by Laura Landon
Roarke heard Lord and Lady Strothum bid their children goodbye and he stepped into the shadows so she wouldn’t see him. The door opened and she emerged from the study carrying the babe and ushering the two older children across the foyer and toward the stairs. Even though he was a good distance from her and didn’t move when she passed, she turned her head. Their gazes locked.
He knew the second she realized he was there. Her footsteps halted and her back stiffened. He knew she felt his presence, just as he felt hers. It was as if a silent alarm went off whenever they were near each other.
Roarke nodded a greeting, but she ignored him. He knew she would.
He waited until she ascended the stairs and Lady Strothum left the study, then he joined the others. Mack was there as well as Jack, and Lord Strothum.
“You have a fine family,” Mack was commenting when he entered.
“Yes, Lavinia and I are quite proud of them. And quite protective. Do you think they might be in danger?”
Mack looked at Jack and Hugh, all three hesitating to state the obvious.
Lord Strothum rose, then walked to the window. “I don’t know what my wife or I would do if something happened to any of them.”
Roarke took a chair near Lord Strothum. “Which is why we’re here,” he said.
The earl tried to look reassured. “Yes, of course.”
“Now,” Mack said. “I think it’s time you told us why those papers are so important that Jimmy Jamison was willing to die to get his hands on them.”
“Gentlemen, I’m sworn to secrecy. I’m afraid the information is safeguarded at the highest level of the government. I—”
He paused and looked at the grim faces of the men gathered in his library. He’d stalled from the beginning with the same old song, citing national security. Roarke willed him to change his mind and saw the very moment that resignation passed across the aristocrat’s eyes.
Lord Strothum took a deep breath, then nodded. “You know I am a member of a government committee that makes sure our troops are supplied with the most superior weapons available.” The brigadesmen nodded almost in unison. “There is a new invention that has shown remarkable benefits for our fighting men.” Strothum paused. He pulled at his chin, obviously stalling, debating whether to reveal more, then lowered his voice and continued. “Have you ever heard of a breech-loading weapon?”
Mack and Jack shook their heads.
“I’ve heard rumors about one,” Roarke said. “But nothing that’s been confirmed.”
Strothum returned to his chair. “I can confirm the rumors. The breech-loading rifle shows great promise, both in design and in testing.”
“What exactly is it?” Mack asked.
“It’s W. G. Armstrong’s brainchild, actually. A firearm in which the shell is loaded into the rear portion of the barrel.”
“Instead of the muzzle?” Jack asked.
Strothum nodded. “The benefits are substantial: loading time is much quicker, our soldiers can reload their weapons without exposing themselves as they are forced to do with front-loading weapons, and so on.”
“This is remarkable,” Mack said. “It could save thousands of lives.”
“Yes,” Strothum answered.
A frown deepened on Mack’s face. “Where is the design kept?”
“Armstrong, of course, has the original. It’s kept under lock and key in a safe place of which only he is aware.”
“And the others?”
“There is only one other. It is here.”
“Here?” Mack asked.
“Yes. The War Department thought it would be safe here. They didn’t think anyone would think to look in a private residence.”
“Obviously someone did,” Mack said.
“Either that,” Strothum answered, “or they are searching.”
“Have the homes of any other government committee members been broken into?” Jack asked.
“One other.”
Mack rose. “I see.” He paced the length of the room several times. “So we may assume that whoever intends to steal the design for the breech-loader hasn’t discovered where it’s being kept. That works in our favor…and against it.”
“How so?” Strothum asked.
“In our favor because they haven’t yet gained possession of the design. Against, because now they undoubtedly realize we suspect their intent and will take more drastic steps to get what they want.”
“You mean they will—”
“I’m just thinking aloud,” Mack said. “But it’s best that you stay on your guard, my lord, and report anything out of the ordinary.”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Until then—”
Mack halted mid-sentence when the door opened.
Lord Strothum turned when his butler entered. “Yes, Rogers. What is it?”
“Mr. Livingston said he wanted to be informed if Miss Shaw left the house. The lady just took the children to the park for an afternoon excursion.”
“Thank you, Rogers,” Strothum acknowledged. “Has she already left?”
“Yes, sir. Not more than a minute ago.”
Roarke rose. “I’ll take care of this.”
Roarke didn’t wait for permission, but left the room and the house at a quick pace.
He thought of everything Strothum told them. He’d suspected there was something more to Jimmy Jamison’s death than the simple theft of the silver or rifling through the master’s desk in search of spare coin. Now he knew. But knowing what it was didn’t put his mind at ease. If anything, it intensified the situation. It also put Lord and Lady Strothum in greater danger, as well as their children.
Roarke looked ahead and spotted Millie Shaw escorting the three older children to the park. He scanned the area and breathed a sigh of relief when everything looked normal.
“Good afternoon, Miss Shaw,” he said when he drew alongside her.
She turned to face him. The disappointment on her face was transparent. “I thought you were otherwise occupied with Lord Strothum and your investigators.”
“So you thought it was safe to escape before I noticed you were gone?”
“I had hoped.”
“I’m sure you did.” Roarke turned to the boys. “Did you bring your ball?”
“Yes,” Henry answered.
Robbie skipped with excitement. “Miss Millie has it in her bag.”
When they reached a bench in the park, Miss Shaw sat. She opened her bag and took out the same ball they’d played with the day before. She tossed it to Henry.
“Would you like to play with us, Miss Millie?” Robbie asked.
“No, you go on. Lady Beth and I would like to sit here and admire the scenery while we do what ladies do best.”
“What’s that, Miss Millie?” Henry asked.
“Why, talk about the latest happenings.”
Henry looked at Millie with his head cocked in question. “Beth doesn’t know any happenings, Miss Millie.”
“You think not?” she answered.
“’Course not. She’s only four. She doesn’t know anything.”
Roarke raised his eyebrows as he waited to see how Millie was going to explain away that statement.
Millie helped Beth get situated on the bench beside her, then Millie clasped her hands in her lap as she took a deep breath while letting her gaze scan the area. “Well, Lady Beth. Isn’t this a splendid day?”
“Oh, yes, Miss Millie. Ever so splendid.”
“I hear that Cook has some gingerbread cookies with icing she intends to provide for our lunch when we return.”
“Really?” both Henry and Robbie said, stepping closer.
She looked at the boys. “It happens to be something I heard before we left. This is what happens when you take the time to discuss the things you’ve heard.”
Broad smiles lit their faces.
“What happening of consequence do you know of, Misstress Beth?” Millie asked.
“Well,” the four-year-o
ld said, clasping her hands in her lap exactly as Millie had done. She thought for a moment, then said, “I know a secret.”
“A secret?” Millie asked. “How exciting.”
The boys turned to pay closer attention. Roarke did, too.
“What is your secret?”
“Oh, it’s not mine. It’s Annie’s.”
“The upstairs maid?”
“Yes. She lost her sweetheart and it makes her cry a lot.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. But maybe he’ll come back to her and she’ll be happy again.”
“Oh, he can’t come back. His name was Jimmy, and Annie said he went to Heaven and won’t ever come back.”
There was a slight pause because no one knew what to say. Then Robbie broke the silence.
“That’s where my Mama went, didn’t she, Miss Millie.”
Before Millie Shaw lowered her gaze to her lap, Roarke saw the flicker of sadness in her eyes.
“Yes, Robbie. That’s where your Mama went,” she whispered.
Roarke didn’t pay as much attention to Robbie when he mentioned his mother. He was more interested in the mention of the footman Jimmy. “Did Annie say anything else about her special friend Jimmy?” Roarke asked Beth.
“No. That’s all I heard her say. But she’s really sad.”
. . . . .
Millie sat with Beth on the bench and watched Roarke Livingston play catch with the boys. Her determination not to notice his physique was beginning to waver. She tried not to focus on how his shirt pulled across his broad shoulders when he threw the ball. But how could she help it? He was about as perfectly built as any man she’d ever seen.
He’d removed his jacket when play became serious and the boys threw one wild toss after another that he had to run after. He’d rolled the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows, exposing his sinewy forearms. Millie couldn’t help but wonder if his body beneath the shirt was as hard and muscled as the parts that were exposed.
She mentally chastised herself as soon as such an unsuitable thought entered her mind. How often did she have to remind herself of what he’d done? She only had to remember the nights she’d heard her sister cry herself to sleep because the man she loved had used her, then abandoned her. She only had to close her eyes and she could see Rosie’s pain-riddled face as she tried to give birth to the babe Roarke Livingston had planted in her body. She only had to look at Robbie and realize that Roarke Livingston was the reason he would grow up without a mother. Or a father.
If only Rosie hadn’t fallen in love with a man who was incapable of returning that love. If only Millie could have prevented her sister from making such a fatal mistake. And yet, she was in danger of making that same mistake.
She couldn’t let herself forget what he’d done. The lives he’d destroyed. No matter how charming he was, she couldn’t allow herself to be pulled into his trap. The results would be disastrous.
“Come, join us, Miss Millie,” Master Henry hollered from the open grassy area in front of her.
“Yes, please,” Roarke Livingston said from a spot near the trees. “These two have ganged up on me and are tiring me something fierce.”
The two boys laughed. “We’re getting better, aren’t we, Mr. Livingston?” Henry countered.
“You most certainly are, Master Henry. Both you and Robbie have improved greatly.”
“Should we show them how it’s done, Lady Beth?” Millie asked.
“Oh, yes. Let’s do.”
Millie took Beth’s hand in hers and they ran toward the boys. “I want to be on Mr. Livingston’s side,” Beth said when they reached the boys.
“Hurrah!” Roarke Livingston yelled. “Come and join me, fair Lady Beth.”
Beth giggled as she ran toward Mr. Livingston. His charm worked even on a four-year-old.
For several wonderful minutes, the five of them joined in tossing the ball back and forth. Millie couldn’t remember a time when the children seemed to have such grand fun. And it was mostly due to Roarke Livingston. But she couldn’t let herself think that.
She would never admit to anyone that he had a way with the children. Or that the boys looked up to him, and Beth was enthralled with him.
How did he do it? He charmed everyone he met. He drew everyone to him the same as metal was drawn to a magnet. He was adored by the kitchen staff. Fawned over by the maids and female servants. And admired by the male staff and footmen. Even Lord and Lady Strothum praised him.
Was she the only one who could see the evil that resided in him? Was she the only person who knew what he was capable of? She wondered what everyone would think if they knew what he’d done.
Millie should have been paying more attention to the game they were playing than concentrating on Roarke Livingston’s wicked past. Beth threw a ball toward her that went wild. She didn’t see it soon enough, and by the time she did, she was too far away from it to reach it safely.
“Look out!” she heard Roarke yell, but the warning came too late. She stumbled, then lost her balance.
She didn’t know if she tripped over a stick, or a clump of grass, or her own clumsy feet, but before she could right herself, the ground rose to meet her.
Her body collided with the hard earth, then she experienced a sharp pain when her head hit something solid. Her vision blurred and she blinked several times to clear it.
“Miss Millie,” the children yelled in unison as they ran toward her.
But they weren’t the ones to reach her first. Roarke Livingston was.
“Don’t move. Stay where you are.” He rested a hand on her shoulder to keep her from trying to get up.
“I’m fine. I just tripped.”
“I know, but it’s best to make sure you’re not injured first.”
He slowly turned her until she was on her back, then he slid a hand behind her back and helped her sit.
“Are you all right, Miss Millie?” Master Henry asked. His expression was filled with concern.
“Yes, Master Henry. I’m fine. But I’m very embarrassed because of my clumsiness.”
“You weren’t clumsy, Miss Millie,” Robbie said. “You tripped on that tree root sticking out of the ground. You were looking up at the sky so you could catch the ball. Otherwise I know you would have seen that root.”
“Yes, Robbie. I’d like to think I would have.”
“Oh, Miss Millie,” Lady Beth cried out. “You’re bleeding.” She was near tears.
Roarke Livingston produced a handkerchief and pressed it against her forehead. “Hold this,” he whispered. “You have a nasty cut on your forehead.”
Millie pressed the cloth to her face and sat for a few more minutes. The earth shifted beneath her and the trees seemed to be doing a slow dance as they swayed back and forth. “I think I’m better now.”
“Are you sure?” Roarke asked.
She wasn’t. In fact she felt more unsteady than before. But she couldn’t admit that to him. “Yes, I’m sure I am.”
“Then allow me to help you,” he said, extending his hand for her to take. “Go slowly.”
Millie clasped her hand in his. His grasp was warm and enveloped her like cozy woolen gloves. His flesh wasn’t soft, but solid with callouses caused by physical work. His grip was firm, without a hint of weakness. But most disturbing were the emotions his touch triggered.
Bolts of heated spears raced through her. She suffered a fullness in her chest she’d never experienced before. She felt alive in ways she’d never felt alive before. And she hated herself for it.
She knew it for what it was—a betrayal of her sister’s memory. How could she be so disloyal?
She willed herself to ignore the emotions that consumed her and allowed Roarke Livingston to help her to her feet. But her right ankle gave out the moment she put her weight on it.
“I think Miss Millie is hurt,” Master Henry said when she sucked in a gasp of pain.
“I believe you are correct, Master Henry,” Mr. Livingston agreed.
“No, I’m fine. I just need a moment to—”
“Can I rely on you to help me, Master Henry?” Roarke asked.
“Of course, Mr. Livingston. What would you like me to do?”
“First, I’d like you to get my jacket from where I hung it on that branch.”
Henry ran to get the jacket, then raced back.
“Now, give it to Robbie to carry. Then I want you to take your sister’s hand in one of yours, and Robbie’s hand in the other, and start for home at a lively pace.”
Master Henry handed over the jacket, then grabbed his sister’s hand in his right hand, and Robbie’s in his left. He looked back for Roarke Livingston’s nod of approval.
“Very good, Master Henry. Now, let’s go.”
Before Millie could voice her protest, Roarke scooped her up in his arms and followed the children as they marched for home.
“Are you going to carry Miss Millie all the way home?” little Beth asked over her shoulder as her feet scampered to keep up with her brother and Robbie.
“I am,” he answered. “Miss Millie’s not that heavy you know. Although I think by the time we reach the house, I’ll wish she hadn’t had that second piece of toast and jam for breakfast.”
The children giggled as they rushed on ahead.
“Put me down, Mr. Livingston. Now. If you just help me, I’m sure I can—”
“…fall when you take the first step,” he finished for her. “You already have nasty cuts on your forehead and on your arm. You don’t need any more bumps and bruises. You’ve suffered quite enough. Do you feel faint?”
She felt more than faint, but refused to admit how lightheaded she was. “People are watching us.” She’d noticed several couples who’d stopped on the walking path and were focused on them.
“I’m sure they are. It’s not every day they see a man carry a woman through the park.”
“But I can walk on my own. I’m sure I can.”
“And I’m sure you can’t. If you want to be of assistance, you can help by wrapping your arm around my neck and holding on. We have a little distance to go yet.”
Millie raised her arm and wrapped it around his neck. His shoulders were broad and muscular. His neck was firm and sturdy. The smile on his face as he carried her down the path was breathtaking.
