Mary Blayney

by Traitors Kiss; Lovers Kiss

  Hasseldine blustered and stumbled, but found few words sufficient to express his outrage at the insult.

  “You, sir,” the duke began, rising from the chair, “are the kind of man who stays as far from the front as possible, while insisting that you are as dedicated as any soldier in his majesty’s army.”

  It was clear Meryon considered the discussion finished. It had better be. If they stayed much longer, one of them would wind up challenging the other’s honor. Gabriel could see that Lyn had a touch of the Pennistan temper after all.

  Gabriel opened the door for his brother and they left without exchanging any courtesies with Lord Hasseldine. Once out of his company Meryon’s mood lightened considerably. “Would you like something to eat or drink before we take on the viscount and his people?”

  “No, I do not want food,” he said with a burst of temper. He tried for calm. “Hunger is not my primary concern at the moment.”

  “Yes, I can understand that,” Lynford said with a composure Gabriel envied. His brother raised his cane to point in the direction they should walk. “Why are you expecting the worst?”

  “That I will ruin the Pennistan name?”

  “No, you sod, that is not the worst. You are a fool to think that our name means more to us than you do. Trial and death are ahead of it by a good distance.”

  “Thank you, Lynford, but a blight on the family honor is not how I would choose to be remembered. We have yet to meet with the man who threatened me in Sussex.”

  “I think we are about to.”

  For the first time Gabriel saw worry in his brother’s eyes. “It may be beyond the influence of the Duke of Meryon, Lyn. Men are dead because of my intrigue. Some are rotting in prison. Heaven forbid they are awaiting a prisoner exchange.”

  They started walking again, moving down the crowded hallway. The building that housed the business of war was as big as a palace, white marble walls and columns, wooden floors, with endless hallways to the left and right. The sound of footsteps was as constant as a troop of soldiers on parade, everyone moving with purpose and direction. Like the rest, Lyn seemed to know exactly where he was going.

  Gabriel saw people part like the Red Sea to let them pass. They might not know who Gabriel Pennistan was, but the Duke of Meryon did not need his title announced for people to recognize he was a force. No one actually groveled, though a few did turn to stare after they passed.

  Meryon did not even notice. He kept on talking. Those who watched were probably wondering why Gabriel was not taking notes.

  “Gabriel, you have only to ask him and Jessup will take you north and out of the country on the first means available.” Meryon made the suggestion casually, as if he was discussing an outing and not a crime.

  “No,” Gabriel said, with enough vehemence that two men stopped talking to watch them as they passed. “No,” he said more quietly. “Thank you and Jess both, but I will face what is coming. I will not ruin the entire family to live a coward’s life.”

  Meryon nodded as though that was what he had expected his brother to say.

  They went up a flight of steps and were halfway down the next hall when the duke spoke again.

  “Charlotte Parnell is an amazing woman.”

  “Yes, she is.” At last, here was the subject he most wanted to talk about. “I assume you paid her the bonus she insisted on.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Then you have seen her since we returned?”

  “No, I have not. Her man of business contacted me and I sent the promised payment.” He shrugged. “That was directly after we received notice of your return. I expect that is the last I will hear from her.”

  “You met her in person, Lynford. What did you think of her?”

  Lynford stopped and gave his brother a speaking glance. “Rowena and I met with her here in town. After she left us, my dear wife said that Charlotte Parnell was an amazing woman. Then she added, and I quote her, ‘Please, your grace, never meet with her alone.’”

  Gabriel’s burst of laughter made several people jump. Lynford’s answering smile was worth the embarrassment.

  “It is not hard to see what is on Madame Parnell’s mind. Or do you need spectacles, brother?”

  “No, no, not at all.”

  “She appeared to be a wellborn widow of modest means and no morals, which I suppose is the best role to play if you want to convince someone that you will do anything to gain your ends. My source had complete faith in her.”

  “Who was your source, Lyn?” Gabriel asked, wondering exactly who Lynford was willing to trust that much.

  “Wilton.”

  “Ah,” Gabriel said as he considered whether that bit would prove useful or not. “Do you suppose that means Wilton is in the spy business as well?”

  “I would assume so,” Lynford said, as though he never thought about it and did not care. “He wears a naval uniform, but I imagine that is as good a masquerade as any.”

  “Have you met with him since I returned?”

  “No, I have not. He has avoided me at every opportunity. Deliberately, I think. He refuses to acknowledge the connection, even though he met with me more than once when we were arranging for your rescue.”

  “Yes, rescued by a woman. Please let that be a story no one will hear. I could not live it down.”

  The duke laughed and tapped his brother’s arm with his cane. “Women come to our rescue constantly, though usually not in such a dramatic way. I am sure it was Mrs. Wilton who talked our brother into helping us.”

  “He did help in the end.”

  “Yes.” Meryon stopped and turned to him. “It proves to us that he is a Pennistan by blood regardless of his mother and his name. It gives us some hope for the future.”

  23

  THEY ARRIVED AT THE ROOM that Lynford had pointed out before. The door porter bowed. “I beg your pardon, my lord. They are not quite ready for you.”

  The duke nodded his acceptance.

  “When was the last time someone made you cool your heels?” Gabriel asked.

  “For you, brother, I will wait with patience. I have waited more than once these last few months.”

  “Waiting on a woman like Charlotte Parnell must have tested you.”

  “That was hardly the worst of the waiting. Months and months waiting for a letter that never came. Weeks of waiting for word from the man I sent to Wellington’s camp.” Meryon stopped the list abruptly. “But nothing compared to what you went through.”

  “We can compare battle scars when this is truly over. I am not sure our waiting is all in the past tense.”

  The duke put his hand on Gabriel’s arm. “This is not a trial, but when we are finished here we will know your fate. These people are the ones most closely involved.”

  The door was opened from the other side and the porter moved to hold it for them. Meryon raised his hand to stay the man and turned to Gabriel, who almost laughed. “Now you are going to make them wait?”

  “Only for a moment.” Lynford took his brother’s arm. The humor left his eyes. “Listen to me, Gabriel. Do not say a word. Do you hear me? Keep quiet,” he urged.

  It was his familiar way of saying, “Do not lose your temper.” Gabriel nodded. They stepped into a room considerably less pretentious than the one they had just left. There were six men seated around a large table and they all rose as Gabriel and the Duke of Meryon approached.

  Introductions were made and Gabriel recognized one of the two men who had questioned him in Portsmouth. He cringed at the sight of Doncaster, the man who had sworn his death. There was another in uniform. This man was also familiar, though his presence was a surprise.

  It was the officer, now introduced as Major Shelby, who had come to Charlotte’s aid in Portsmouth. Gabriel let his gaze pass over him as if he did not remember him. He counted the rest around the table.

  The most interesting man was a civilian who was clearly the veteran of some atrocious action that had left him scarred about the fa
ce and neck, with an eye patch as well. He wore a kind of cap, covering what looked like a misshapen head. All in all, the kind of injuries that made one wonder if death would not be more welcome than such a misery of a life.

  Viscount Sidmouth was flanked by another man, who had the look of an aide. He invited them to sit as the viscount continued reading some papers. The aide picked up a thicker stack and handed a few to his superior.

  Gabriel waited, drawing deep breaths, trying for calm. He looked at each of the men who were to judge him. The wounded man did not raise his head. The others met his gaze, their expression as impassive as he was trying to be. He hoped this was not some kind of contest. His anxiety was much too close to the surface for him to have any chance of winning, no matter how many times Lyn told him to “be quiet.”

  He had hoped that Charlotte might be here. He smiled a little at the mix of curiosity, anger, lust, concern that accompanied the very thought of her.

  For the hundredth time he wondered how she was. Where she was. Would the major know? Was she far away? In Cornwall? In some quiet London neighborhood? In this building? Right on the other side of the door?

  If this did not go well, would she come to his execution?

  His speculation was cut short when the man shuffling papers finally stopped and the silence was complete. The viscount folded his hands on the table. He cleared his throat. It must have been a call to order, as the others all straightened in their seats.

  “First, your grace, I thank you both for your willingness to come here today. Your support of your brother is commendable. I apologize for keeping you waiting. Events in Europe are coming to a head and it is imperative that we be available every minute.”

  “Lord Sidmouth.” Meryon acknowledged the greeting, nodding slowly as though his waiting attendance on this group was a gesture to King and country.

  “Lord Gabriel Pennistan,” the viscount began, watching him steadily as he spoke. “We thank you for the months you spent in Portsmouth talking to our people about your experience before and after you were detained by the French. I know that you are as anxious to see your family as they are to see you.” Sidmouth nodded at the duke, who said nothing.

  He didn’t have to. His narrowed eyes and unsmiling mouth spoke volumes. Gabriel worried that Meryon was the one about to lose patience.

  “I hope you consider that a form of service to your country, my lord,” Sidmouth said. “Which brings me to the reason we asked to see you today. When you went to Portugal and offered your services, there were several who thought it a good idea to have you work as a civilian instead of wearing a uniform, which I understand was your preference.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Gabriel answered, as neutrally as he could manage.

  “It is true that most of the staff did not have much confidence in an amateur’s ability to gather meaningful information. But to their surprise you proved a great resource. In fact, your work in Portugal was quite valuable. Your efforts saved hundreds by undermining and leading to the dissolution of one of the most malignant and persistent of the enemy secret-agent groups.”

  Gabriel nodded. What the hell are they talking about? Are they calling me a hero? What happened to traitor? He did not ask, holding his tongue. His temper was beginning to stir.

  Gabriel could see that not everyone was delighted with the commendation and, indeed, when the viscount nodded, Doncaster ended the paean of praise.

  “That does not relieve you of the responsibility for the deaths of your colleagues and the innocent in the tavern, your last known action before disappearing. Those of us in service in Portugal believe that you were giving the French information in exchange for the information you gave us.”

  “In other words, you thought I was spying for both sides?” He saw his brother wince. So much for staying quiet.

  “Yes.”

  So he was both hero and traitor. How was that for an epitaph? He sat back in the chair, waiting for the next blow.

  “How else do you account for the success of an inexperienced and untrained agent?” The man who’d called him a “son of a bitch” was on center stage. “It became apparent that you were trading information so that you and your enemy contacts would both appear to be doing well.”

  “To what end?”

  “For the opportunity Fouché offered you. To join Napoleon’s physicians to pursue your interest in science.” Doncaster leaned forward, vengeance in his eyes. “Those men were murdered as a ruse to cover your desertion. You were to be assumed dead until an announcement could be made that you had joined Napoleon’s court. To study anatomy.” He spoke that last as though it were the trump card.

  “Why could you not study anatomy in England?” Sidmouth asked.

  “I gave it up when my father asked that I choose another field of study.”

  “Come, come, my lord,” Doncaster said, “that is much too simple an explanation of a major rift. You were forced to give it up because the duke insisted. He said he would provide you no more support if you continued.”

  “My father is dead, sir.”

  One of the others interrupted. “Under questioning in Sussex you admitted that you did not know that he was dead until Madame Parnell told you.”

  Doncaster nodded and continued, “You were following the work of John Hunter. Some considered him a great man of science, but, in fact, he was no more than a reprobate, hiring body snatchers to bring him the dead so he could study them.” He turned to face the men seated near him. “The duke stated publicly, and rightly so, that God and salvation were more important than science.”

  “I know this has happened before, gentlemen,” Gabriel said, pleased that he sounded so calm. “Lord Richard Selwick went with Napoleon to Egypt. He insisted that science claimed no national loyalty. But for once, I agree with my father. There are some things more important than science.”

  “Did it not occur to you,” his brother asked, leaning forward in his seat, “that my brother was effective because he is untrained in your ways, but as a man of science, a natural observer of detail?”

  “Yes, yes, it did,” Doncaster agreed. “Until the incident that resulted in his disappearance. When we could find nothing of him among the dead, we began to ask our contacts. Eventually word surfaced that it had been a plan all along for Pennistan to sever all ties with Britain and join the French cause. Among Napoleon’s physicians and in the French court he would be welcome and valued far more than he had been in England.”

  “Does no one understand that it is about science and not about personal recognition?” Gabriel asked, frustrated as usual by the constant misunderstanding.

  “That is not the issue right now,” the duke said.

  “Yes, it is. I study subjects of interest to gain knowledge, not to impress people.” He looked directly at Doncaster and continued, “I do it to help man understand his world. It is not as straightforward a contribution as a soldier makes, or as my brother does seated in the House of Lords, but it is something I have the talent for and an interest in.”

  The group nodded, though not all of them were convinced.

  “I study the sciences and am also a loyal British subject, willing to serve my country in any way I can. I did what was asked of me.” He turned to the viscount. “By your own admission I was successful until the end. Do you actually have any proof I was colluding with the enemy? Or do we not need proof in wartime?” He sat back, shaking his head. “Do you realize that you are considering sending me to prison or even the gallows because I was too good at the task you assigned?”

  “We were impressed,” Sidmouth said, nodding, “until the information reached us that you were being taken to Paris to meet with Fouché.”

  Major Shelby spoke up. “Is it not possible that Lord Gabriel was a pawn in a game of revenge? All of us know that Fouché and the second duke, Lord Gabriel’s father, were personal enemies. Could it be that the brutal murders in the tavern and the detention of Lord Gabriel were orchestrated by Fouché for the sole pur
pose of embarrassing the duke? It would have had the added benefit of discrediting the family name of one of Fouché’s most outspoken critics.”

  Doncaster waved off the suggestion. “It is too contrived.”

  “Precisely the way Fouché likes things done,” the viscount said, nodding at Shelby, who continued.

  “Fouché would then bring Lord Gabriel to Paris and offer him the bribe, with the added threat that Fouché’s men have let it be known that Lord Gabriel conspired with them in the deaths of seven men. Should he refuse the offer Fouché presented, he would be sent back to England to face the hangman. Either way, the Pennistan name would be sullied.”

  Gabriel surveyed the group, trying to decide who, besides Shelby, was on his side. The scarred man sat with his eyes closed as though in pain, or perhaps so people could stare at him without embarrassment. The others appeared intrigued by Shelby’s comments, except for Doncaster.

  “The plot was abandoned when Fouché fell out of favor with Napoleon and was shipped off to Rome on some pretext.”

  “Naples,” Viscount Sidmouth corrected.

  “How can you prove this ridiculous idea?” Doncaster asked, though Gabriel was wondering the same thing.

  “It would help if we knew what Lord Gabriel said the night of the massacre.” This from Lord Sidmouth’s deputy.

  The group began talking among themselves with shakes and nods, just short of raised voices.

  It was Sidmouth who ended the discussion by simply raising his hand. “We have new information that enables us to conclude that while the suggestion exists that Fouché was going to offer him a position, Lord Gabriel had no idea that he was about to so used.”

  The last whispers died completely and everyone gave the viscount their full attention.

  “New information?” Doncaster echoed.

  “Yes,” Shelby said. The major turned to the viscount. “My lord, thank you for your consideration. Mr. McNulty is still recovering from his burns and wounds. Even now it is an effort for him to be here.” McNulty, his eyes open, nodded slightly, acknowledging the attention.

  “McNulty!” Doncaster said, turning to look at the man whom they had all been wondering about.