A Whisper of Treason

by Connolly, Lynne

  He closed his mouth, which had dropped open. Then he closed it again, before he spoke. “I beg your pardon.”

  Not a question this time, but what sounded like an apology. A halfhearted one to her ears. It did nothing to assuage the temper that had been boiling inside her for so long.

  “You were paying me the kind of attention only a suitor does. Sending me fond little gifts, half of which I had to send back to you because they were too particular, seeking me out in public places, assuring society of your intentions towards me. I thought I would be married before the end of the year. But you never asked. You just disappeared.”

  “I had urgent business abroad.”

  “Too urgent to send me a note, an apology, anything?”

  Her voice rang off the wall behind the statue. Delphi closed her eyes. Everyone in the garden would have heard her. And again, he had humiliated her, even though, this time, she’d instigated it and let her temper loose.

  “I wrote, but…”

  Delphi turned away, forcing calm. “I received nothing. It doesn’t matter now, anyway. Apparently your intention is to seek me out and do it again. Did someone pay you to do it back then?”

  At least she had more sense than to mention the Duchess of Beauchamp by name. But she barely stopped herself in time.

  “Do what again?”

  She dropped her voice, because she didn’t want him to hear the tremor in it. “Make a laughingstock of me.”

  “Delphi, I’m sorry. I had no idea that would happen.”

  That sounded better, but it did nothing to make up for what he’d done. No doubt she’d destroyed her chance of getting her revenge. A foolish idea, anyway. She could never have pretended affection for him without getting involved again, and he’d already shown her what happened to that. He would trample all over her again.

  “I never thought.”

  She kept her face turned away from him and stared at the statue. “No. You did not.”

  “Did Elizabeth make your life unbearable?”

  “Absolutely not. She tried, and your defection certainly made life difficult for a while. But as you can see, I survived and will continue to do so.”

  She turned her head enough to obscure any direct view of her face. Her sight had blurred, although she refused to allow the tears to fall. She would not drop another tear for him.

  “I don’t know how to make this up to you. I wrote to you, but only once, and you obviously didn’t receive it.”

  “I received no letter.”

  His hand sliced through the air in a frustrated gesture. “Letters go astray, especially when they come from abroad. I should have done something more. Written again. I could have done more to let you know. But I couldn’t take you with me, Delphi. The news I received was bad, and dangerous.”

  Having regained some control over her wayward emotions, Delphi turned to face him once more. “I give you that. Difficult to explain how or why. I can barely believe it, by the way.”

  “Believe what?”

  “That you’re bowing to the usurper. That you have defected to the Stuarts. That you’re a Jacobite.” Exasperated, she poked him in the chest. Hard muscle met her fingertip.

  He narrowed his eyes. “What do you know about that?”

  He stood, still as a rock, gazing at her. Trying to find something, though she did not know what it could be, only that his curious frown demonstrated his concentration. What was he looking for?

  “Never mind.” But she stubbornly refused to believe it until he told her himself.

  “Tell me what was so urgent that you left the country overnight. Or don’t you trust that I will keep your confidence? After what we said and did…?” Her throat tightened.

  “After what we told one another in Greenwich?”

  She shrugged, demonstrating indifference she did not feel. “If you like. You’d tell me if you had any respect for me.”

  A long pause ensued while she looked away again, unable to bear the hurt in his eyes. She was the one hurt, she had the right to show it, and yet she was hiding it as best she could. He was not.

  What had she done to him? The fault was all on his side. He had no right to look at her like that. He left her, after all. He could have come back, written to her. Again, if what he’d said was true and he had written.

  “I could not bring you into the mess I found myself in.”

  She frowned. “Mess?”

  His mouth flattened. A bee flew by them, the buzzing loud, then tapering off. Nothing else moved. “I can say nothing. Believe me, if I could, I would. For your safety, for your peace of mind, I can’t tell you.”

  That finished their conversation for her. “Can’t? Or won’t? What am I, a weak woman who can’t understand the ways of men?” She turned her back on Apollo. “Would you lie to me?”

  “Never.”

  “Then tell me. Are you a Jacobite?”

  He hesitated. A movement caught her attention. Matilda was waving to her from the terrace. “I’m going back to the others.” She emphasized the first word. “I’ll give your compliments to Lady Billingham.”

  “Please do. But Delphi…”

  His words tailed away as she set out for the house. She was done with him. He had no explanation, no reason for acting the way he did. Obviously, he didn’t trust her. One kiss—no, two kisses—did not make a relationship. Even a friendship, apparently.

  Chapter Nine

  Adam watched her leave, knowing he might never have the opportunity to be so close to her again. But he must keep her at a distance until he found his brother. He had not denied he was a Jacobite, but he’d been about to, God help him, before the duchess had interrupted them.

  She could not be anywhere near him until he found Frederick. God willing, Frederick was alive.

  He fingered the brooch in his pocket, turned it over and stroked his fingers over the smooth back. Then turned away, silently bidding her farewell. After what he’d just done, she’d never come back.

  Where was his address now? Where the coolness he was famed for?

  He had done the right thing, but not as far as his heart was concerned.

  Too late now. Although it was churlish not to bid his hostess farewell, he needed to leave. Let the guests think what they liked; they would anyway. They already had him labeled a traitor to his country. What kind of fool would do that, abandon everything he had fought for on a whim?

  If he found Frederick, he’d lock the fool up in a cell for the rest of his days, rather than allow him to destroy what Adam had worked so hard to build. If he found Frederick. If his brother was still alive.

  Taking care not to let his inner distress touch his appearance, Adam left the estate by the garden door, heading for the stables to order his carriage put to. While waiting, he put his mind to his next course of action. Fingering the brooch in his pocket, he pondered how long he could keep The Old Pretender dangling with promises and maybes before the old man insisted on open loyalty. A week, perhaps. Maybe two, if the man had another of those attacks of melancholy that kept him silent and listless for days on end. While not wishing him ill, Adam couldn’t deny the pause would come in handy. The brooch proved he’d met Frederick, probably knew where Adam could find him. But that was his hook.

  His coach rumbled towards him, the grays he’d bought a few days ago, fresh and frisky. Why hide his wealth now that Stuart wanted him to play the game? He’d never believed it anyway. The idea of approaching him as a petitioner had been dead from the start.

  What was more, he thought savagely as he swung into the vehicle, barely waiting for the footman to let down the steps, that man, Lord Joshua Stuart, would take advantage of his absence. He’d seen the approach. Delphi liked him, too. They could well make a match of it. The thought made his heart ache.

  What was he, a dog in the manger? Adam snorted, leaning back to stare morosely at the passing scenery. Italy wasn’t as green as Scotland, but after a scorching summer, that was hardly surprising. Sometimes, he l
onged for the fine, misty rain of his homeland.

  He owned a castle in the far north of the country, though to call it a castle was to flatter the foursquare, tall keep with few creature comforts. He’d not spent much time there. But the view from his bedroom window had taken his breath away. The green hills rolling down to a small, blue loch had unnerved him with its beauty. His usual residence close to Edinburgh had views over the sea that he’d never found anywhere else. He missed his homeland, missed the cutting breeze and the blue skies.

  He’d give anything to be sitting at the window there, enjoying the first chill of autumn, reading a letter from his brother. In simpler, happier days.

  He had at least an hour before he’d have to resume life again. A period of respite. Time to lean back and try to get some rest. Adam tossed his hat on the seat next to him, folded his arms over his stomach, linked his hands loosely, and prepared to do exactly that.

  Until the carriage pulled to a halt, the “Whoa!” from the coachman alerting him to the unexpected.

  Adam slid his hand under the seat and drew out the pistol he kept strapped there. Above him, a holster held another one. Not to mention the knife he habitually carried in his pocket. He had not worn his smallsword today, but if the pistols and the knife didn’t stop whatever he was about to face, the sword wouldn’t have done much good. Was he about to face a gang, or a single person?

  He waited. Nothing, no words, just a huff and stamp from one of the horses.

  Then steps came from someone outside. Adam gripped the pistol and held it steady as he drew back the hammer and heard the satisfying click.

  The carriage door swung open and someone climbed inside. A man, head low, so all Adam could see was a mundane cocked hat, its black rim bound with a simple ribbon. Tension gripped him as he prepared to fire.

  The man lifted his head and grinned at Adam as he took the opposite seat and banged on the roof of the carriage. “All right, Benton!”

  “That’s not Benton,” Adam said, as if that mattered. “His name’s Francesco.”

  The carriage jerked into action. Had he not braced himself for it, Adam would have found himself in his brother’s lap.

  Slowly, carefully, Adam uncocked his pistol. He’d nearly shot someone very dear to him. The idiot sitting across from him, grinning cheerfully.

  “Where the devil have you been?” Adam demanded.

  “That’s a fine way to greet me,” Frederick grumbled. “Weren’t you worried about me?”

  “Not in the least,” Adam said mendaciously. “You’ve turned my life upside down and made me chase you halfway around the world. Why would I worry about you?”

  His brother grinned. “So you were worried.”

  “Why in hell do you think I’m in Italy?”

  Adam wished his heart would settle down. It was beating far too fast and hard for his liking. Here was the man he’d combed Europe for, sitting opposite him as fine as fivepence. His dark blond hair was combed into a neat queue, his respectable, if modest dark blue coat and smallclothes spoke of understated elegance, as if he’d spent the last six months in a country house.

  Frederick was a little shorter than Adam but every inch of his compact form counted, particularly since he’d gone into the army. He looked at his fittest, powerful shoulders straining his coat in a way no fashionable fribble would allow. And yet Adam did not recall the creases around his mouth being quite so deep, or the shadows under his eyes so dark.

  Adam sighed, releasing some of his tension. “Explain. How did you know where to find me?”

  “I was told when you arrived in Rome, and I’ve been watching you, waiting for a time when I could talk to you. I followed you today on horseback. Lady Billingham will find an extra steed in her stables at the end of the day. I believe I’ll forfeit the deposit I paid the innkeeper.”

  That told him nothing at all. “I want an explanation. A proper one. Why are you not in Germany with your regiment? What are you doing in Rome?”

  “What did my commanding officer tell you?” Frederick demanded.

  That was new, too, that caution. But Adam would indulge him with an answer. Otherwise, Frederick could well refuse to tell him anything at all. He’d always had a stubborn streak. “That you were on leave, and you had gone to Rome.”

  “How did you hear about my absence?”

  Again the questions, when Adam was burning with his need to know what his brother had been up to. “From a general in London. At White’s. He asked me why you had disappeared from your regiment, and did I know if you’d deserted. I went to Whitehall. General Rettisham told me you had, indeed, left your regiment, and he believed you’d been consorting with Jacobites before you did so.”

  That conversation had sent Adam haring across Europe to Germany only to hear Frederick’s commanding officer’s deeply unsatisfactory explanation. The man refused to say anything more. If Adam knew his brother at all, and he was beginning to doubt that, then he was sure Frederick would never disappear and abandon his duty, but he had to be sure. “I thought you were in trouble. That you’d deserted.”

  Frederick shook his head. “None of those. I was asked to help with a mission. Asked, not ordered. It’s dangerous, and only I was in the position to do it as fast as we needed. It has gone on longer than I wanted, but I have the highest authority to continue.”

  “Continue what?”

  The carriage bumped its way over another rut, and Adam clutched the door strap to steady himself.

  Frederick lost his hat, but he let it lie on the seat next to him. “You’re a duke, and a member of the House of Lords. I suppose that gives me permission to tell you.”

  “You’re my brother, and I suppose that gives me permission to hammer you into the ground.” This enigmatic, one-sided conversation was driving him mad.

  A faint grin shifted his brother’s expression. “I’ve missed you, Adam. Twice a day, when I wake and when I sleep, I consider writing to you and telling you what I’m doing. Or at least, that I am safe.” He nodded, leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “So here it is. There’s a conspiracy afoot to kill the king and his family.”

  Adam felt his world shift. He gave himself a moment to take it in. “All of them?” The British royal family was a prolific lot.

  “Every one.”

  “How?”

  “I have yet to discover that. If I had, I’d be at home right now.”

  The natural next question followed. “What conspiracy?”

  “Only two men have all the details of the plot. I should say, they did, because I found one.” He paused. “Killed him. A shame, but if I had not done it, he’d have killed me. Or told his co-conspirators. So one remains, and I only have his code name. I have no idea who he is. I have orders to join the conspiracy and find out what I can. Most importantly, the identity of the remaining ringleader. Our father’s betrayal gave me a better chance of persuading them I was with them, they said.”

  He didn’t seem sorry, and once he considered what Frederick had said, neither did Adam. “Who was the first man? The one you killed?”

  “Abel Hatton. Heard of him?”

  Adam nodded. “If you mean Lord de Stopes, yes.”

  Frederick’s mouth turned in a sneer. “I no longer consider him as such. That traitor does not deserve a title bestowed on him by the Crown. His lordship had returned from India, wealthy and fuming about the government. Like us, his father was a devoted Jacobite, but he died before the ’45. Apparently, Hatton held his father’s views, because when this plot came up, he joined it and devoted his fortune to it. I got a little information from him before he died, enough to know that the other ringleader is attached to the Jacobite court here in Rome. My preference was to send him back to London in chains but, unfortunately, that was not to be.”

  “How did he die?”

  “I shot him.” Frederick’s blue eyes turned cold. “Unpleasant to say the least. Not the first man I’ve killed, but one I deeply regret. He came to see me
after I asked to join the conspiracy. He asked me questions, and I didn’t have answers to all of them. He’d found me out. So I tried to arrest him instead. At least I had one of the ringleaders, I thought. But he drew his weapon and made to kill me. He was a bad shot, but he had more than one pistol. I had no choice.” He met Adam’s gaze coolly, daring him to demur.

  Adam didn’t. He knew his brother well enough to believe him. Steady and honest were the words most often applied to Frederick. Also loyal and intelligent.

  All his life, Frederick had dreamed of joining the army. As soon as he reached eighteen, he gave Adam an ultimatum; either Adam bought him a commission or he would take the king’s shilling. Adam bought him the commission, a lieutenancy. Frederick reached his current rank purely on merit.

  Spying wasn’t the occupation of a gentleman. The Glinns had enough to cope with without being plunged back into this. But Frederick, being a patriot, would disagree.

  “After that, I joined the conspirators. I learned from my mistakes, and researched more thoroughly, approached them with more caution. They let me in,” Frederick told him with pride. “So I cannot be seen with you, nowhere near your house in Rome, or your friends. I followed you today, thought I could contrive a meeting with you somehow, and I have.”

  Someone considered Frederick and, by extension, the rest of the Glinns as expendable. Someone would pay for this.

  “Give it up,” Adam urged him. “Come with me to the city, and let’s do this another way.”

  Frederick shook his head. “I can’t. I’m in too deep. If they see me with you, they’ll likely kill us both.”

  Adam could believe it. Desperate men took desperate measures. But he did not like it, not at all. The government had teased Frederick into a situation that could destroy both their reputations. And if they were declared traitors, then his lands and title would be forfeit to the Crown. An estate he’d worked hard to repair in the last ten years, so the Crown would be getting all his hard work.

  He could transfer the non-entailed part to a place the government could not get its greedy hands on it, but that would take time. More time than he had. Did Frederick understand the full implications of what he was doing? Probably not. His brother was far too idealistic for Adam’s peace of mind.