The Bachelor

by Jeffries, Sabrina

  “I hope you’re right.” Though she was no longer sure about anything concerning Joshua.

  “Do you love him?” Beatrice asked.

  The question caught Gwyn completely off guard.

  “I mean,” Beatrice went on hastily, “I know you said you haven’t talked about it, but—”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure how I feel. If wanting to hold him close one minute and strangle him the next is love—”

  “It sure as the devil is part of it.” Beatrice glanced away. “But mostly it’s about trust . . . trusting someone enough to know that no matter what you tell them, they’ll be on your side, and it won’t change how they feel about you. That’s why you should never give your heart to someone you don’t trust.”

  Despite everything, Gwyn did trust Joshua. Or she did now anyway. She was just afraid she’d lose him once he found out that she might be childless for life. If she’d ever really had him.

  “I’m going to tell you something I probably shouldn’t,” Beatrice said, “because my brother said it to me privately, although not in confidence. But I love him enough to want what’s best for him, and I think you’re what’s best for him.”

  Gwyn said nothing, just looked at Beatrice expectantly.

  “The night I caught you two together,” Beatrice went on, “I threatened him if he ever harmed you, and he said, ‘I would never harm her. Not as long as I live and breathe.’ Those are strong words for Joshua. And though I think he was embarrassed afterward to have shown so much of his true feelings, I also think he meant them.”

  Shock rippled through Gwyn. They were strong words, so strong that she could hardly imagine him saying them. But Beatrice wouldn’t lie about something like that. Gwyn knew it, as surely as she knew that Joshua wouldn’t hurt her in one of his rages. Not physically anyway.

  Would he hurt her in other ways? Next time they argued, would he accuse her of having been with another man before marriage? And if they were unable to have children, would he throw that back at her, too?

  She didn’t think so, but she wasn’t sure.

  Beatrice squeezed her shoulder. “The thing about love is, it’s like drinking fire and trusting it not to burn you, though it seems to burn everyone else. It means trusting someone when by all accounts you shouldn’t. Because you know, somewhere deep in your heart, that the person you’re trusting is worthy of that.”

  “I trusted Lionel,” she ventured.

  “Did you? Truly? Or was there an annoying voice in your head that said he would hurt you in the end?”

  Gwyn tried to put herself in her younger self’s shoes. She remembered how she’d felt when Lionel had flirted with other women in Berlin. She remembered being unsure, even then, of whether he wanted her for herself or for her fortune. Lionel had managed to assuage that fear with his fawning flatteries and his pointed attentions, but only barely.

  Meanwhile, her present self knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Joshua had never wanted her for her fortune. Odd, how completely she believed it.

  “There’s a certain amount of risk in falling in love,” Beatrice said. “What you have to ask yourself is, would being with Joshua be worth the risk?”

  Yes.

  Gwyn would endure any pain, any scandal, any risk, to be with him.

  Now if only she could convince him of that.

  Chapter Twenty

  At Thornhill, Joshua was ushered into the inner sanctum—the duke’s study—which was more spacious than the entire downstairs of the dowager house Joshua rented on the Armitage estate. It was sobering, to say the least. But it didn’t change what he’d come to say.

  With a smile, Thornstock rose to greet him. “What brings you here, Major?” Critically, he scanned Joshua’s rough-looking attire. “I thought you were accompanying Lady Hornsby and Gwyn to the opera tonight. But you’re damned well not doing it dressed like that.”

  “It was never settled whether they’d decided to go for certain. Or whether Grey might be the one to go with them.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. Either way, they won’t have to worry about Malet ruining their evening because I intend to beard the lion in his den as soon as I leave here. Hence my deliberately ragged clothes. No point in ruining a perfectly good suit.”

  It was high time Joshua commenced with his work for Fitzgerald, and tonight seemed as good a time as any. It would keep his mind off the beautiful woman he’d managed to insult earlier.

  “Of course,” Joshua went on, “I could have done a much better job of keeping your sister safe in London if you had told me the truth about Malet in the first place, instead of hiring me under false pretenses.”

  Thornstock’s expression showed nothing. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You should have informed me that Lionel Malet pursued your sister ten years ago. That he didn’t just begin going after her a few months ago because he wanted to kidnap and marry an heiress as revenge upon your half brother.”

  The duke dropped heavily into the chair behind his desk. “How did you find out?”

  “Your sister told me.”

  “Recently?”

  Joshua crossed his arms over his chest. “Today, as a matter of fact. So I’m fully aware that you and she both lied to keep me from realizing what was going on. And yes, I’m also aware that when the two of you spoke of Hazlehurst, you really meant Lionel Malet.”

  “Damn.” Thornstock slumped in his chair. “You might as well sit down, Wolfe.” When Joshua did so, the duke asked warily, “What exactly did my sister tell you?”

  Joshua drew in a steadying breath. “That you paid Malet to leave her alone ten years ago. And that you told him you would cut her and him off if he tried to elope with her.”

  “Oh. So, pretty much everything.”

  “‘Pretty much?’ Is there something she left out?”

  The worry knitting Thornstock’s brow demonstrated that the man did care about his sister. “Only things she doesn’t know.”

  That surprised Joshua. “Like what?”

  “For one thing, how much I paid him. I didn’t want her to realize . . .” He dragged one hand through his hair. “How insultingly little it required to buy him off. I told her years ago it was a vast sum. I hope you will not . . . well . . . tell her the truth.”

  “I would never tell her anything that might wound her.” And what was wrong with Malet anyway? Gwyn was worth her weight in gold. How could the idiot not see that?

  Joshua groaned. How could he not see it? He had run her off when all she’d wanted was him, apparently. While that proved that the woman was mad, she wasn’t nearly as mad as Joshua was for not recognizing that she was the best thing ever to happen to him.

  “I know that she and I both lied to you,” Thornstock said, “but—”

  “She had her reasons, embarrassment being primary among them. But what were yours? Why deceive me about your true purpose for hiring me as her bodyguard? Why lie straight to my face—only yesterday, mind you—about the fact that you both knew Malet from before? I could have better handled my task if I’d had that bit of crucial information.”

  “It seems to me you’ve handled it perfectly well so far. And if I’d told you the truth, would you have taken the post?”

  That was a good question, one that Joshua wasn’t sure how to answer. “I might have.”

  “Or not. And I knew that if Malet had the chance to spirit her off, he’d make sure that he ruined her this time. I couldn’t take the chance.”

  If anything proved to Joshua that Thornstock was unaware of Gwyn’s true relationship to Malet, it was that.

  “Besides,” Thornstock went on, “she told me she didn’t want me squiring her everywhere. But I thought she might tolerate you.”

  God, he hoped she was doing better than merely “tolerating” him.

  “Why has this come up now anyway?” Thornstock asked. “The last time I spoke with her privately, before we left Lincolnshire, she and I were in agreement about how much to say. W
hat changed?”

  Malet and his blackmail.

  Joshua wanted to tell her twin about that so badly he could taste it. But if he did, he’d be doing exactly what Gwyn had been worried about all these years—ensuring that Thornstock went off to duel with Malet. And though Joshua sincerely believed Thornstock would get the better of Malet in any such fight, Gwyn would never forgive Joshua for risking it. Or for putting her brother in a situation in which he might be charged with murder.

  If Joshua cared about her, if he wanted her as his wife, he had to respect her wishes. It was as simple as that. And he did want her as his wife. Of that, he was certain. No one else suited him as well as she.

  So what he had to do now was figure out how to gain her hand.

  Thornstock asked again, “Major? What changed?”

  “I saw Malet lurking about while we were shopping today, and when I confronted him, he made some remarks about his past with your sister. That’s why I questioned her later on the subject. But don’t worry: I mean to make short work of him once I get him alone. I daresay he won’t bother her anymore after I’m done with him.”

  With any luck, Malet would be hanging from the gibbet for treason once Joshua was done with him.

  “Did Gwyn hear what he said when you confronted him?”

  “She did.”

  Thornstock looked ill. “Did she indicate whether she still had . . . er . . . feelings for the devil?”

  “I don’t think you have to worry on that score. She makes no bones about the fact that she despises the man.”

  “Good. She told me as much at the estate, but I wasn’t certain whether to believe her. At least she’s seen his true colors at last.” The duke picked up a pencil on his desk and tapped it idly. “Though . . . um . . . I suppose she’s still angry with me for paying Malet to leave.”

  “You’ll have to ask her. Whatever problems you have with your sister, you will have to work out on your own.” Joshua rose. “I won’t spy on her for you anymore.”

  That seemed to startle Thornstock. Then he narrowed his gaze. “Are you smitten by my sister, Major? Will I have to buy you off as well?”

  The words sparked Joshua’s temper. He leaned over the desk and lowered his voice to a threatening murmur. “You’re welcome to try, Your Grace. But I don’t think you’ll like the outcome.” He reached into his greatcoat pocket. “Oh, and that reminds me. Here’s your pistol back.” He set it on the desk. “I’ve acquired weapons of my own, so I won’t be needing yours.”

  “What do you mean?” Thornstock asked in alarm. “That’s supposed to be your compensation for the job. Malet is still out there!”

  “And I intend to protect her from him. I just won’t require any payment for it. Not from you anyway.”

  Leaving the duke gaping after him, Joshua walked out the door.

  Night had already fallen by the time the hackney reached Chelsea. Thornstock’s remarks about Malet had nagged at Joshua the whole way. Malet was still out there. And now that the man had lost the blackmail money he’d counted on, he would be infinitely more dangerous—that was, if Fitzgerald was correct about what Malet hoped to sell.

  There was only one way to find out: slip into the fellow’s rooms at the lodging house and search for whatever documents he might have stowed away. That was assuming Malet was off nursing his wounds in Covent Garden. If he were at the lodging house, Joshua might have to wait a while.

  Then again, a desperate Malet would surely not spend his time in the stews. He needed money and had promised the landlord some. If he left the place, it might be to meet with his French associate to sell whatever he had. Joshua would have to remain flexible on this mission.

  The driver let him out in front of the lodging house and Joshua handed him his payment. But before he could even enter, he spotted Dick the Quick loitering in front of the place.

  At first, the lad didn’t recognize him out of uniform. That wasn’t surprising; Joshua had worn his old greatcoat and a floppy hat he’d bought off a coal heaver after Fitzgerald had commissioned him to spy on Malet.

  But as Joshua neared the lad, Dick narrowed his gaze on him, then came running up. “Major? What brings you here? And dressed like that, too!”

  Joshua pulled the lad aside. “I’m not here as the major, so don’t call me that. There’s a crown in it for you if you can keep my secret, all right?”

  Dick bobbed his head.

  “And there’s two shillings more if you can tell me whether Captain Malet is inside.”

  “He is, sir. Shall I fetch him?”

  “No. I’m going to sit by the window inside that tavern across the way. If you’ll stand inside the lodging house and hurry outside to signal to me when Malet is about to leave, you’ll get another couple of shillings.”

  “Yes, sir! I’ll be on the lookout for him.”

  “Just don’t alert him to my presence.”

  Joshua started to walk across to the tavern and then thought of something else. “One more thing, lad. And it pays much better than the rest, if you can manage it. Assuming that it’s necessary.”

  “Oh, sir, I can manage anything. I told you, I’m your man.”

  “Well, then, here’s what I’d like you to do. If I head off down the street . . .” He explained everything as he kept an eye on the lodging house door. When he was done, Dick assured him that he could carry out the tasks exactly as Joshua commanded.

  Joshua went into the tavern and found a seat by the window. If he planned to be doing this sort of work for a while, he would need assistants—lads like Dick the Quick. What better time to make sure the boy could be trusted?

  He ordered an ale and sat there nursing it for a good hour at least. Then Dick appeared at the door to the lodging house and nodded toward him.

  Pulling down the brim of his floppy hat, Joshua slipped out into the street just in time to see Malet leave the lodging house. Joshua hesitated only a moment. The way Malet was scanning the road told him that the man wasn’t just headed off to Covent Garden for an entertaining evening.

  No, the only reason Malet would be careful not to be followed was if he were off to commit some villainous act, either treason or the kidnapping of Gwyn. Either way, Joshua wasn’t going to waste time searching the man’s room and risk missing Malet’s rendezvous with the enemy . . . or Gwyn. Better to follow the bastard.

  As Joshua made his deliberately slow way behind Malet along the road, he paused to tell Dick, “Here’s the first part of your pay, lad,” and press a guinea into the boy’s hand. “You know what you have to do for the second part.” Then Joshua continued on.

  He was careful not to follow Malet too closely. The man was definitely behaving suspiciously—stopping every block or so to glance around as if looking for anyone after him. Fortunately, it was dark in the streets of Chelsea.

  Besides which, Malet had a way of hunching his shoulders as he was about to stop that warned Joshua to duck out of sight or pretend to be looking in a shop window just as the bastard looked back.

  Nor did it hurt that they were within a stone’s throw of the Royal Hospital, where aging and severely wounded veterans were housed as in-pensioners or treated on an out-pensioner basis. Chelsea pensioners were everywhere, making the sight of a man using a cane even more common than usual.

  Eventually, Malet halted at a tavern and went in. Joshua looked through a window just in time to see the fellow take a seat at a table with another man. Joshua went inside and found a table next to theirs that was empty. Then he held up one finger to the barmaid, who nodded and brought him a mug of ale.

  As he hunched over it, he strained to hear the conversation at the next table.

  “What happened to you?” the stranger asked Malet. His accent was faint, but unmistakable. French, for certain.

  Excitement rose in Joshua’s blood. Fitzgerald had been right, after all.

  “Got into a fight earlier today,” Malet said offhandedly. “Had to show a fellow I wouldn’t tolerate his nonsense.�
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  Joshua downed some ale to keep from snorting.

  “Judging from your black eye and badly swollen cheek, you were on the worse end of that fight,” the Frenchman said.

  “Do you have my money?” Malet asked in an icy voice.

  “If you’ve brought what I asked for.”

  “I have. But it took some blunt to get Wellesley’s memorandum. I had to pay off servants in two households.”

  Two households? Castlereagh and Wellesley’s, no doubt.

  The Frenchman slid a purse across the table. “There is plenty in here to compensate you for whatever expenses you incurred.”

  Malet picked it up and looked inside, then smiled as he tucked the purse into his coat pocket. He removed a thin sheaf of papers from his other coat pocket and set them in the center of the table. “Then this is for you, monsieur.”

  “Don’t call me that, you imbecile.” The Frenchman cast a look about the tavern, then leaned forward to hiss, “I don’t need a mob of angry Englishmen chasing me down the street.”

  That was Joshua’s cue. He rose and took a few steps to the empty chair between them at their table. As they looked up, startled, he sat down and said, “I hope you’ll settle for one angry Englishman, sir. Mobs are so unwieldy.”

  Malet gaped at him. “Wolfe? What the—”

  “Happy to see you, too, Malet.” While he still had the element of surprise, Joshua pulled both his loaded pistols out of his greatcoat pockets, pushed the barrel of one against the Frenchman’s knee and the barrel of the other against Malet’s.

  Smiling the whole while, he said, “Now, you gentlemen have one of two choices. The first is that Malet retrieves that purse from his coat and passes it to me, while you, monsieur, slide that sheaf of papers to me. The second is that I, in an instant, make you both as much invalids as the pensioners hereabouts, and then scoop up the documents and money on my way out while you’re both writhing on the floor. A fate you both richly deserve, by the way.”

  The Frenchman glared at Malet. “You damned imbecile. You were followed!”

  “Personally,” Joshua continued, “given the treasonous nature of your transaction, I would prefer the latter choice. But the ball might go through one of you and hit an innocent individual, which would be troublesome for me. So I’ll leave the choice up to you.”