The Lover (49 page)

“Along with your charm and looks,” Thorne interjected. “And the fact that you’re a celebrated war hero. Have you any notion how many men would kill to be in your shoes?”

Max returned a pained smile. “I would rather be anywhere else than here. Back on your island, for example.”

Thorne shook his head. “I’m not certain that would be an improvement. Cyrene has more than its share of marriage-minded debs. There are some two dozen British families who lead society there. They have their own little ton and can be quite as ruthless as London’s Upper Ten Thousand.”

“I would be willing to risk it just for a little peace.”

Thorne gave him a scrutinizing glance. “Ah, I fancy I know what your problem is. You were infected.”

“Infected?”

“By Cyrene’s spell. It gets in your blood.”

Taking another swallow of brandy, Max shook his head. “I heard something about a mythical spell, but I don’t believe such things.”

“Even so, the island affects some people strangely. It has seductive qualities that can be downright dangerous.”

That much was true, Max agreed silently. He had found it enchanting, seductive, beguiling….

“Is that why you settled there?” he asked his friend. “You were seduced by the island?”

To his surprise, Thorne gave an enigmatic smile. “In part. But Cyrene has other appealing traits that aren’t apparent at first glance.” Thorne paused. “Perhaps you should visit there after all. The tranquillity might do you good.”

“I certainly haven’t found tranquillity here,” Max muttered, eyeing a blond-haired widow who was scanning the ballroom, doubtless in search of him.

“Then come home with me at Christmas,” Thorne said. “I have obligations that will keep me in London until then, but I plan to spend the holiday on Cyrene and would be delighted to have you join me.”

“I could easily be persuaded. I’m eager to see for myself that Yates has recovered.” And to meet a certain ministering angel again…

He knew better than to bring up the subject, but the question seemed to be dragged out of him. “What do you hear about Miss Evers?”

“Caro?” Thorne’s eyebrow rose with curiosity. “Ah, I recall you met her when she nursed Yates.” He smiled slowly as if recalling a fond memory. “Why, she’s as singular as ever. Caro tends to set the blue-blooded denizens of Cyrene on their ears with regularity.”

“She did strike me as rather unconventional.”

“She is that indeed,” Thorne said with a low laugh that suddenly faltered. “What in blazes…?” His eyes narrowed. “Speak of the devil.”

Following his gaze through the palm fronds, Max glanced past the throngs of dancers toward the main entrance to the ballroom. A woman stood there, looking starkly out of place among the begowned, bejeweled, be-feathered ladies. She wore plain, dark traveling clothes, and she was searching the crowd impatiently.

Max felt every muscle in his body tense. He recognized her from his dreams. The proud carriage of her slender body. The delicate strength in the set of her jaw. The compassion in her healing touch…

Wondering if he was dreaming, Max blinked rapidly, just as Thorne said in a suddenly terse tone, “Excuse me. Caro may be looking for me. I need to discover what brought her here.”

As his friend strode away, Max remained where he stood, feeling slightly stunned. Like Thorne, he had no idea what had brought Caro Evers here to London, specifically to Lady Hennessy’s ballroom.

Yet he had no doubt whatsoever why his life had suddenly brightened.

Relief flooded Caro when she spied Thorne approaching. At least she wouldn’t have to search further for him.

When he reached her, she forced herself to return his smile of welcome, knowing that she was the object of countless curious stares. The notoriety didn’t bother her—she was fully accustomed to it by now. But no one needed to suspect that she and Lord Christopher Thorne were anything more than longtime acquaintances and neighbors, or that she had come here to fetch him for an urgent mission.

“Did you just arrive in London?” he murmured as he bent gallantly over her hand.

“Yes. I called at your house but was told I could find you here. Thorne, it is Isabella. She has been taken captive.”

His pleasant smile never wavered, although a spark of dark emotion flared in his eyes. “I am delighted to see you again, Miss Evers. Come, you can give me all the news from home.”

Tucking her arm in his, he ushered her from the ballroom and along the elegant corridor to a large library.

Caro shivered as he closed the door behind them. A fire had been lit in the grate, but it was still far colder here than home on her beautiful island.

“So tell me what happened,” Thorne said brusquely, all business now that the need for pretense was over.

“Isabella was returning home three weeks ago when her ship was overrun by pirates. Thorne, it’s almost certain she has been enslaved.”

“Sit down and start from the beginning,” he suggested as she began to pace.

“I couldn’t possibly sit. I have been doing nothing but sitting on board a schooner for two weeks now. I wish it didn’t take so blasted long to reach London!”

“Well, you won’t do Isabella any good by wearing out my aunt’s carpet,” Thorne retorted. “Would you care for some sherry?”

His pragmatic tone had a calming effect. Taking a deep breath, Caro moved over to the hearth and held out her gloved hands while Thorne went to a table and poured her a glass of sherry.

Memories rushed through her mind as she stared at the flames. Lady Isabella Wilde was her dearest friend—a beautiful Spanish widow who frequently traveled the globe, living life as she pleased. The adventuresome Isabella had been like a mother to her, ever since Caro’s own mother died when she was a girl. Isabella was also a role model of independent thinking and had encouraged her in countless ways to pursue her dreams.

Caro was fiercely determined to free her friend from captivity—and so were all the other Guardians. There was no question they would mount a rescue. Caro had come directly to London to give Thorne his orders.

He handed her a full wineglass, then settled himself on a sofa while she explained the facts they had pieced together after Isabella went missing—facts that suggested she’d been taken captive by Barbary corsairs.

“We actually had little information to go on. When Isabella’s ship never arrived, we sent out inquiries. There had been no storms that week, or any other reason to suggest it might have sunk. And then we learned that a vessel flying an Algerian flag had been sighted in the packet’s wake.”

“And there has been no word of Bella since? No demands for ransom?”

“None. Sir Gawain sent two agents to Tripoli just in case our intelligence was mistaken, but the odds are greater that she was taken to Algiers.”

“And Sir Gawain wants me to go directly to Algiers to search for her?”

“Yes.”

“Doubtless he understands the difficulty in locating her there.”

Caro nodded. From what she’d heard, Algiers was a large, crowded city with dwellings crammed together like rabbit warrens. And the country itself—the Kingdom of Algiers—was a vast expanse of rugged mountain and hostile desert.

Her sherry remaining untouched, Caro set her glass on the mantle to reach into her reticule. Drawing out a thin sheaf of folded papers, she handed them to Thorne.

“All the particulars are here,” she said. “Everything we have planned thus far…each of our assignments, including yours.”

Thorne pursued the details quickly, not questioning why Caro had come personally to deliver his orders. The Guardians often communicated by mail dispatches and carrier pigeon, but this assignment was too important to risk being lost.

Caro shuddered to think of what might have happened to her friend. It was hoped that Isabella’s dark beauty and elegant manners would have spared her the fate of many slaves—a terrible life of toil and beatings—and landed her instead in some wealthy lord’s harem. The Kingdom of Algiers was ruled by a Turkish dey, who governed from a massive castle. If Isabella was imprisoned there, breaking her out might be next to impossible.

Yet first they had to find her. A half dozen Guardians were in Algiers now, seeking information, while several others had been recalled to Cyrene in the event they had to mount a rescue.

Thorne looked up from studying his orders. “Hawk is leading the search in Algiers,” he verified, “and I am to link up with him there.”

“Exactly. And I don’t need to tell you how imperative it is that you proceed quickly.”

He nodded. “I’ll leave tomorrow morning, as soon as I arrange a few details to put my current assignment on hold.”

The light of anticipation in Thorne’s eyes greatly encouraged Caro. For the first time in weeks, she felt her taut nerves relax the slightest measure. She was infinitely glad to have Lord Christopher Thorne on their side.

She had known he would be eager to participate in the rescue, since he loved the thrill of danger. And of all the Guardians besides Caro, he was closest to Isabella, so he understood perfectly her anxiety for her friend.

Thorne rose from the sofa and crossed to her, taking her gloved hands in his larger, stronger ones. “We’ll find her; never doubt it.”

Caro smiled faintly. She was far more troubled about this mission than any previous one, doubtless because she had such a high personal stake in the outcome. “It is just so frustrating to be this helpless. I cannot stop seeing her at the mercy of some cruel master. She is all alone, Thorne—”

“Have you considered another possibility? That Isabella may look upon her captivity as an adventure rather than a tragedy?”

He was trying to reassure her, Caro realized, yet he did have a point. Most women would be terrified to be enslaved by Barbary pirates, but the spirited Isabella was far more resourceful and enterprising than any normal woman. If anyone was a survivor, it was she.

But still it distressed Caro immeasurably that they couldn’t even begin to make detailed plans until they discovered exactly where Isabella was being held, and until the other Guardians gathered on Cyrene, which could take weeks or even months.

“You are right, of course,” she murmured. “But I shall go mad with nothing to do but wait.”

Thorne chucked her under the chin. “Oh, no, my girl, you won’t get off so easily. At the moment I have the perfect task for you. You may make my excuses to my aunt. She won’t be eager to free me from my promise to squire my cousin around London.”

“Why me?”

“Because Aunt Hennessy likes you. And she will be more willing to forgive me if you ask it of her.”

Lady Hennessy had sponsored Caro’s disastrous London season years before and held her in affection, despite the scandal she had inadvertently caused.

“Just tell her that Bella has gone missing, and that I’m needed to rescue her.” He lead Caro to the library door and opened it. “Do you mean to stay here tonight?”

“If Lady Hennessy will allow me.”

“I have no doubt she will—if you promise not to cause a scene at her ball. She is still trying to live down your disastrous season.”

Color rose in her cheeks at his teasing. “Of course I won’t cause a scene. I intend to make myself scarce as soon as I speak to her.”

“She will be grateful, I’m sure.” Thorne turned to go, then glanced back over his shoulder. “Oh, and Caro? One other thing you may do for me…Extend my apologies to Max Leighton.”

Caro felt every nerve in her body tighten. “Major Leighton is here?” she asked, her voice a bit too high and breathless.

“
Mr.
Leighton. He’s a civilian now. But you should know that. He is in all the society pages.”

She did know. Sir Gawain had all the newspapers shipped to Cyrene weekly so he could keep up with current events in both the world and in the Beau Monde.

“Why must you apologize to him?” Caro asked, trying to appear casual.

“Because I dragged him to this ball so he could keep me company. It was a supreme sacrifice on his part, considering how persistently the ladies are hounding him. I regret having to abandon him to their sweet mercies. Tell Max I am sorry and that my invitation to him to visit Cyrene at Christmas still stands.”

Caro lowered her gaze to hide her dismay. “If I see him,” she answered reluctantly, “I will give him your message.”