by Susan Ward
She leaned into him, breathing heavily. “I do it quietly so you won’t coddle me. I am not made of glass.” She covered her mouth with a hand and took in a deep breath. Her face was lost in the washbowl again.
She let him rub her brow until the nausea passed. He set the washbowl on the table and watched as she relaxed into her pillow.
“Try to rest, Merry. We have much to do tomorrow.”
She was too tired to question him on that. She wrapped herself in the blankets and attempted to return to sleep. She was still in bed when Indy brought her breakfast.
The boy looked at Merry curled tightly around Morgan’s pillow. There was tension in her limbs and her face was the color of parchment. Stiffly, he said, “You need to take her ashore. She is not looking well.”
Morgan sat back in his chair and seemed to study her for a moment. Turning his focus back on his work, he added, “I am taking her ashore tomorrow. I will be gone for an extended period of time. I have given the necessary instructions to Tom. You are to return to sea without me as quickly as possible.”
That earned him a sharp look from the boy. It had not been wise to say that, not now.
One battle at a time, Varian.
There were so many difficult battles still lay ahead, and so much work left to be done if he were to be free of the coil of the past. He was relieved the boy left without probing the issues further.
Once they were alone, Merry climbed from the bed and crossed the cabin. Angry, she snapped, “Why don’t you ever tell me anything, Varian? Why didn’t you tell me we were going ashore? I don’t wish to go ashore. I do not want to stay in England, not one day more than necessary.”
He gave her a hard stare. She ignored it. She curled onto his lap and picked up one of the documents sitting before him. Another obscure and dated customs record.
“Who is Lord Branneth to you?” she asked. When he refused to answer, she starting picking through the documents turning the neat stacks into a disorderly heap.
“Stop trying to irritate me, Merry. It is important to us both that I finish this.”
Whatever slipped into his voice made her tense and instantly he regretted it. Varian rested his chin on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I will tell you everything you want to know, and perhaps a thing or two you don’t want to know. But not today. I haven’t time for that lengthy of a discussion.”
He watched her as her toe rubbed little patterns against the carpet, poking at the papers laying here and there.
Then, he said, “You know, it is past time for you to tell me who your people are. There is no reason for your obstinacy in this. Do you think your silence serves either of us well?”
She didn’t answer him. Stubbornness always. It was part of the cost of loving Merry. Patience and an ability to work with stubbornness.
He eased her from his knee and gave her a light swat on her bottom. “Go away.”
Merry settled at the table, picking at her breakfast as Varian went to retrieve more papers from the mountain strewed across the floor. It was carefully sectioned into piles. She studied him, wondering if he would ever tell her the truth about this.
Whatever this obsession it went well beyond Rensdale, though she did not doubt the viscount was in the center of it all. That part of Varian’s tale she believed, but this was so much more, whether he was willing to explain it or not. It was quite simply too copious, too detailed to have as its focus on a single man. Nothing Varian did was ever insignificant.
Now deeply claimed by his task, he seemed suddenly very far away from her.
“Whatever you are working on is certainly not putting you in a pleasant humor. I don’t know why I bother with you at all. For a pirate you are exceptionally serious, disciplined and industrious. I think I liked you better when you worked at being wicked. You were more fun.”
No response.
Then, mimicking his voice, she whispered, “I thought we only do what we want, how we want, and only so long as it’s pleasurable? That does not look pleasurable.”
Merry had thought to make him laugh. Not even a chuckle. Varian settled back against his chair and with a dark smile said, “Not any longer, Little One. We are in England. The center of the world and the center of my war.”
~~~
The Earl of Camden entered his front hall, returning from tedious hours at Carlton House spent in gossip and indulging the whims of the Regent. He was greeted by his butler with a silver tray and a familiar seal staring up at him from a letter.
“How did this get here?” Camden asked dryly.
“By messenger, your lordship. The messenger stated it was urgent and required your immediate attention. I have taken the liberty of setting a fire in your library. ”
Camden stared down at the seal, then tapped it against his hand as he walked down the hall toward the library.
So the scoundrel was back in London, brazen enough to send me a letter by common messenger, with his seal on it no less. What to make of that? There is always little buried meaning in all things Varian does. He knew the seal would irritate and prick my curiosity. As reckless as it had been, even beneath the cover of forged identities, it had been foolish in the extreme to send a letter with his seal upon it.
In the library, Camden excused the footmen, closed the door and settled in a chair after pouring a generous glass of port. He was furious before he finished the first two lines. Furious for what the letter contained and that Varian had been reckless enough to send this communication in writing. A neatly penned narrative which could have linked Varian to a decade of crimes if it had fallen into the wrong hands. Pressed on parchment behind his seal no less. Why had he made such a stupid gesture?
It was a page and a half about Rensdale, what he’d accomplished with the Hampstead, and how he wanted Camden to proceed with the documents they’d gathered over the decade. A tactical battle plan to make sure Rensdale’s and his conspirators’ destruction was complete. He almost tossed it in the fire before finishing it without reading the postscript. He was that angry with the man for his fearlessness. Varian was a capable man, not a foolish man, but sometimes his love of these little puzzles of battle tried ones nerves. Varian had no nerves. It was beyond tolerance.
It would be worth not giving the man the satisfaction of attempting to understand the gesture of this. The seal was probably nothing more than a jab in warning that now that it seemed Rensdale was a resolved issue not to open the discussion of Varian’s future again. Camden didn’t even know why he bothered trying to pull the man to England. Varian wasn’t malleable.
Camden was standing at the fire, having moved the grate, before curiosity forced him to finish the note.
You knew I would finish this exercise, you bastard. How much you love how well you can read people and toy with them. You knew the seal would bother me and that is why you did it. Bother and make me hopeful when I saw it, hopeful you’d seen reason at last.
It was a damn good thing Camden didn’t burn the letter. The post script laid him flat: “I have had with me a girl since our meeting in Falmouth last September. Beautiful and of noble birth. There must be rumor of a gently born girl missing from Cornwall a year ago. When you discover who she is, Brian, procure me a special license and come at once. I am getting married. I am coming home. You have had your way at last. Try not to gloat. It will ruin my happiness.”
Camden tossed the letter into the flames and watched it burn. He shouted for his carriage to be brought. It was midnight, but danger was closing in on Varian and the man didn’t know it.
Varian must not have been in port very long if all hell hadn’t broken loose yet. The gossip at Carlton house had been spiced with speculation about the girl, tedious and boring to endure at the time. Clearly, Merry had not been discovered back in England yet. The soldiers who search every ship that docks must not have gotten to searching Varian’s ship. The Merricks, with their myriad of power and connections, had accomplished this from a single request made to the Regent.
/> Camden hurried into the carriage. There was not a moment to spare. Varian was in London Port, with the most dangerous crime he’d ever committed sleeping beside him in his bed, wanting to marry it no less.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The violent knock on the door roused Merry from sleep. In the open cabin doorway stood a frantic Tom Craven.
“There are soldiers on the ship. They are searching. They are not giving explanation for this invasion. They don’t know who we are, we are safe in that, but they are searching every corner of this ship. The documents with your seal on them are not stopping them.”
Varian absorbed it all calmly, his face impassive, his insides churning. “Where is Indy? He cuts too striking a figure for the soldiers to see him and not to risk having the pieces work together. Make sure the soldiers don’t see him, Tom, if we hope to make through this night without having to go to battle in London Port.”
“He left the ship two hours ago, Varian.”
Varian ran a hand through his tussled hair. At least the boy was gone. A good fortune that. Steadying his thoughts, he said, “Keep them from my cabin. I will be on deck once I have dressed.”
Tom’s good brow rose sharply. “They are searching every corner of this ship, Varian, and you will not stop them. I have tried. The most we can do is make it through this without them figuring out who else we are. It’s a good thing we came into port with legitimate documents. They have managed some protection, some caution with them. The officer inspected them, carefully, with an educated eye. He would have known if they were fiction. When I announced you were traveling with your wife, he permitted me to inform you of this interruption when they would have preferred to break in your door. Forged documents would have brought our ruin. These are not customs agents. We can’t buy off their suspicions. These are soldiers with a very high degree of expertise and fanatical in their whim in carrying out their duty.”
“Tell them that I have my wife and will require time to prepare to receive them. Do it well, Tom, and do it wisely.”
Varian closed the door. He rummaged through Merry’s dresses and pulled out one suitable for her part. She was huddled on the bed with his shirt clutched to her. How the devil would they make it through this? Merry could express a hundred emotions, all at once, with perfect transparency.
“What is going on?” Merry demanded. “What is happening?”
“Little One, there are soldiers searching my ship,” he explained calmly. “They are not aware I am Morgan. They are searching for something other than pirates. I have much to explain to you, Merry. But for now, you must let me deal with them how I need to and be angry with me later.”
Varian pulled her from the bed and handed her the clothes. Merry watched him as he dressed into carefully selected garments which transformed him into the perfect image of a British aristocrat.
Ah, of course, we are in England. He is Varian Deverell tonight, she thought mockingly, while still alarmed.
Varian unlocked his sea chest, removed the signet ring and slipped it on his hand. She’d seen him use this guise three times, yet she sensed great tension in him, as if this drama were more dangerous than the others she had witnessed. He was worried and he couldn’t conceal it completely from his eyes.
The soldiers worried him when nothing ever worried him.
Merry was almost dressed. “What is wrong, Varian?”
Varian brushed her face with a gentling palm. His black eyes were unreadable. “This is going to be a night of shocks, Little One. Try not to get angry.” He gave her a thorough kiss. “Try to forgive me later.”
While he fastened the last of her buttons, she glanced over her shoulder at him. “What do you imagine I will need to forgive you for, you insufferable man? If you make it through this night without harm, I will be more likely to take you to bed.”
His smile was amused, but his voice was the opposite. “We will see, Merry. We will see.”
That made her eyes widen. He assisted her to a chair, gave her a glass of wine and moved to stand in front of the stern windows. He stood as he was when the knock came.
With just the right hint of displeasure, he said, “You may enter.”
The door busted open with more zeal than necessary. There were six soldiers, the bright scarlet of their coats standing out like warning flags. Varian arched a brow.
Bored and impatient, Varian demanded, “What is the meaning of this intrusion?”
The first thing that broke loose in Merry’s racing thoughts was that the soldiers, even as rude as they had been upon entering, were cautioned at once. They bowed to Varian.
Merry’s round eyes studied the young officer who appeared to be in charge. Fear and worry was what she saw on his face; strange, but that was what it was. He stepped forward with his documents, the gilt buttons and excessive gold lace on his coat telling Merry that this was a rich man’s son, probably a younger son of nobility.
The sharpness in the Major’s eyes betrayed he recognized Varian as someone, because there was prudence and anxiety in him as he crossed the room. Merry noted the office’s fear was a strange thing. It held a hint of derision, even while his manner was correct and carefully so.
He made a bow to Merry. Then shifted back to Varian. “I apologize for this intrusion, Your Grace. We have orders to search every ship which makes port in London, regrettably even yours. We will go about our business as expeditiously as possible, not to impose upon your tolerance more than required. I hope you will accept my apologies for the necessity of doing my duty.”
Your Grace? Merry’s heart turned over and then began to race. Your Grace? Varian had spoken not a word in explanation of himself. This was not one of his fictions. The officer recognized him without introduction to aid him. Recognized him and was not comforted that he did.
Her brain spinning, she recalled in Bermuda Mrs. White had called him Your Grace. Merry had thought nothing of it at the time, another guise, another ruse, but in the Rose and Crown strangers had recognized him.
Who was Varian?
She remembered the crest on his signet ring, but she was certain that she had never seen the crest before. She turned her wide eyes on Varian, wishing he would look at her. Who was this man she had fallen in love with?
Varian took a step forward, menacing without effort, and took the documents being offered. He scanned them once with a careless, fast passing glance before returning them.
“You would more likely receive my tolerance,” he told the younger man in a voice of clipped civility, “if your men would immediately remember themselves and cease in their staring at my wife.”
A flush passed over the Major’s face. It was then Merry realized the men were staring at her, with openly speculative eyes that were offensive in their probing. In sudden dismay, she realized why these men were here. They were sent by Lucien Merrick. They were searching for her, and Varian didn’t even know the danger he was in, the danger she had brought to him.
She stood up. “Your men have been an insult to me and I would like them to leave immediately,” Merry said in a voice of straining calm to the young officer.
Her words only increased the Major’s discomfort. “I apologize, Your Grace. You bear a striking resemblance to the description of a woman we have been searching for. Obviously it is a coincidence, but surely you can understand the interest my men have given you, rude and unpardonable though it was.” His eyes were sharp and full of meaning as they fixed directly on her face. “I hope you may forgive us and know we only come to assist and not insult. If there is anything you would like to request of me, I am your humble servant.”
Merry began to tremble fiercely. He knows. He knows I am Lucien Merrick’s daughter.
“I require nothing except your departure, Major,” she said simply.
He made a bow. “Of course, Your Grace.”
The officer ordered the men out. He was almost to the cabin door when he stopped, and he bent Merry another probing scrutiny. “My orders are absolutel
y clear, what I must do when I am unsure, Your Grace,” he said to Varian. “I can’t leave. I fear that I must insult you once more and beg for your tolerance and indulgence. I need you to grant me permission to inspect your marriage documents so that I may know that all is as it should be.”
Varian’s laugh was harsh and cutting. “You doubt my word? This is beyond tolerance. I will have your head by morning. Leave.”
The young officer called the soldiers back. “I apologize, Your Grace. You may well have my head by morning. I can’t leave your wife here with you until I am certain this is where she should be. My orders have come directly from the Regent. I must be cautious of whose anger I stir. Careful in the execution of my duty and must suffer your displeasure rather than to fail my Sovereign. I am taking Her Grace with me until these matters are resolved and my regiment will remain aboard your ship until all issues are satisfactorily answered.”
It was the first time Varian had looked at Merry since the soldiers had entered the cabin. His expression was merely amused, but the sharpness of his eyes burned her. “Exactly who are you imagining Her Grace to be?” Varian said, in an only mildly curious manner.
The younger man, for all his earlier caution, lost a measure of that. With shrewd and certain boldness, he stated, “If she is your wife, Your Grace, you would know, just as I do without doubt, who this woman is and why we are here.”
“How dare you!”
The cabin shuddered from the bellow and Merry turned to see the Earl of Camden striding into the cabin.
“Do you dare doubt His Grace’s word,” Camden growled. “Are you reckless enough to doubt mine? Are you foolish enough to insult Her Grace, knowing who her father is? Whatever orders sent you here have changed. You and your Regiment will leave without her. I have just left Carlton House and the Regent. I will not hesitate to return to inform his majesty of this outrage and insult. I will inform the Regent, do not doubt me. Then, I will inform her father of each insult you dared against her this night. I don’t think that will bring a pleasant consequence. However, you can add to your ruin by taking her if you insist. I imagine it should take but days before her father is in London to correct the error.”
