."

Before anyone interrupted to tell him how wrong he'd been, Owen went on. "A handful of families with aberrant transactions had accounts at the Gloucester branch. I suspected they were funding an illegal activity of some sort or investing their money together in a joint venture. I tried to hire on as a bookkeeper with some of the different families and found my way in with the Rutherford household. Viscount Rutherford had recently passed away, and the Dowager Viscountess Rutherford was anxious to have his books in order."

"And did you learn anything of value while invading this family's privacy?" Florid Face's expression soured.

The agitation among the members of Parliament had increased again as soon as Owen had mentioned Viscount Rutherford. He had been a peer, a member of the House of Lords, and very likely friends with at least some of the men in the room. After his accusations against Enderly, it was no wonder the men tensed at Rutherford's name. They no doubt thought Owen was going to accuse him of something untoward as well.

Owen took a deep breath and tried to put the men's concerns to rest. "Yes, my lord. I assume you are all aware of the treaty talks with the colonies regarding the Columbia District."

Grumbling again echoed around the room. Owen couldn't make out the words, but he had an idea.
How dare this young upstart know something about that!

"Viscount Rutherford discovered a plot to sway the outcome of that treaty. I've no idea in which direction it is to be swayed. Nonetheless, I believe I know the means. Before he could do anything about it, Viscount Rutherford died under… delicate circumstances."

Earl Pembrook, one of the men Owen recognized, stood and demanded, "What are you insinuating?"

Owen swallowed. "I mean no disrespect, my lord. By all accounts, he was a good and honorable man. The circumstances of his death, however, are mysterious."

Color drained from the earl's face. "Murder?"

"I can't say for certain and shan't speculate at this time."

Florid Face's eyes narrowed, and his lips thinned. "How convenient for you. Tell us about this evidence, then."

The earl regained his seat, but it was clear the man had been shaken.

Owen addressed Pembrook first, saying, "I'm terribly sorry for the loss of your friend and colleague." Then he turned back to Florid Face. "A ship is coming from the colonies, and it has a package of some sort on it. We believe whatever is in that package will be used to control the outcome of the treaty."

"Have you any idea what's in the package?"

"I suspect it will be gold."

On cue, the sound of stunned gasps filled the room.

Florid Face frowned. "Columbia District has gold?"

Owen gave a slight shake of his head. "I don't know yet. There are a dozen different ways this could go. The gold could simply be a bribe. It could be from Columbia as a way to prove to England the District is worth fighting for. Or it could be from anywhere else and somebody is going to claim it's from Columbia for the exact same reason. Anything I could say at this point is pure supposition. That package should hold the information needed to uncover the extent and nature of the plot, telling us what the next move should be."

Murmurs filled the small room until Florid Face rapped his cane against the floor. The other men quieted, and the man in charge once again addressed Owen. "We are interested in what you think of the dissolution of the War Department and the creation of the Agency of Foreign Constabulary."

Owen gulped.
Oh dear. Lord, give me wisdom.
"I understand why the Department was shut down. After Lysander… It made sense, and I have no argument with that."

"And the Agency?"

"The agency is poorly run. Men who spend their lives handling the political needs of a country have taken over running an internationally active but invisible constabulary of sorts with no foreknowledge of how missions are handled or how agents interact with each other."

"So you feel Parliament has failed?" Fifteen pairs of eyes bored into Owen.

"I believe Parliament has much to learn and that it would best be served if it appointed a single member to oversee the Foreign Constabulary, someone who is able to handle matters with calm efficiency, facilitate communication between the different divisions, and give regular reports to Parliament about the goings-on of the Agency."

"And you've someone in mind for this job?"

"Aye, I do, but I'm afraid if I tell you who it is, you'll go out of your way to pick anyone but him." Owen wished the words back, but it was too late. They'd flown from his mouth and now circled about the room with flapping wings that sounded of his own defeat.

Then Florid Face did something unusual. Out of character. Bizarre. He winked.