by Cheryl Bolen
When he saw Jack, a smile and a quirk of his brow brightened his face. "My dear Captain, may I hope you've brought me good news?"
Jack's expression fell, and he solemnly shook his head as he bowed to the monarch. "I beg a private word with your majesty."
"Yes, of course." It was then that the Regent saw Sir Ronald and offered him a nod as the baronet and Daphne bowed and curtseyed respectively. "Sir Ronald, I am not accustomed to seeing you without Lord Castlereagh." When the Regent's glance flicked to Daphne, he smiled and nodded. "But now I remember that you're married to one of Lady Daphne's sisters. I supposed the Drydens must have told you about this wretched theft?"
Sir Ronald nodded.
"We found Strickland," Jack said, his face grim. "Murdered. His throat had been cut."
The Regent winced. "Dear God, he must have been the one who took it!"
Daphne's brows lowered. "But did you not say you would swear that no one was permitted to leave that chamber until it was determined they could not be concealing the Michelangelo?"
The Regent nodded. "That's true."
"It may be a silly hunch," Daphne said, "but we'd like to search the saloon one more time."
The Regent's gaze spun to the group of visitors. "I cannot leave just now, but I shall have my secretary take you to the room."
When they got there, Daphne stood in the center of the chamber, nodding solemnly. "I feel it in my bones. The Madonna and Child are somewhere in this room."
Jack nodded. "But where?"
Sir Ronald went first to the thick walls surrounding each of the tall windows and looked for a hidden compartment.
Daphne once more searched the ornamental palace cabinet and began opening each of its doors and poking her head deep in the interior. When she found nothing, she dropped to her hands and knees and began crawling along the fine Aubusson carpets, tapping at the wooden floors beneath. "Come and help me, Jack. There's a lot of floor to cover."
Jack just stood there. Thinking. He was almost certain the duc d'Arblier was responsible for the theft. And the duc had unlimited financial resources. He certainly did not need the money. Then. . .? His whole purpose in this crime was to make King Carlos believe the Regent thought so little of the stunning gift that he'd sold it.
The duc must be hoping King Carlos would be so outraged he might join forces with the French.
So. . . if the duc's aim wasn't the value of the Michelangelo, it seemed perfectly logical to Jack that knowing how difficult it would be to get the Madonna and Child out of Carlton House, the duc merely had Strickland hide it. But where?
Jack turned to the Regent's secretary. "Would you know if any items in this chamber are new?"
The man nodded. "As a matter of fact, the new harpsichord was purchased just a month ago. The Regent is excessively fond of music."
Jack and Daphne both flew to the instrument. It was perhaps the largest harpsichord Jack had ever seen. From keyboard to the curving rear must cover a span of twelve feet or more. The rosewood it was constructed of was so highly polished, it reflected the Romney painting hanging above it. Jack lifted the top, but there was no place inside where the Michelangelo could be concealed.
Then Jack got down on his hands and knees and crawled under the instrument. He looked up and saw a flat wooden box of the same wood as the harpsichord’s underbelly. Any casual observer would think it was an intrinsic part of the instrument.
Jack was no casual observer.
The damned thing had been constructed at the same time as the harpsichord for the express purpose of hiding something narrow. The problem was, it was too narrow to hold the Michelangelo. Had he been told the proper dimensions?
It definitely merited a look.
His heartbeat began to accelerate as he moved closer to it and fumbled around until he found the opening. A rectangle of wood opened on hinges. When he saw something white inside, his pulse stampeded. It must be the Madonna and Child.
He reached inside the dark hole and carefully lifted it out. Even in the dim light beneath the harpsichord, he clearly recognized the veiled woman as the Madonna, but it was only her head! The babe in her arms was still within the dark box. The bastard had broken it! "I've found it."
* * *
As soon as they pulled up to Carlton House, Charlotte easily identified Sir Ronald's fancy coach. Colonel Bond drew in his breath. "Now we must see if we can gain admission."
As he helped her from the carriage a moment later, she said, "Just remember to act as if you're commanding those young guards." She peered into his dark eyes. "That should come naturally to a man like you who was born to command."
"Perhaps it would be a better plan to play up our closeness to Captain Dryden. Most of those young fellows are acquainted with him."
"There is that." She placed her hand on his arm. This was such a new experience for her. She had latched onto his arm so many times in the past four and twenty hours, she felt as if they were old friends. That he was two decades older no longer entered her mind. She so enjoyed this liberation.
And being a partner with the colonel.
She dreaded to think that after Christmas she would probably be ordered to St. Petersburg.
They drew up to a single guard who stood erect with rifle and bayonet beside his tiny little sentry's hut, which was one of a pair on either side of the gates. The soldier saluted the higher ranking officer. "You are acquainted with Captain Dryden?" the colonel asked.
"Yes, sir. He came just a few minutes ago."
Thank God they haven't been here long. Charlotte now believed she and the colonel would be able to foil the Drydens' larcenous scheme.
"I am well aware of that," the colonel said, his voice commanding. "Did he not tell you I would be right along?"
The soldier shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir. He did not."
The colonel frowned. "Confound it! I must apologize for being tardy. The Prince Regent won't be happy that I've delayed his very important meeting." Before even waiting for the youthful soldier to allow him to pass, he patted Charlotte's hand, which rested on his sleeve, and strolled right into the forecourt of Carlton House.
To her surprise, no one accosted them. She looked up at the colonel, admiration in her eyes. "You were wonderful."
He patted her hand once again. "Just doing what you suggested."
They really did make a good team. A pity that a week from now she would likely be en route to St. Petersburg, nevermore to see Colonel Bond.
She suddenly realized she would miss him more than anyone.
Inside of Carlton House, the colonel reprised his arrogance, demanding to be shown where Captain Dryden had gone.
"He's up on the first floor, with the Regent in the Blue Room, sir."
"Pray," the colonel said, "I've not been here before. Which room is that?"
The guard looked up to the first floor gallery. Just beyond the balustrade, several white and gilt doors were spaced some twenty feet apart. "It will be the room right there in the center, sir."
As she and the colonel climbed the stairs, her heartbeat thundered. She'd never been to Carlton House. She'd never met the Prince Regent. And she'd never before tried to save a friend from the gallows. "I hope we're not too late," she whispered to her companion in a trembling voice.
"It is, I think, fortuitous that we got here shortly after the Drydens."
They paused in front of the closed doors to the Blue Room, and the colonel once again forced himself to speak with insufferable arrogance to the pair of guards. "Announce Colonel Bond and Miss Huntington to His Royal Highness, if you please."
Once again, she was shocked at how readily they complied with the colonel's demands.
As one of the doors slowly swung open, her heartbeat roared, and her gaze scanned over every person in the chamber. She instantly recognized the Prince Regent, though he was not sitting on a throne. He was mingling with some two dozen persons throughout the chamber.
Jack and Daphne were not there. Which
must mean they had gone to wherever it was the Regent kept his Michelangelo. They had to find out where that was so they could prevent the theft. She trembled so thoroughly, she was afraid others could see it.
The Regent then turned and stared at her and the colonel. She dropped into a deep curtsey, and the colonel effected a courtly bow.
"Pray," the Regent said stiffly to the colonel, "there must be some misunderstanding. This is a private affair for my German relatives who now reside in England."
"We're sorry to intrude, Your Royal Highness," the colonel said. "We seek Captain Dryden."
The Regent's eyes narrowed. "He and Lady Daphne were escorted away a few minutes ago, and I am not at liberty to tell you where they are." A look of distress passed over his face. "Nasty business. Even if the man did steal from me, I don't like his throat being slit open."
"Captain Dryden!" Charlotte shrieked, then she promptly fainted.
* * *
Colonel Bond was not sure which upset him the most—the slaying of Captain Dryden or Miss Huntington's unconsciousness. He fell to the floor and drew her into his arms. "Oh, my dearest Charlotte!"
At that precise moment the doors opened, and Dryden strode into the room carrying a small white marble –at least he thought it was marble—statue that looked rather like a Madonna and Child—only the Madonna’s head was gone. "Well, blow me down. You're alive!"
Jack gave him a queer look.
"Would that be a Michelangelo?" The colonel’s glance whisked past the captain. Lady Daphne carried the Madonna’s head.
"Indeed it is."
The Regent rushed to Dryden. "I knew you wouldn't let me down. You never have." Then he saw the statue had been broken, and he launched into a string of profanities.
“I believe you can have it repaired enough to serve during the king’s visit,” Jack said.
As they spoke, Colonel Bond continued to stroke the poor maiden in his arms while recalling her exact words. Apparently the captain and Lady Daphne had been summoned by the Regent to locate the missing statue, and when Miss Huntington overheard them, they were merely posing a hypothetical questions about the location of this small statue that had apparently been stolen from the Regent.
Profound relief rushed over him that the captain was alive—and guiltless. But, still, he didn't like how very still poor Charlotte was. He cradled her, murmuring, "My dearest Charlotte."
Lady Daphne entered the chamber, her puzzled gaze scanning Miss Huntington. "Whatever is the matter with Miss Huntington?" There was concern in her voice.
That was when the colonel realized he had inadvertently called the poor girl by her Christian name. Oh, dear. What would the others think?
Before he could answer Lady Daphne, Miss Huntington's eyes opened. A soft smile curved her lips as her eyes met his, then she saw Captain Dryden and bolted up. "I thought you were dead!"
"But, dearest," Lady Daphne said to Miss Huntington, "we left you a note. Why did you think Jack had died?"
Miss Huntington's gaze arrowed to the Regent. "Did he not say his throat had been. . . cut?"
"Oh, he wasn't talking about Jack." Lady Daphne eyed the Regent, dropped into a curtsey, then asked, "Do I have your permission to tell our dear friends what has been occupying us these past two days, Your Royal Highness?"
The Regent beamed at them. "I can deny you and the captain nothing, my dear lady."
Daphne then filled them in on the occurrences that had delayed their journey to Addersley Priory for Christmas.
"It's still fairly early in the day," Jack said. "If we leave now, we can fetch Andy and make it to Addersley in time for Christmas. Is everyone agreeable?"
Everyone was agreeable.
With the colonel's help, Miss Huntington got to her feet. He prayed she had not heard him blurting out her Christian name like a lovelorn schoolboy.
Chapter 7
Addersley Priory, Christmas Eve
Charlotte Huntington had heard the colonel address her as intimately as would a brother. Or father. Or, she thought, her heart fluttering, a lover. The very notion of Colonel Bond being her lover filled her with a sense of incredible well-being unlike anything she had ever before experienced.
As silly as it seemed, whenever she was with Colonel Bond, she felt as if she were a beauty. She had never before felt even slightly pretty, even though her father (who was entirely blinded by his love of her) had always said she was. It wasn't as if the colonel had ever told her he thought her lovely. He had said blue was becoming on her. Other than Papa, he was most assuredly the only man who had ever taken enough notice of her to determine the color of her eyes.
Colonel Bond didn’t have to tell her she was pretty (in his eyes). She felt it. She felt it whenever she was with him as deeply as she felt Papa's love.
During the many hours of their coach ride to Addersley Priory, she was as happy and content as a kitten purring on a sunny windowsill. Whenever the colonel's arm would brush against hers, she would almost be overcome with sensations she had never before experienced.
She liked the idea of their bodies touching. She found herself wondering what it would be like to be kissed by the dear man. More and more, she longed to be kissed by him.
She adored being with him. In fact, she was convinced she was put on earth to be with Colonel Bond. She would look at his muscled thigh parallel to hers, almost touching hers, and a heady feeling of possession rushed over her. No other woman was with him. Only Charlotte Huntington.
She would recall his anguished words. My dearest Charlotte. They were the most welcome words she'd ever heard.
When at last they arrived at sprawling Addersley, a profound sense of loss weighed on her. She would have been perfectly content to never leave that carriage—as long as the colonel sat beside her.
What would happen now? They would go to their separate chambers, likely in separate wings, and they would no longer have the opportunity to be alone together. The contemplation of it was almost like suffering the death of an old friend.
His lengthy silences in the carriage, she instinctively understood, had been precipitated by the now-embarrassing lapse that allowed him to blurt out My dearest Charlotte.
What could she do to prevent them from drifting apart back into their separate worlds? She knew he was so great a gentlemen he would be incapable of declaring himself to a mere girl half his age. For she knew that's how the noble man would perceive the situation.
When he offered his hand as she alighted from the coach, she wished she could keep on holding it.
But she could not.
Daphne was gushing about how lovely Addersley was surrounded by powdered snow as she and the captain happily strolled hand-in-hand up to the front door that was trimmed with fresh holly. How fortunate she and the captain were in each other's devoted love.
Charlotte sadly put her hand to the colonel's sleeve, but he was particularly silent. Could it be his thoughts were as morose as hers?
* * *
It wasn't until he'd received the invitation to spend Christmas at Addersley that Colonel Bond realized how lonely his life was. He had no family and had spent far too many Yules alone with his memories of loved ones long gone.
Then Miss Huntington had brightened his dreary existence like a fresh country breeze on London's foggiest day. He was loathe to lose her. But lose her he must. He could not act the old fool and declare himself to the lovely lady who was young enough to be his daughter. A man had his pride.
Though he warmed to the notion of her being his newfound friend, he wanted more than friendship from her. He wanted to be with her always.
Good lord! What was he thinking? In four decades, Colonel Hugh Bond had never wished to be tied down to one woman. To be, gulp, married.
As sweet little Miss Huntington moved beneath the lantern beside Addersley's front door, and its buttery light shone on her youthful face, a yearning to possess her nearly stole his breath.
Just before she stepped into the house, she
looked up at him, a whimsical look on her face before her lashes lowered.
And she entered the house where a dozen members of Lord Sidworth's family collapsed around them.
* * *
The Yule log was on the fire, and the children giggled as they adorned the windows with sprigs of holly. Lord Sidworth sidled up beside Daphne and whispered. “I say, Daf, were you and that husband of yours able to help the Regent?”
Her eyes narrowed dramatically to slits, she put hands to hips. “That husband of mine has a name.”
Lord Sidworth screwed up his face. “Captain. Captain Rich.”
“You know very well his name is not Rich!”
“It was difficult for me to watch my firstborn take another man’s name, and well you know it.”
She pecked her papa on the cheek. “And it’s difficult for me to stay mad at you. As to the business with the Regent, we are now at liberty to discuss it, and I will tell you Jack and I—with help from dear Sir Ronald—were able to restore a most valuable possession to the Crown and avert a national disaster.”
“I am possessed of some fine sons-in-law.”
She smiled like one who’s drunk too much of the mulled wine. “And my dear Jack is your favorite.”
He bent and whispered in her ear. “He is, but don’t tell anyone.”
She looked up as Mama’s maid was descending the massive wooden staircase in the old Tudor home. “Here comes Claire. I had her fetch your jewel case from my old room.”
“Please, Claire, just give it to Lord Sidworth,” Daphne said.
When her siblings saw the earl clasping the case close to his breast, they knew it was time for all of them to gather around for the adults’ gift exchange. They dispersed to sit on the profusion of chairs and sofas scattered about the comforting drawing room.
Lord Sidworth rose. “In honor of this being my twenty-fifth Christmas with the finest woman in the kingdom, I wish to present her with a special gift this year.” Beneath bushy brows, his mossy eyes crinkled as he peered at his countess.
