"Delighted, my dear fellow." He had surreptitiously poured the rest of his last glass into one of the tubs of roses and now placed the empty flute on the tray and took a full one. "I must say, this is such a pleasure—getting out and all that. My family's agreeable enough, as families go, but I do get bored listening to Lindsay rattle on about Lord Fanshawe while Father drones about the war. Every time he receives a communication from America or Ghent, he takes it upon himself to explain every detail and possible ramification to me." Yawning, Ryan sipped more champagne, set his glass down, and took snuff with exquisite care. "Frightfully dull, don't you agree?"
Harry's sky-blue eyes sharpened. "Well, I would imagine so, but not having heard Raveneau's words myself, I can scarcely judge. I must confess that I have been known to find the politics of war rather intriguing...."
"Egad! Let me relate Father's latest speech—for these scenes between us can hardly be called conversations—and you may judge for yourself!" Ryan looked for his glass again. "This very afternoon a letter arrived from the secretary of the navy—a lot of bosh about Commodore Barney and our flotilla of gunboats going to Chesapeake Bay to blast the British out of the water."
"Barney?" Harry repeated with studied unconcern. "Who is this chap?"
"Oh, some tremendous hero from the Revolutionary War. I gather he was captured several times by your side and eventually imprisoned here in London. He escaped and lived here for a time before finding his way back to Philadelphia. What followed is a very long story, but suffice it to say that Barney was able to rebound by capturing a British sloop-of-war called the General Monk."
"Ah, yes, I remember," Harry muttered as if to himself. "He sailed her to France and received a kiss from Marie Antoinette. And, later, didn't your Barney serve as a commodore for the Frenchies during their war with us?"
"I, er, believe so. Quite so, old fellow," Ryan replied with the dimmest expression he could muster. In truth, he was a friend and admirer of the feisty commodore. "I seem to remember my father saying something about Barney feeling that the American navy slighted him, and so when the more recent hostilities commenced between our two countries, he took command of a privateer. During one four-month voyage, however, he took no less than eighteen prizes and soon had the military powers that be begging him to return."
"Hmm!" Thoughtfully, Harry mused, "And now, puffed up with his own consequence in that way that is so uniquely American, the old hawk is circling over Chesapeake Bay? Well, it's a rather interesting story, but it's nothing to me. After all, our own Admiral Cockburn has been making a fine showing, what? Certainly it's frustrating for the House of Commons to languish across the ocean, but someone has to look after the day-to-day business of England. We can only trust our military to do their best." He glanced at Ryan, who had once again turned his champagne into the roses and now pretended to drain the glass. "Well, in any event, it's all neither here nor there, hmm? The peace commission in Ghent may have already solved the whole bloody mess!"
"Absolutely, Harry, old boy. Politics bore me to tears. Much rather get into a good game of faro! Why don't you and I slip away to White's after a bit?"
Brandreth ran a hand through his blond curls. "Nothing I'd like better, Nathan, but your elder sister would have my head if I were to desert our first party of the Season! Which reminds me, I've been neglecting my duties as host. Must circulate, you know!"
An expression of grim satisfaction crossed Ryan's face for the barest instant as he watched Harry go in search of the Earl of Chadwick. Then, feeling someone watching him, he let his eyelids drop lazily.
"Having fun, darling?" Hester whispered next to his shoulder.
"You know me. I thrive on gatherings like this," he replied sardonically. "How have you been?"
"As well as could be expected since we last met at Grimley Court. How are you—and your sister?"
"Never better." Distractedly, Ryan watched Harry's golden head above the crowd. He was moving in the direction of Lord Chadwick. Wondering how he himself could escape from Hester and eavesdrop on the two men's conversation, Ryan was suffused with relief when he glimpsed a cluster of upswept curls studded with rosebuds just a few paces behind Harry. Thank God for Lindsay! He saw then that she was gathering little cakes and whole strawberries from a tray, pretending to be interested only in the food as she continued to follow Harry. Soon both of them were out of sight behind a wall with shell carvings that led to the alcove where the musicians were now playing Vivaldi's Concerto in B Minor.
"I had a letter from your brother," Hester was saying.
"Indeed? I hope he's well" came Ryan's absent reply.
"Actually, he's not, I'm afraid. In fact, I'd like to see you alone to discuss this matter. Are you free tomorrow?"
"It's unlikely, Hester. Look, you know as well as I that, for all intents and purposes, I renounced my family ties when I left for America. Blake seemed perfectly happy to see me go then, and I can't imagine what we would have to say to each other now."
"Ryan," she murmured, surprised by his sharp response, "it was your idea. Blake would have worked something out with you—"
"It was too late then, and it's too late now. I have a new life—two, in fact!" His laughter was edged with cynicism. "Leave it alone. You ought to be concentrating on your own affairs. How is matters between you and Francis?"
"Beastly." Hester gazed into her champagne, her thick lashes lowered, then took a long sip. "He's rarely home—always off at the House or Watier's... doing God knows what. His increasing neglect only makes me miss you more." Glancing up in the hope of eliciting a sympathetic, caring response from him, she saw that Ryan's eyes were fixed on Lindsay Raveneau. The girl was weaving her way through the crowd in their direction. "Well, at least one of us isn't lonely these days!"
He turned an intent blue gaze down on her face. "Have you no idea what Francis is doing or what he might be involved in?"
Part of her longed to confide in him, hoping that her secrets might draw Ryan closer, but she sensed that it was too late for that. Why should she help him? Whatever he was seeking involved Lindsay, too, and Hester couldn't bear to aid their cause.
"No." She dragged her eyes away from him. "No idea."
Lindsay squeezed her slender body between the backs of an earl and a marquess to stand before them. "Good evening, Lady Chadwick. I hope you're enjoying yourself."
"I can't recall a more wonderful evening," Hester retorted coolly. "And you, Miss Raveneau?"
"Actually, I don't feel quite the thing." She widened her eyes slightly at Ryan. "Dearest brother, I believe you have my medicine? I ought to take a dose to combat this queasiness."
"Ah, yes, of course!" The picture of brotherly concern, he felt her brow and frowned. "Hmm. Come with me, Lindsay. I left your medicine in the library."
After bidding the sulky Hester a good evening, Ryan put an arm around Lindsay's slim shoulders and guided her through the crush. They escaped into the entry hall, then ducked into a narrow anteroom.
"I heard every word Harry and Lord Chadwick exchanged!" she declared excitedly. "Oh, Ryan, if we take care not to make a wrong step, we might be able to untangle the entire coil this very night!"
"All right." He strove to keep his voice low. "Calm down. Just tell me what you heard."
"Harry told Chadwick that he has something of great import to tell him. The earl suggested they meet in the arbor at the Flora Tea Gardens at half past midnight! Oh, Ryan, we'll have proof at last and this charade can be ended once and for all!"
"Shh." His eyes gleamed in the shadows as he touched a finger to her mouth. Lindsay kissed it sensually. "One step at a time, angel. Where is this place?"
"Off Oxford Street above Hyde Park. Opposite Lancaster Gate, as I recall. Mama, Mouette, and I went to a lovely concert there one Tuesday night when you men were off at White's. Don't worry, I'll show you the way."
"You'll do nothing of the sort," Ryan whispered harshly. "You'll go home to bed like a good girl."
&n
bsp; "I beg your pardon, sir! I am going with you."
"Absolutely not. I forbid it."
"This dictatorial behavior is so typical of your sex! You may forbid me until you're blue in the face, but the fact remains that I am a grown woman and you have no authority over my actions."
He narrowed eyes that were the color of a stormy ocean. "Look here, Lindsay, this may very well turn dangerous. What if we were caught? Those two could be armed, and I suspect that they might be quite ruthless in their efforts to ensure our silence. I love you too much to subject you to such peril."
Realizing that Ryan would never agree, Lindsay pretended to see reason. "Well, perhaps I am behaving rashly. I would rather go with you, but if I can't, I'll settle for a kiss." She backed into a dark corner, pulling him with her.
This is too easy, he thought. The deep shadows prevented him from seeing her eyes, which he had learned to read quite well. "Why don't I trust you?"
"I'm sure I can't imagine." Lindsay slid her hands inside his frock coat and caressed the hard contours of his sides and chest. "I think perhaps you have a suspicious mind. That's a troublesome quality in a husband... but you have other, more positive attributes that should compensate."
"You're a minx," he muttered.
"Not a brat?"
"That as well..." His voice trailed off as she stood on tiptoe and sighed against his cheek.
This woman had the most sensual, tantalizing, sumptuous mouth he had ever kissed, bar none. When she nibbled gently at his lower lip, then touched the tip of her tongue to his teeth, Ryan groaned and caught her up in his arms. Kissing Lindsay was better than a banquet in Paris and a case of champagne. He'd never tasted anything more delicious.
Her hands were wandering over Ryan's wide, strong back, fueling his passion. After long minutes of ravenous kissing, Lindsay dropped her head back and his mouth blazed a path from her throat to her breasts. She slid one slim hand downward to touch the hard ridge in his snug trousers.
"What the hell are you doing?" He groaned.
"Touching you." Her smoky eyes held his in the shadows. "I was curious."
"Curious? Christ, I must be as crazy as you are! What are we doing?"
"Don't you know?" A subtle purr underlied her whisper.
"Stop it! There are dozens, probably hundreds of people just across the hall—including your parents! God knows I really must be in love because I never mislaid my wits this way in the past. We've got to compose ourselves and return to that gathering before someone comes in search of us." Grasping her arm, Ryan drew Lindsay back into the half light and scrutinized her appearance. Tanned fingers readjusted a dangling rosebud and pulled up the bodice of her gown so that less décolletage was visible. "Try not to look so... aroused."
Lindsay nearly laughed aloud and stared pointedly at the hard proof of his own arousal. "Physician, heal thyself!" she teased.
"Why don't you take a vow of silence and go back to the drawing room?" he ground out in menacing tones. "I'll follow in a moment."
She gave him one last provocative smile from the doorway, then slipped out of the room. Sighing with relief, Lindsay said a tiny prayer that Ryan had been so successfully distracted that he'd forgotten all about her determination to accompany him to the Flora Tea Gardens.
* * *
It was a little past midnight when Ryan saddled his black stallion, Simon. Horse and master always looked splendid together, but tonight the effect was even more striking, for Ryan was clad all in black and his hair gleamed like a raven's wing in the moonlight.
Walking Simon out of the stables, Coleraine glanced up at Lindsay's window and sighed. There was still a candle lit, and he could see a shadow moving behind the curtains. Under his breath he muttered, "For God's sake, go to sleep, Lindsay."
Hiding in a clump of hawthorn bushes, Lindsay watched Simon and Ryan leave the stableyard, then craned her own neck up to look at the illuminated window. "Thank you, Cassie," she said, grinning. Standing up, Lindsay hitched up the roomy breeches she'd been forced to filch from Harvey Jenkins's chest, then started off at a run. Fortunately, since she was on foot, she could take a more direct route to the tea gardens. An alleyway behind the Raveneau house led directly to Providence Court. From there it took barely a minute to reach Oxford Street. Keeping to the shadows, Lindsay easily covered the distance to Hyde Park's Lancaster Gate, reveling in the night's excitement and the liberating sensation of running in breeches.
On the edge of the Flora Tea Gardens, she paused to catch her breath. Ryan would be along soon, so there wasn't a moment to spare. There were still a few people wandering over the lawns and through the sylvan glades surrounding the main buildings of the tea gardens, but for the most part the place was deserted.
It was easy enough to locate the huge arbor, its arching trellises covered with climbing roses, honeysuckle, and wisteria all in full bloom. Their scents filled the balmy June air. Lindsay chose a high boxwood hedge next to the arbor and crouched behind it, waiting.
Meanwhile, Ryan was tethering Simon amidst a grove of trees behind the tavern. He then tucked a pistol into his breeches and set off, his fine leather boots nearly soundless as he crossed the green. Spying a young couple approaching from the trees ahead, he inquired where the arbor was and they pointed the way for him. It was still early when Ryan reached the leafy, fragrant bower and took up a position behind the vine-covered trellises that crisscrossed the back of the arbor.
All his instincts told him he was not alone, yet his eyes and ears could not confirm his suspicions. It was time for Harry and Lord Chadwick to arrive, so Ryan couldn't afford even to move, let alone investigate.
Harry emerged from the shadows first, strolling leisurely toward the arbor. He looked around, then withdrew a flask from his breast pocket and drank deeply. A cloud passed over the moon just as the Earl of Chadwick came into view.
"Fancy meeting you here." Harry chuckled softly.
"Spare me your feeble attempts at wit and get on with it," Chadwick hissed. Drawing his cloak closer about his slight form, he looked left and right from under a beaver hat.
"I'll be happy to get on with it as soon as you tell me what you intend to pay me."
"That depends on the worth of your information, Brandreth."
"I've told you that I won't settle for a shilling less than two hundred pounds."
"I have it, but I'm not turning it over to you until I hear what you have to say. To be honest, I've been waiting for a communication from Admiral Cockburn regarding the information you've sold me so far. Because of the distance and time involved, I really have no idea whether what you've imparted thus far has been of any value or not!" Chadwick agitatedly took snuff. "Now that I know your father-in-law, I find myself wondering why he would confide all of these so-called secrets to a bumbling imbecile like you!"
Harry went red in the moonlight. "Are you insulting me, Chadwick?"
"Don't be an ass, Brandreth. Next you'll be calling me out. What a joke! Just tell me what you feel is worth two hundred pounds and we'll go from there."
Drawing himself up, Harry intoned, "I have very fresh news regarding the American campaign in the Chesapeake Bay. They think they have a 'secret weapon' that could win the war for them! Have you heard of a Commodore Joshua Barney?"
Icy calm with rage, Coleraine stepped around the corner of the arbor, his pistol pointed at the two conspirators. "I think you've said more than enough, Harry. I hope you two won't mind cutting this little meeting short and coming back to Grosvenor Square with me for an interview with Captain Raveneau?"
Knowing the delayed firing time and inaccuracy of the pistol, Chadwick felt perfectly safe in drawing out the knife he held under his cloak. He lunged straight at Ryan, surprising the two other men with his agility and ruthless strength.
"Let it go," he snarled, pressing the blade to Ryan's corded neck. "I said, Drop the pistol! I can assure you, old man, that I have no qualms whatsoever about killing you outright."
"That's dou
btless your intention, anyway," Ryan replied in deadly tones.
At that moment, a slim, masked figure emerged from the other side of the arbor. The young man's hair was concealed by a hat pulled low over his ears and he was clad, like Ryan, all in black. In his hands, he held a large pistol.
"Halt!" the figure commanded in rather unconvincing bass tones. "Release that man or I shall shoot!"
Chapter 30
June 26, 1814
Ryan, his head forced back at an awkward angle while the sharp blade of a knife pressed against his throat, hardly knew whether to laugh or cry at the sight of Lindsay brandishing a pistol.
"And who might you be?" Lord Chadwick sneered. "Raveneau's bodyguard?"
"Never mind that," Lindsay retorted gruffly. "I may not be powerful, but I can assure you that I am highly skilled with a pistol. If you value your life, unhand Mr. Raveneau!"
Harry had been sidling toward her as she spoke and now Lindsay couldn't decide what to do. If she turned the pistol on him, or even went so far as to wound him, Chadwick might well go ahead and kill Ryan, then take his chances with her.
"Halt, sir!" she thundered at Harry.
He laughed softly. "I have an idea that this mysterious masked stranger just might be my adorable sister-in-law. You wouldn't shoot me, would you, Lindsay? Mouette would never forgive you!"
"I'm warning you..." Lindsay pulled the hammer back with her thumb. "And as for your wife, she would probably thank me!"
"Harsh words, my little hellion. I find such devotion to your brother quite touching. One might also suspect that your relationship ran deeper! I have heard rumors..."
Ryan, meanwhile, was burning with rage and frustration. He couldn't even speak without risking the blade, and it would certainly do Lindsay no good if he were dead. His entire body was tensed as he watched Harry taunt her, edging closer, and then he held his breath when Lindsay put a finger over the trigger.
"I'll shoot you, Harry," she warned with deadly calm. "I won't aim to kill, but one never can be quite sure with these pistols, can one?"
Surrender the Stars Page 30
