Midnight Without a Moon

by Emma Wildes

  Politely getting to his feet, he glanced at the cast clock by the fireplace, his frown deepening. “Blast it, is it four o’clock already? I’m sorry, Jess, the time slipped up on me. My secretary is ill with a nasty cold, and I got tired of hearing him cough and sneeze and sent him off to bed to recover. I have been handling correspondence all day. These ledgers from one of my shipping ventures were delivered a few hours ago.”

  They had gone out riding in the park for the past several afternoons, and she enjoyed it immensely. Used to daily rides through the countryside and along the sea, being inside so much was a little chafing. “Are you saying we cannot go today?” she asked, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice. “There is such a lovely breeze, Trenton.”

  One of the things she was discovering about her new husband was that he was, above all, a considerate man. His smile was rueful and charming. When he sat back down and shook his head, she knew he would have dropped everything and gone to change at once to please her if it were possible—so apparently their ride would be forfeit. “The ship is unloading as we speak. The inventory tallies need to be done at once, and the goods warehoused. If Thomas weren’t ill, he could work on this while we ride.”

  Crossing over to perch a hip on his cluttered desk, Jessica peered down at the neat rows of numbers. With a gloved finger, she indicated a column. “These simply need to be added together? Maybe I can help, and we can have our ride after all.”

  Trenton lifted his ebony brows and said dryly, “There is nothing simple about it. There are pages and pages, Jess, and one must go carefully and not make a mistake. It takes time, and has to be double-checked, which is tedious.”

  “Seven hundred and eighty-six pounds.”

  “What?”

  “This one,” she pointed again, “that’s the total. The next column is nine hundred and forty. Write it down, will you please, Trenton, and we will be done in no time.”

  He stared at her, his dark eyes openly skeptical. “Forgive me, my dear, but you barely glanced at the page. No one can add numbers so quickly in their head.”

  Jessica gave him a slightly uncomfortable smile. “I can, I’m afraid. I’ve always been able to, even as a child. I don’t know why, but I can count anything in an instant, from the number of people standing in a crowd to how many books are on the shelves in this room. It is unconscious and automatic, like a reflex. Add the columns I just added, and if I am right, will you take my word and let me add the rest for you?”

  “It isn’t that I doubt your word, Jess, but—”

  “If you don’t doubt my word,” she said pointedly, “then oblige me by adding them.”

  His expression still doubtful, Trenton tallied the line of numbers, glancing up sharply when he finished the first one, marking the total at the bottom of the page. “Seven hundred and eighty-six, it is. That’s extraordinary. ”

  The look in his dark eyes was hard to read, as was the expression on his face. Discussing her unusual skill always made her feel awkward, and she lifted her chin defensively. “I am quite sure you think it is unladylike, but do not worry. I am well used to keeping it hidden. No one else need ever know, Trenton.”

  Something glimmered in his gaze. “I see. As usual, you think the worst of me first, my dear. Why on earth should you conceal a talent that simply proves what I already know—that you have a quick and agile mind.”

  Relieved that his reaction was so reasonable, Jess said in a subdued tone, “My mother always told me it wasn’t something a gentleman would admire. In fact, just the opposite. I usually refrain from telling anyone.”

  “Perhaps the fact that I am neither shocked nor repulsed proves once again that I am no gentleman.” Her husband looked more amused than anything, giving her one of his wickedly attractive smiles. “I am certainly not foolish enough to sit here and tediously work at something it takes my feeble brain much longer to do, eschewing a ride in the park with a beautiful lady. Please, here, take my chair while I go change.”

  It was pleasant to be invited to sit behind his desk, the chair still warm from his body. Jessica settled down, smoothing the dark blue skirts of her new riding habit, feeling pleased. Picking up his quill, she smiled as she set to work.

  * * * *

  His intriguing young bride was right. There was a nice breeze. Trenton watched it tug one of her pale curls in a teasing wisp across her cheek as they rode side by side down the path, her obvious enjoyment both engaging and contagious. Whatever else he had to say about his mother, the dowager countess knew fashion and had done a wonderful job of selecting the right fabrics and styles to suit Jessica’s delicate, blonde beauty. This afternoon, she wore a shade of blue that exactly matched her eyes, and the fitted jacket emphasized her graceful, shapely figure.

  He wasn’t the only one who noticed either, he thought cynically, not certain if he was amused or annoyed as they passed two young men, also on horseback, both of whom cast openly admiring glances at his pretty wife.

  “The park seems a bit crowded this afternoon,” he noted, guiding Odin around a pile of fallen colorful leaves. “No doubt word is out.”

  Jessica gave him a puzzled look. “Word is out about what?”

  “That we have been spotted riding here these past afternoons.”

  Her brow creased. “Why would anyone care?”

  As always, her innocence and lack of conceit was refreshing. “They want to see you, Jess. Morbid curiosity over the new Countess of Declan. So far, I haven’t answered any of the invitations that are being delivered daily, but I suppose we need to go over them and select which ones we wish to attend.” Since he despised the social whirl of parties and balls, he usually declined to accept anything except specific requests for his presence from close friends. However, Trenton was resigned to the fact that, as a married man, his indifference to gossip and the opinion of the ton no longer affected him alone. For Jessica’s sake, he was going to have to grit his teeth and attend a function or two here and there.

  “I suppose people want to see the woman you married, so their actual curiosity has nothing to do with me personally,” Jessica pointed out with a hint of dry humor. “Gage was chuckling over just that very thing when we were in the garden the other afternoon.”

  “I’m sure he was.” Trenton laughed, nodding at an acquaintance as they rode by. “The consensus seems to be that my married friends think it’s amusing that I am finally one of them, and my bachelor friends are terrified, for if it can happen to me, it can certainly happen to them.”

  “Perhaps you could make them feel better by explaining that you had no intention of getting married, but duty to my brother forced your hand.”

  The slight edge to her voice made Trenton look at his wife intently. He urged Odin closer as their horses moved along the path. He said softly, “And a very pleasant duty it has proven to be, Jess. Do I act in the least displeased with the arrangement?”

  Their horses were so close his booted leg brushed her skirts. With a slight blush, she confessed, “No.”

  “Then perhaps you should simply forget our less than traditional courtship, or lack of a courtship might be more appropriate, and direct your energy into continuing to so competently please your husband.”

  Jessica responded to his teasing grin and suggestive tone by blushing deeper. “A marriage is not just what happens in the bedroom, my lord.”

  “Can I be faulted for having the opinion that is the best part?”

  “One would expect it of a notorious rake like yourself, I suppose.”

  Had he not been concentrating on their banter and how lovely Jessica looked with her gleaming golden curls in the late afternoon sun and the deeper color in he face, he might have seen the approaching riders. As it was, when Jessica lifted a gloved hand and waved, he looked up, a glimmer of dismay erasing his pleasure in an instant. Stifling a curse, he had no choice but to rein in his horse, as the two approaching riders were solidly, and no doubt deliberately, in the middle of the path.

&n
bsp; On a dappled gray mare that Gage had given her for her birthday, Dorothy Reichert looked patently unhappy, her normally pretty, affable face wearing a pinched, half-embarrassed expression. Alison Tate, on the other hand, smiled blandly as they stopped their mounts just a few feet away, her eyes glittering with open malice. She wore a scarlet riding habit that set off her dark hair and ivory complexion, the bold color just skirting the edge of good taste. “Good afternoon, Trenton.” She flicked him a malicious look, the tone of her voice cloying with false saccharine friendliness, then transferred her stare to Jessica, deliberately examining her with insulting thoroughness. “This must be your little country bride. Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  “I am sure she has already guessed who you are, Alison,” he said coolly, noting that Jessica had stiffened slightly, though she still sat her mare with easy, natural grace. “Dorothy, as always, it is pleasant to see you. Please give Gage my regards. Now, if you will excuse us, ladies. My wife and I were enjoying this lovely afternoon.”

  Alison, predictably, had no intention of letting them pass so easily. She didn’t move when he nudged his horse forward. Tilting her dark head as if in thoughtful contemplation, she said, “I suppose she is pretty if you like insipid blondes, but I expected bigger tits, darling Trenton. She’s rather slender. After all, you are a very large man, and I am not talking about your height, of course.”

  Openly scandalized, Dorothy said, “Alison!”

  Jessica blinked, startled, he supposed, both by the vicious venom in his former lover’s voice, and by her crudity. With remarkable calm, she responded, “Trenton warned me you would be unpleasant.”

  “Did he? Did he also tell you I predicted he would be back in my bed before long?” Alison smiled slyly, her lips curving a chilling manner.

  He hadn’t, simply because Jessica brought up his profligate past so often anyway. He said with deliberate enunciation, “Never, my dear Alison, not if my life depended on it. How I ever found you attractive is now a mystery to me.” He added with unmistakable menace and male authority, “Now, move out of our path at once, or you will regret this little encounter as much as I regret my unfortunate involvement with someone so vindictive and spoiled.”

  That he meant every word was apparently obvious, for after a brief hesitation, she sullenly nudged her horse over so they could pass. Dorothy, in a welter of embarrassment and shame, looked thoroughly disillusioned and mumbled an apology, to which Jessica responded quietly and graciously.

  As soon as they were well away, he sighed, rubbing his jaw. “Saying I’m sorry seems a little inadequate in regards to Alison’s particular brand of nastiness, but at least we were not in the middle of a crowded ballroom.”

  “That’s something, I suppose.” To his surprise, there was a hint of humor in his wife’s voice. “Tell me, my lord. How many other of your former paramours are going to dissect my appearance in jealous, public fits?”

  He gave her a sidelong look, relieved that she wasn’t more angry, or worse, tearfully hurt. “None that I am aware of. I knew Alison was high-strung and spoiled but had no idea she was slightly unbalanced. I’ll speak to her father. Maybe he can rein her in.”

  Jessica lifted a brow. “That would be nice.” Her mouth twitched slightly. “I would hate to have all of London abuzz over the fact that my breasts are inadequate for your needs.”

  His gaze dropped to that portion of her anatomy with open, lascivious perusal. “Your breasts, as you well know, are perfection, Jess. I adore them individually and together, and have measured them with my hands—and mouth—many times, and never found them wanting in any way.”

  She laughed, giving him a mischievous look. “I don’t know, my lord. I am feeling a little uncertain about the whole thing. Perhaps we should ride back to the house and you could measure them again, just to reassure me.”

  “That,” he agreed with a wicked grin, “is an excellent idea.”

  Chapter 10

  The club was dark, the rich smell of well-cooked food mingling with the scent of claret and whiskey. Everywhere, the low hum of male voices in subdued conversation hung in the air, punctuated by the occasional laugh. Gage gave his greatcoat to the steward and was informed that his lordship, the Earl of Declan, waited for him.

  If he wasn’t deceiving one of his best friends in the world, he would receive that information with pleasure. As it was, his trepidation over the somewhat curt note he’d gotten was confirmed by the inscrutable expression on Trenton’s face and the very bland nature of his greeting as he approached the table and sat down. Inclining his head slightly, his dark eyes direct, Trent said neutrally, “Gage.”

  Nodding at the waiter offering him wine, Gage responded in the same tone, “Trent, I obviously got your insistent invitation to join you. What is so urgent?”

  Waiting until the man discreetly filled the glass and moved away, Trenton cleared his throat slightly. “I need your help. At least I think I do. Hell, it’s possible I’m worrying over nothing, but then again, when I weigh the evidence, I don’t think so.”

  “All right.” A little tense, Gage sipped from his glass and asked cautiously, “What can I do?”

  “I think Jessica is in danger. I also think I know exactly what that scrap of paper I gave you several weeks meant, though not precisely what it said.”

  Shit. Controlling his expression, Gage said with credible calm, “Perhaps you had better elaborate. I don’t understand. Why would Jessica be in any danger?”

  “Though I didn’t know this before, my wife is a wizard with numbers. It is unbelievable how quickly she can compute them in her head. It is effortless and uncanny. When I consider that the message I took from her and gave you, I can only draw the obvious conclusion that she—perhaps through her brother somehow—was enlisted to decode intercepted French communications.”

  Since he had been the fool—before he’d known Trent was married, much less to Jessica—who had explained about the criteria used for selecting people for that exact task, Gage merely looked at his friend across the table.

  “There is someone watching my house, Gage.” A shimmer of resentment mixed with disquiet colored Trenton’s voice. “I have seen him twice now, once in the darkness when he tried to break in by climbing to a second story balcony, and once during the day, when Jessica and I were returning from an afternoon ride. I don’t think he’s only one. There is a new man working in my employ as a groom who seems to be everywhere I turn, though if I weren’t already suspicious, I probably would not have noticed.”

  So much for planting a man to guard the countess on Trenton’s staff, Gage thought with ironic resignation. Young Ritter was going to be chagrined he didn’t do a better job of being inconspicuous. Very neutrally, Gage asked, “The first man, how could you tell he was the one you saw again if it was dark outside?”

  “He wore a heavy signet ring on his finger. Somehow, he’d gotten his clothing caught when he went to leave. The noise of his struggle to dislodge himself was what brought me out on to the balcony in the first place. His hand was grasping the edge, and I saw the ring clearly. The man I saw today, standing under a tree very near the stables as we returned, he wore a heavy gold ring on the same finger. He was also the right height.”

  “Describe him to me.”

  Trenton’s gaze sharpened, and his long fingers toyed with the stem of his glass. “Certainly. The man is medium in height, stocky, with dark skin from exposure to the sun. His hair is black and thick, and he wears a brown coat similar to those that fishermen might use, heavy and practical. After today, I would know his face.”

  Could it be the French agent Gaston Romney? From the description that Gage already had, Romney fit, and word was he had suddenly fallen out of sight. Ritter had reported seeing the same man lurking suspiciously near the Wyatt townhouse. Gage remarked coolly, “You are very observant, Trent.”

  “And you are disturbingly reticent, Gage.” His friend’s mouth was a hard, tight line. He leaned forward a fractio
n, saying with lethal sincerity, “The secrecy of the damned War Office means very little to me, especially if somehow your decision to employ an innocent young woman to do your dirty work has endangered her life. Tell me, can you confirm anything I have just told you so I can decide how to protect her foolhardy little neck?”

  “I will see your concerns are brought to the attention of my superiors at once.”

  “That’s not good enough for me, I’m sorry. Hell, Gage, we have known each other for years. For God’s sake, Jessica is my wife. She could easily be carrying my child. I cannot just sit back and accept assurances that some unknown acquaintance of yours might give this matter some consideration. Think of my position. What would you do?”

  “I highly value our friendship, Trent, you know that. But I have my duties to King and country, and some of them involve silence.” Gage spoke with the level slow conviction he felt. He smiled thinly. “However, it is not violating any national trust, I believe, to advise you to beware of the man you have seen. That only makes sense. He could be anyone, even a deadly French spy. And ignore the new groom. You have my word he means no harm to your wife. Just the opposite.”

  Grim realization dawned in the Earl of Declan’s eyes. “You are already guarding her. Bloody hell, don’t tell me she’s still working for you. I’ll throttle her with my bare hands if it’s true.” His expression grew blacker, and he bit out, “That would explain her occasional need for privacy behind locked doors, and, of course, your frequent, impromptu visits.”

  “I am not admitting or denying anything, but tell me this. If you could help further the end of this war, Trent, would you aide the British government against Bonaparte?” Gage took a quick drink of claret, his gaze never leaving his friend’s face.

  “Of course I would, damn you, but I’m not a vulnerable female, nor would I be deceiving my husband.” The words were snarled, Trenton’s expression furious, and most definitely accusatory. “And at this moment, Reichert, please note my disillusionment and anger include you.”