After the Abduction

by Sabrina Jeffries

  “Surely Mr. Knighton is reasonable enough to understand your desire to rescue your brother.”

  Sebastian rolled his eyes. “You saw firsthand how reasonable he is.”

  His uncle’s face clouded over. “Ah, yes, the man with the ready fist.”

  “Coupled with Knighton’s ruthless business reputation…” Sebastian strode back to the table. “I’m not so much concerned about what he can do to me. I knew the risks. But I can’t have Knighton sticking his nose into the negotiations for Morgan’s return.”

  His uncle sighed. “I’d forgotten about that. Have you heard more from Morgan? Any explanation?”

  “Just that one brief letter saying that he’ll be home soon, and he’ll explain then.” With a scowl, Sebastian dropped onto a leather-bound stool. “How the devil can he explain showing up on the Pirate Lord’s ship?”

  His uncle shook his head. “I still don’t understand it. He joins some smugglers at the Home Office’s behest, the smugglers discover he’s a spy and imprison him aboard the Oceana, it goes down, we think he’s dead, and then that man from the navy informs us he was spotted aboard the Satyr when it took Lord Winthrop’s ship. It makes no sense. Why would Morgan take up with pirates after years of loyal service to his country? Could Winthrop’s crewman have made a mistake when he said he recognized Morgan?”

  “Not if he really did serve with Morgan in the navy. A bad piece of luck, that. Now Winthrop’s howling for Morgan’s head. Thank God the man never met me in society or he’d be howling for mine instead.”

  “Perhaps Morgan ended up aboard the Satyr because it sank the Oceana?”

  “I thought of that. But the Pirate Lord is known for plundering only.” He sighed. “Still, he’s thoroughly hated by the navy. We’re fortunate they’re willing to offer that pardon in exchange for Morgan’s helping them capture the man.”

  Sebastian rose and paced to the window that looked out over the west lawn toward the setting sun and the Welsh border. “I have to deal with Morgan’s situation the minute he arrives here, before anyone learns of his return. And the last thing I need is Knighton muddying the waters. If he tells the Navy Board of the kidnapping, they’ll break off negotiations at once. It’s only my apparent good character that’s kept them willing.”

  His uncle sighed. “I suppose that’s true.”

  “That’s why Knighton must believe Morgan is dead. It might convince him to abandon his vengeance before the Navy Board hears what I did.”

  Uncle Lew observed him quietly for a moment. “It is not only Morgan I worry about. If you were to hang—” He shuddered. “Let us not think of that. But suffice it to say, without you Charnwood would fall apart, and I somehow doubt Morgan could step into your shoes. You do realize you took a great risk in trying to save your brother.”

  He did realize it.

  “Some would even say you went beyond the bounds of familial duty, and all for a man so heedless of the family name that he consorted with pirates.”

  “He’s still my brother. A Blakely never turns his back on family.” Sebastian would have done anything to get Morgan back. He still would. Who else did he have, aside from Uncle Lew? He’d spent his whole life with an absent father and no mother. Even Uncle Lew had been away most of Sebastian’s life. Morgan’s arrival had finally given him a taste of what it was like to have family, and Sebastian wasn’t about to give up on him. “Besides, you’d have shot me if I hadn’t looked for him. You do have a soft spot for the rogue.”

  “No more than I have for you, my boy. With your mother and my Lucinda long gone, you two are all I have.” His uncle cleared his throat. “Though at present, you’re both trying my patience enormously.”

  Sebastian twisted away from the window. “It’s not my fault Morgan is in this mess.”

  “No, but it is your fault that we are now under siege by a ruthless man and a young lady bent on learning the truth.”

  He couldn’t deny that. Striding back to the table, he resumed his seat. “All the same, when I get my hands on Morgan, I’ll thrash him into the next shire for getting involved with the Pirate Lord.”

  His uncle laughed. “I shall help. Although you could just leave him to Knighton, since he is already convinced that Morgan was Lady Juliet’s kidnapper.”

  “I’m sorely tempted, but even Morgan doesn’t deserve that.” Picking up a flint lock he’d been trying to unstick, he applied some neat’s-foot oil to its rusty screws. “No, once Morgan is safely pardoned, I’ll throw myself on Knighton’s tender mercies.”

  “In the meantime, how will you keep them all at bay?”

  “Devil if I know.” He worked the rusty cock up and down until it was moving smoothly. “You didn’t help matters by inviting them to stay here.”

  “Nonsense,” Uncle Lew said with a wave of his bejeweled hand. “They’ll rest well here tonight, awaken in a genial mood, and be on their way back to London. Whereas if they stayed at the Peacock Stye, they’d awaken in a foul mood, and Knighton might come back here to punch you in the nose again. I was merely trying to help.”

  “You were trying to annoy me.”

  Uncle Lew’s twinkling eyes proclaimed that Sebastian had hit the mark. “Ah, but you should have seen your face when I did it. It made it worth any inconvenience that might arise from this sticky situation.”

  “Inconvenience?” He raised an eyebrow. “If that’s all that comes of this, I won’t begrudge you your entertainment, Uncle. I’m afraid, however, that it may grow stickier before we’re done. I’m not sure that Knighton believed me.”

  “And Lady Juliet? Did she believe you? That is perhaps more important.”

  Sebastian thought of her face, of the certainty in her eyes, her accusing looks. “I’m not sure of that, either. We’ll simply have to prevent her from divining the truth.” He glanced at his uncle. “That will be your job.”

  Uncle Lew eyed him suspiciously. “Mine? Why?”

  “Since you’re the troublemaker who invited them to stay, you must make my excuses at dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow. The less she sees of me, the less chance she’ll recognize me as her kidnapper.”

  “Surely your absence will rouse her suspicions even more.”

  “Remind her that I’m a recluse. Or say that talk of my brother dredged up my grief. Just keep Lady Juliet away from me until they leave.”

  “Are you sure mere evasion will do the trick? Your pretty sprite seems rather determined to root you out.”

  “She’s not my sprite!” Realizing that his uncle might read something into his strong protest, he modulated his tone. “She’s not my anything, I assure you. And though she puts up a brave front, it can easily be punctured.”

  At least he hoped so. Though Juliet had been coddled and cosseted all her life, she’d shown quite a bit of spirit the night she’d discovered he was kidnapping her. Still, she’d always tended to acquiesce to her family’s opinions. “As long as her brother-in-law’s suspicions can be assuaged, she can probably be managed.”

  Uncle Lew shook his head sadly. “You are a cold one. How can you talk of the poor girl’s feelings so callously? From what I gather, you hurt her rather badly.”

  His uncle’s comment disturbed him, but he shoved it into the closet where he’d had to keep his conscience for the past few years to meet the demands of familial responsibility. “It isn’t callousness—it’s merely practicality. She’s young. She’ll get over her hurt feelings as time passes, and more quickly if she thinks Morgan’s dead.”

  “You think so, do you?” Uncle Lew extracted a scented handkerchief from his coat and dabbed snuff from his prominent nose. “You made her care about you, then spurned her. My dear nephew, if you think she’ll stand by and let that pass, you lack a basic knowledge of the female sex.”

  The memory of how she’d cared for him—once—left Sebastian feeling unsteady and out of breath, not a feeling he relished. Especially if his uncle was right, and all that caring had now turned into a burning desire f
or revenge. “I hope you’re wrong. Because if you’re not, we’re in for a long and arduous battle.”

  Chapter 4

  Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another.

  Homer’s Iliad, written on a design for a sampler by Juliet Laverick but never worked

  A n hour after dinner was over, Juliet approached Lord Templemore’s study. The door lay open and the room was dark.

  I knew it! she thought. I knew his uncle was lying!

  His lordship wasn’t “perusing the estate ledgers in his study.” That was a humbug. Nor was he the sort to retire early. No, he was elsewhere in the house, avoiding her.

  That was why she’d pretended to retire when Griff and Rosalind had. Why she’d hunkered down under the bedclothes fully dressed to feign sleep when the maid had come in to undress her. And why she’d sneaked out of her room to come here.

  She entered the study to confirm that it was empty. Not that his lordship’s absence or defection from dinner surprised her. He was avoiding her because he knew she didn’t believe one jot of that nonsense about his twin being her abductor. She’d thought about it all afternoon, picking away at the loose threads of his tale, exposing the gaps in the seams. She still hadn’t figured out the how and why of it, but one matter she was sure of—Lord Templemore was the one who’d kidnapped her.

  Steps sounded in the corridor, startling her. Quickly, she ducked behind the door and held her breath as candlelight poked a finger of light into the dark room.

  “Sebastian, are you in here?” came a voice so near she jerked. But it was only Mr. Pryce, who was also apparently looking for his lordship. Fortunately, he couldn’t see her.

  “Off to your guns again, are you?” the older man muttered as he continued down the hall instead of returning the way he’d come.

  She hesitated. She really shouldn’t follow men around strange houses, but she could hardly resist this opportunity to confront his lordship alone. Depending on how he responded to her suspicions, she might garner enough evidence to convince Griff to act.

  Griff was being incredibly stubborn, insisting upon leaving in the morning. He’d heard her protests and her reasons for not believing Lord Templemore, then dismissed every one! She supposed she couldn’t blame him. If she hadn’t met Morgan herself, she’d have been skeptical, too.

  But she had. And that changed everything.

  The sound of Mr. Pryce’s steps climbing a stairway prodded her into hastening after him. Perhaps he could lead her to her nemesis.

  Following him was easy enough. Years of walking softly to and from her father’s chamber during his illness had made her light of foot, and the years of penury they’d suffered before Rosalind’s marriage had taught her how to navigate poorly lit corridors.

  Stealthy as moonlight, she edged up the staircase at a discreet distance, relying on Mr. Pryce’s stiff tread above as her guide. She froze when he reached the top. Then she slipped onto the landing below to wait breathlessly. Light shot into the hall from a door being opened.

  “Still hiding yourself away up here, are you?” Mr. Pryce said as he walked inside.

  Only then did she dare climb to the top. Heart pounding, she skirted the square of light and pressed into the shadows beyond to wait until Mr. Pryce came back out. She’d dearly love to eavesdrop on their conversation, but dared not venture nearer. Being caught would defeat her purpose.

  Seconds later, Mr. Pryce came out and closed the door behind him. He descended the staircase quickly, but only when his footsteps died away did she approach the room he’d left. Fear punched holes in her confidence. What if she was wrong, after all? What if she made a fool of herself?

  She wasn’t wrong; she couldn’t be. And if she didn’t confront Lord Templemore now, she’d lose her chance. Dragging in a steadying breath, she swung the door open and stepped inside.

  Into the maw of hell. Lantern light reeled eerily over bits of firearms stuck to walls and disgorged onto a long table. Vials of suspicious powder marched down the middle, and a faint stench of sulphur pervaded the smoky air. At the center, with a lantern before him on the table, reigned Lord Templemore, his fingers working metal just as Hephaestus crafted ironwork in the flames of an immortal forge.

  Judging from the sooty ceiling and the faltering fire, his servants were afraid to enter here. How very sensible of them. She began to regret not being equally sensible. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

  Then he spoke without looking up. “Close the blasted door, Uncle. It’s cold enough as it is without you letting in the draft.”

  Swallowing her fear, she shut the door behind her. “Do forgive me, my lord—I shouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

  His back snapped straight as a sprung bowstring, but he didn’t look at her. “Ah, Lady Juliet. You must be lost. The guest bedchambers are in the east wing.”

  As always, the coldhearted beast held his emotions close. “I’m not lost, as you well know. I’ve come to make you tell me the truth. Because no matter what name you use—Morgan or Lord Templemore—you’re still the man who kidnapped me.”

  With those precise motions she remembered so well, he set down his metalwork and slid around on the leather-upholstered stool to face her. “My lady, you’re distraught, and that has made you irrational. Shall I call your sister?” Full of false concern, he started to rise from the stool.

  “Stay where you are! I’m more rational than I’ve been in my entire life.”

  Eyes black as his soul assessed her. “I see. Do you regularly accuse lords of the realm of running with smuggling gangs and kidnapping young women?”

  “You’re my first. Though I dearly hope you’re my last.”

  “So do I. I’d hate to see another man wrongfully accused.”

  Her temper flared. She hadn’t come here intending vengeance. She’d simply wanted answers. But his arrogant refusal to admit the truth stirred some wretched, uncivilized instinct to punish him. “You might as well give up this pretense. I know you’re the man we seek.”

  “Do you?” His smile was edged in menace. Behind him, the lantern light peeked over his substantial shoulders, limning his image in flame, making him appear even more the God of Fire than before. “Pray tell me, other than wishful thinking, what has convinced you I’m your kidnapper?”

  Oh, how she hated that placating tone—the one he’d used two years ago, when she’d been a silly, gullible girl. If it took all night, she would banish it from his voice. “Wishful thinking has naught to do with it, unless the wish is to see you on your knees begging for mercy while I hold one of your nasty pistols to your head.”

  That did it. The smile vanished. “Bloodthirsty little baggage, aren’t you?”

  Yes. And it felt good, better than she’d expected. “I only wish for justice.” She paused. “As for how I can be sure who you are, I have more than enough proof of that.”

  “Oh?” He rose from his stool, straightening to his full height.

  Tall men had always intimidated her, and he was awfully tall. Still, the thought that he might use that against her merely firmed her resolve. “Your brother was educated abroad, didn’t you say?”

  A wary nod was her answer.

  “And not even in an English colony, but in Geneva, where they speak French.”

  “His education was given in English, madam. He had the best tutors.”

  “Not until he was thirteen. By your own admission, he spent his early years without such advantages. And with the sort of mother you’ve described, he might have been left to run wild in the streets. At the very least, he would speak with an accent; at the most, he’d lack breeding and refinement as well.”

  His lips thinned. “Is there a point to all these insults to members of my family?”

  “My kidnapper had a refined English accent and a polished manner. Like yours.”

  “Did he indeed?” He strolled closer, stopping only a foot away. “But two years can
alter one’s memory greatly, especially when memory tells us lies to soothe our feelings. Perhaps remembering him that way makes it easier for you to…excuse your bad judgment in eloping with him.”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits. How dared he even insinuate such a thing? “That isn’t my only proof, sir. I’ve found more since you spun your tale this morning.”

  Leaning against the table, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Have you? I’m all ears.”

  The words tumbled out. “First, there was my kidnapper’s manner of dress—as sober as yours. And the lie he chose to tell—that he was in the army. Your brother was a navy man, so why didn’t my kidnapper say he was in the navy? That would’ve made the masquerade easier for him and more convincing.”

  His gaze flicked over her. “From what you and your family said, convincing you didn’t prove terribly difficult.”

  She flushed. It was true; how readily she’d believed his lies. He’d said what she’d wanted to hear, made her feel what she’d wanted to feel. What she still wanted to feel, truth be told. Although now she knew better than to give in to such uncertain and dangerous emotions.

  “Besides,” he went on, “if Morgan had revealed that he’d been in the navy, it would have made it easier for him to be tracked afterward, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yet he used his real name with the smugglers,” she countered triumphantly. “Obviously he wasn’t too concerned about being tracked.”

  A muscle ticked in Lord Templemore’s jaw. “I’m afraid I can’t explain that. Just as I can’t explain why he kidnapped you to learn some spurious information about the Oceana, or why he went aboard. If you’d care to enlighten me with some theories, I’d vastly appreciate it.”

  That was the trouble—she had none. Nor had Griff. Indeed, it was the primary reason he’d dismissed her concerns so cavalierly.

  “Do feel free to question the townspeople, madam,” he prodded. “They’ll tell you I was here in Shropshire when my brother was consorting with those smugglers. At least until August, when I went to town to see to some matters concerning my pistol designs. But you said yourself that you know I was in town as late as November.”