Third door on the left was slightly ajar, and he heard the low tones of his father's voice. Nathan stopped to just listen to it. He could not make out the words, but he did not have to. His father's voice had always soothed him. As a small child, whenever he could not sleep or a nightmare had awoken him, he would find his father and make him read to him. Nathan could never remember any of the stories. It was just the sound of his father's voice that he had wanted to hear.
He walked up to the door and pushed it open, blowing out the candle as he stepped into the study. Jane sat on the sofa in front of the fire, a glass of sherry in one hand. Richard Black, the Duke of Lofton, stood leaning on the mantle, the fire behind him, casting his face in shadow. Alec sprawled in one of the wing chairs, legs spread, head hanging down to his chest, staring into the fire as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. An empty glass hung from his fingers.
Richard turned as Nathan entered and stepped away from the fire. His face became visible, and Nathan did not like the expression on it. He prepared himself for the worst.
Richard gestured with his glass before asking, "She did not emasculate you, did she?"
"Very nearly, yes. I just escaped in time." Nathan matched his father's serious tone.
"Want a drink?"
"A very big one."
Richard nodded and headed over to the whiskey decanter. Nathan went to the other winged chair and collapsed into it, not bothering to remove his coat. His pistol thumped against his thigh as he settled in. A glass of straight whisky appeared in his hand, and he downed it in one gulp. The glass disappeared again, only to be returned a short moment later filled again. This time he only took a sip.
His father settled onto the sofa, slipping his fingers through Jane's out of habit. Nathan smiled. Jane and his father were one constant in his life. He remembered thousands of times that they had sat together on the same sofa, holding hands as if that was the normal way of things. Nathan wondered why they had not wed sooner in their lives, but Jane's past was not a topic easily broached, and Nathan left it at that.
Nathan turned his attention to Alec, who had not so much as blinked. His position in the chair looked less than comfortable, but he doubted Alec thought so, or cared for that matter. Nathan crossed one leg over the other and waited for his father to tell him what to do. Even at two and thirty, he could always depend on his father to tell him what to do.
Nathan wondered if Nora had anyone to depend on even though she had said she had no family. But perhaps there was a friend, a confidant, someone she could go to for help. Samuel's small face rose up in his mind, and he thought it not likely that she did. Instead, she had others depending on her. He wondered if she would let him change that, and he wondered if he would have the means to do so.
"Poor Frederick," Richard finally said.
"Poor, old Frederick." Jane sipped her sherry. "But really the world will not miss him. Bastard."
Richard nodded his agreement.
Alec mumbled something from his seat. Nathan did not catch it, but Jane responded, so it must have been English.
"He liked little boys, Alec. Everyone is better off without him."
"What do we do now?" Nathan asked the room in general, changing the subject.
"The Office is attempting to create a cover. Nothing too flashy. A debt unpaid. Revenge exacted. So on and so on. Same line just a different tilt to it to cover Frederick and not Franklin." Alec raised his glass to take a drink, realized it was empty and just scowled at it.
Nathan nodded. "What about Archer?"
Richard shifted. "The Office does not want to do anything for the time being. Both brothers being shot so close together will look more than fishy. We will keep intercepting the correspondence. See where it leads us. In time, we will form another strike."
"And meanwhile, what do I do about Miss Quinton?"
Richard raised an eyebrow, looking uncannily like the face Nathan saw in the mirror every time he went to shave. "Does Miss Quinton need to be...done?"
Jane elbowed him in the ribs.
"Someone shot at us from the gardens shortly after Alec left."
Finally, Alec sat up and looked halfway human. "Someone?"
"Whoever it was was gone by the time I made it to the gardens to check." Nathan sipped his glass hoping they would let that pass.
Alec, of course, would certainly not let something like that pass. "In the time it takes for a bullet to leave a firearm and almost strike you, the assailant was able to escape because you were..."
He let the sentence hang, but Nathan could imagine all of the things he was finding to finish the sentence with. And Nathan probably would not approve of any of them.
"I was sticking Miss Quinton behind a tree. Or maybe a fern. It was something to protect her from any more fire." Nathan waited, staring into his whisky.
His feelings surrounding Miss Quinton were still quite a logjam in his chest, and he did not have the energy to sort them out just then.
Richard finally made a noise in his throat and said, "Protect the lady first. Good job, son."
Nathan looked at Alec. But Alec was only staring wide eyed at the fire. Probably thinking of more possible things that Nathan had been doing in between the moment the bullet zipped past him and the moment he had made it out to the gardens. Nathan scowled at him, even though his brother was not looking in his direction. The scowl at least made Nathan feel better.
"The ground was too firm to leave footprints, and otherwise, there was nothing left behind."
"And Nora? Is she all right?" Jane asked in a concerned tone.
Nathan thought a moment, the image of Nora on the edge of curiosity, begging to be kissed as he left springing up in his mind. "She will live," he decided to say.
Jane pursed her lips but let it go.
"Her son is more than fine though." He took a drink and realized that everyone was staring at him as if he had suddenly grown horns.
"Her son?" Jane's voice was no longer filled with concern.
"Yes, Samuel."
"Miss Quinton has a son?" Alec's eyes were squinting now. Nathan wondered how his brother ever managed to win at cards. His emotions ran wild across his face.
"Yes, Miss Quinton has a nine year old son."
Jane's mouth was opening and closing, but no sound was emerging. That was not good. Jane knew everything about Miss Quinton. It had been her assignment. If she did not know about Samuel, then it was because Nora did not want Jane to know. Nora probably did not want anyone to know, and now he had gone and told three different people at one time.
He felt like a cad.
But if Nora loved her son, why did she not tell anyone about him?
"That explains some things," Jane said.
Richard only nodded, and Alec kept squinting like the sun was in his eyes.
Nathan felt like an idiot.
His father, thank the good Lord, changed the subject. "So we have someone shooting at you and Miss Quinton and the wrong man dead. Overall, I think it has been a rather horrible night." He turned his head. "Jane, what do you think?"
"Horrible, indeed."
"Well, I think I would disagree." Alec leaned back, a wise expression splattered on his face. "I think this night has seen immense progress. We-"
"Alec." Richard frowned at his youngest boy as if he knew he was going to say something he probably should not. And Alec shut his mouth, just as Richard had probably expected at the tone of his voice. It was amazing how children never really stopped being absolutely petrified at the sound of the parental voice. God knows Nathan was still scared of it. Richard looked back at Nathan.
"How do you plan to proceed with the Gregendens? They did have someone murdered at their ball."
Nathan settled deeper in his chair. "I spoke with Miss Quinton and imparted the gravity of the situation. I advised her to think of a line to tell the lord and lady and that I would return once I knew more."
Richard frowned harder. "Jane told me that sh
e knew."
Nathan nodded, staring absently into the fire. Nora knew quite a lot.
"I also advised her that I would find out what will happen to her now that she is privy to state secrets."
Richard nodded, his expression glum.
"I guess that is all we can do for this evening then." Richard rose, bringing Jane up with him. He took her glass and his over to the table in the corner and set them down next to the decanter. Alec began to pull himself out of the chair as well, searching around for wherever he had thrown his jacket. And his cravat. And his collar.
Nathan got up as well, pacing over to his father and setting down his glass next to the others. Richard put a hand on Nathan's shoulder, drawing his attention. Once again, Nathan was struck by how much they looked alike. Nearing nine and fifty, Richard had only a splash of gray throughout his dark hair, deep lines around his eyes and mouth from years of smiles, and soft brown eyes that still speared him.
"Get some rest," was all that Richard said, before turning to take Jane's hand to leave the room. Jane smiled at him and disappeared through the door behind Richard.
Alec had finally unearthed his collar and cravat but had yet to find his jacket. He probably had flung it over the staircase railing as he had come in. Nathan stuck his head out into the hall and sure enough, saw it hanging crookedly over the banister.
"It is out there, brother" Nathan pointed out the door.
"Oh." Alec smiled goofily. "Are you coming home with me or are you staying here?"
On a War Office salary, Nathan could not afford to keep a place in town and mostly just stayed at either his father's or his brother's home. It was better than renting a room the size of a cupboard in some dive in Whitechapel.
Nathan heard his father and Jane moving around upstairs. "I am coming with you."
"Great." Alec smiled brilliantly.
"Why do you always find it so much fun when I come to stay with you?"
"Because you are my brother." Alec walked past him into the hall to find his jacket.
Nathan remembered Nora's answer to his question about family and guiltily followed his brother from the house.
~
Nora's head hit the pillow just as the clock chimed three. She had two hours to sleep before getting up to start the fires in the kitchen. And as exhausted as her body was, she cherished that two hours like nothing else.
But after five minutes with her eyes shut, Nora knew she was not going to fall asleep any time soon. She kept thinking about Nathan. About the way he had talked with Samuel, about the way he had stared at her so completely dumbfounded after she had pointed out that he had shot the wrong man, about the way his face looked when he was concentrating on the fire in the study, about the shifting color of his eyes.
About how his callused fingers had felt rasping across the soft skin of her face.
She rolled over, scanning the darkness opposite her until the outline of Samuel, sleeping soundly on the cot in the corner, came into focus. His chest rose and fell with the deep steady breaths of contented sleep. She watched him, wishing she were sleeping a contented sleep as well that did not involve images of Mr. Nathan Black.
She rolled over again to stare at the boring white wall of their small room. The fire was banked for the night and barely flickered against the wall. Nora concentrated on what tasks she needed to complete the next day, trying to bore herself to sleep. It was not working. The one task she kept thinking of was how she was to tell Lord and Lady Gregenden what had happened. It was all Hawkins could do to get them to retire for the evening without speaking with the presumed Bow Street runner who had come to the house to fetch the dead body. It was then Nora suddenly realized she was no longer sure if Nathan truly was a Bow Street runner. What had he said about the War Office and state secrets? Was he not a Bow Street runner at all but really a...spy?
This line of thinking was not going to get her to sleep any sooner than thinking of a story to tell her master and mistress.
She rolled again, this time to stare at the ceiling. The ceiling was just the bottom of the floor above her, the wooden beams and criss-crossing of floorboards. When she realized she had started counting the floorboards, she sat up and rubbed her hands across her face. This was never going to do.
Pulling the covers back, she swung her feet to the icy floor and stood, letting her nightdress fall down to the floor. The whole thing sat like a tent on her, letting air seep up the bottom and cool her skin. Her braid of hair hung across her shoulder, and she pushed it back before scooping up the top blanket on her bed and moving over to the small fireplace. It was more of a stove than a fireplace, but it suited her needs for having something to stare at while she brooded.
She stopped by Samuel's cot, just to look at him as he slept before settling into the worn armchair in front of the coals, pulling the blanket about her like a cocoon.
Every night she discovered new places on her body that could in fact be worn out to the point of painful aching. Tonight it was the spaces between her toes. She tucked her bare feet under her and spread the blanket over her and the chair, creating a bastion of comfort. She watched the coals fade and brighten, changing as air shifted across them. But even as soothing as that was, sleep was avoiding her. Or maybe she was avoiding it. She could never really tell anymore.
Samuel made a noise in his sleep, a soft mewl as he dreamed. Nora looked over to him and smiled softly. At least someone was sleeping well these days.
And as if to remind her, an image of Nathan rose up in her mind.
What was she to do with him?
Perhaps nothing, the sensible part of her mind scolded her. After all, Nathan had said he was not sure when he would return or what he would have to say on the matter then. His words had often been cryptic, but she was sure she had grasped at least the notion of what he was attempting to communicate to her. She now knew something that she should not, and her life was going to change as the War Office saw fit.
She looked over at Samuel again.
Perhaps they could leave. Leave at dawn. Just run away from it all. But then where would she go and without a reference? How would she secure employment? How would she care for Samuel? It was not as if she had family to help her, and she was not returning to Aunt Martha. She was honestly not even certain if Aunt Martha was still alive to help anyway.
She could do none of the things she wished would come easily. She had her son to care for, and she needed her good name and a solid reference to keep him safe, warm and fed. She could not just leave in the morning and think all would be well.
Sleep would not be coming to her that night.
~
Nathan punched his pillow for the tenth time, this time adding whispered curses as if they would somehow make the pillow more comfortable. After laying his head back down, he discovered swearing at pillows did not in fact make them more comfortable. He groaned, swooped the pillow from under him, and stuck it on his face, to groan even louder into it.
He had been lying there for more than an hour. It was not like him to not sleep. He was a champion sleeper. He always had been. He just had to lie down and roll over and bang, he was asleep. So why could he not do that tonight? He knew why. It had red brown hair and freckles. That was why he could not sleep.
And what was he to do about the red brown hair and freckles?
Nothing.
That was the answer that was keeping him from sleeping. There was nothing he could do. He remembered a time long ago, as a little boy, when he had been witness to a tragedy another woman he loved had faced, and then he had been helpless, too. He wrestled with the sheets, wanting to wrestle with the unfairness in life instead.
But he sat up and threw the pillow into the corner. It was childish, but it made him feel better. He got up and walked over to the window, drawing back the curtains to look out on the sleeping city. The houses were built up in this area, blocking his view. He saw the edges of the park in the distance, a few of the larger homes off to the west,
and the tip of St. Paul's on the horizon. It was all cast in a silver cloak of moonlight, encasing it, preserving it until the sun returned. Nathan swung the curtain back in place, not caring in the least how magical it all looked.
He just wanted sleep. But he had a feeling he was not going to find it tonight. He reached for his dressing robe, not wanting to be discovered wandering around his brother's home stark naked by some young maid, who would either faint or jump him. He preferred neither tonight.
Out in the hall, things remained in darkness, the light of the moon not penetrating far from the window at the end of the hall. Nathan did not need the light, however, and moved quickly to the stairs and down, in search of some strong drink.
Not only did he find the strong drink, but he found his brother drinking it.
"Cannot sleep tonight?" Nathan asked Alec's reclined body on the sofa by the fireplace in what might have been a library if Alec had ever bothered to read the books that were in it. As it was now, it was just a storage room in which the books could collect dust.
Alec mumbled something from underneath the arm he had thrown over his eyes.
Nathan poured himself a drink from the liquor cabinet and sat down on the floor, leaning back against the sofa. He waited for Alec to summon the energy to speak more clearly and surveyed the room in the mean time. Alec had tossed his coat on the chair behind the mahogany desk that he never used. His collar was on the floor by the liquor cabinet. And his cravat had somehow become draped on the hilt of the crossed swords above the fireplace. Nathan took another swallow of drink, not wanting to contemplate how the article of clothing had gotten up there.
It took him a whole two minutes, but Alec finally spoke intelligible words. "Sarah is coming."
Nathan choked on his drink. "Sarah?"
Alec might have replied in the affirmative, but he was back to mumbling, and Nathan could not be sure. Nathan felt a sudden surge of delight that he was not the only person plagued that night with thoughts of womanly woe.
Sarah involved a whole lot of explaining most of the time. Technically, Sarah was Alec's wife and thus, the Countess of Stryden. But in reality, Sarah could not stand to be in the same room as Alec for more than three seconds. (Nathan had counted once.) And she was only married to Alec because the War Office had made them get married. Sarah was an orphan, the result of a prostitute and a man with some extra money. She had been taken in by St. Mary's in The City and pounded with the Bible, day and night. She later had been rescued by an old woman with a lot of money she did not feel like leaving to anyone in her family. She adopted Sarah and conveniently died three days later, leaving Sarah with a fortune at the age of fourteen. Of course, Sarah being only fourteen did not exactly have control of the money, but neither did anyone else. The money was left in trust until Sarah completed her education. And what an education it was. It rivaled the education of some of the men of the upper echelons in England. And that was how Sarah came to work for the Office. She was smart and rich. The two important aspects of being a good spy.
Son of a Duke Page 7
