by Tracy Grant
Reveling in the luxury of a soft feather bed, they rolled over and over on Margaret's clean-smelling sheets and explored each other with fingers and lips, gently at first, then with an urgency which made the bed groan. The quick, harsh sound of Caroline's breathing and the salty taste of sweat on her skin told him her hunger was as great as his own, but it was as if their lovemaking had changed into an entirely different key. Caroline was surrendering not only her body but her very soul.
The need had become unendurable. Adam groaned in desperation and apology. He lifted her hips and her thighs parted beneath his own. As he entered her, she looked into his eyes, her own luminous in the candlelight. "Adam."
The simple sound of his name filled him with joy and echoed round his heart. He braced himself on his elbows and looked down at her, willing himself not to end their joining too quickly. When he began to move within her, Caroline pulled him against her and said his name over and over, her mouth against his throat, her legs wrapped round him, her hips moving beneath his own. And in that moment, Adam knew she was giving comfort as much as she was receiving it.
The chords of desire built into a shattering crescendo. Caroline cried out and arched against him, shuddering from something other than grief. The feel of her convulsing round him destroyed his last shreds of control. He breathed her name and exploded inside her.
Caroline cradled Adam against her and kissed his sweat-dampened hair. Nothing had changed. Talbot had still spoken those devastating words. Her efforts to protect her child had still been destroyed. But she felt whole somehow. Complete. She could not put a name to what had passed between her and Adam but she knew it was different from the other times they had lain together. For the first time she had looked into Adam's eyes and seen the extent of his need and felt no fear.
"Caro." She felt the vibration of Adam's voice against her skin. He raised his head and looked down at her, his expression so vulnerable it stopped her heart. His eyes held a longing that was like a kind of desperate thirst. "What did Emily look like as a baby?" he asked softly.
It was the first question he had asked about Emily since he learned he was her father. Caroline lifted a hand and brushed the hair from his brow. "Beautiful," she said. "And tiny. I couldn't believe a baby could be so small, though everyone told me she was perfectly healthy."
Adam's eyes were still dark with intensity. "What was her first word?"
"Light."
"Light?" He laughed, a rich warm sound that washed comfortingly over her.
"Yes," Caroline said. "She used to go about watching me light the lamps in our rooms in Lisbon every evening. She was fascinated by them. I felt slighted. I wanted her to say 'Mama' so badly."
"Poor Caro." Adam kissed the tip of her nose. Then his face grew serious. "Was it—was the birth difficult?" he asked.
Caroline grimaced, recalling sweat-drenched sheets and violent, interminable spasms of pain. "I thought so. But Jane kept telling me I was lucky, first babies are usually much more difficult."
Adam traced the line of her jaw with gentle fingers. "I wish I'd been there."
"So do I." Caroline laid her hand over his own. At the time of Emily's birth, she had been so angry with Adam. Yet there had been a moment, in the throes of the birth pangs, when she had wanted him beside her with an intensity as strong as the spasms which wracked her body. She had put it down to delirium. Now the memory brought her joy.
Adam took her hand and pressed it against his lips. "I don't want Emily to grow up without a name."
Caroline felt a stab of the anguish that had overwhelmed her earlier. "Nor do I."
"Then there's a simple solution." Adam's voice was soft, but there was a strange light in his eyes, as if he was making a desperate gamble. "Marry me, Caro. Let Emily be a Durward."
It was the obvious thing for him to say, yet Caroline had not expected it. Though he had come close to it ten years ago and again perhaps in Lisbon, Adam had never before spoken those words. For a moment she felt an irrational pain because he had said them for Emily, not for her.
That was ridiculous, of course. This was no time to be thinking of herself. Yet how could she not think of herself when her own life as well as Emily's would be forever changed by her answer. For all she and Adam had just shared, the instinctive fear that they would bring each other more pain rose up in her throat, stifling speech.
"Don't be foolish, Caro," Adam said, taking her by the shoulders. "This isn't about us. It's about Emily."
He was right, yet the words made her feel strangely hollow inside. She had told herself so often that she could not be Adam's wife, but most of the reasons were now meaningless. Jared was dead. Wealth and position no longer seemed important to her. The hurts of the past might not be erased, but they had healed more than she had ever thought possible. Adam knew about Emily and clearly felt far more than responsibility for her.
"Are you sure you want to be burdened with a family?" Caroline asked, recalling her worries when they talked in Lisbon.
"I may not be as rich as Jared was when you married him," Adam said, a grim note creeping into his voice, "but I'm not a pauper. And I'm a deal more responsible."
"I know that," Caroline said quickly. "I just don't want to take advantage of the situation."
"Christ, woman," Adam said with feeling. "I've asked you to be my wife. You've known me for twenty years. You've had my child. We've crossed two countries together and faced God knows what dangers and you're lying in my bed. Give me an answer."
Something in his tone made Caroline smile. "Yes," she said.
A light flared in Adam's eyes, but his gaze remained steady. "Yes, what?"
She swallowed, still not quite able to believe they had finally come to the point where she could say it. "Yes, I'll marry you, Adam Durward." The words brought a curious lump to her throat.
Adam released his breath on a harsh note. Then he pulled her against him and kissed her with unexpected fierceness. "I won't let you regret it, Caro," he said, his lips against her hair.
There was a note in his voice that made her long to offer reassurance, but before she could respond, his mouth moved back to her own and another sort of response swept words aside.
Much later, lying in the curve of Adam's arm, feeling the comforting warmth of his body and the steady beat of his pulse, Caroline said, "We have to tell Emily."
"That we're getting married?" Adam asked, his fingers trailing gently over her skin.
Caroline laid her hand on the tangle of dark hair on his chest. "That you're her father."
She felt his quick intake of breath. "There's no telling whom Talbot may talk to," she said, pushing herself up on one elbow. "If he wants to discredit me, he might decide to spread rumors in every club and drawing room in London. I want Emily to learn the truth from us first."
"Talbot doesn't know I'm Emily's father," Adam said in a careful voice.
"No," Caroline agreed, "he doesn't. But I want Emily to know it."
The look in Adam's eyes told her she had said the right thing. It was early morning before she left his room, her body aching from his lovemaking, her mind strangely contented. After so much turmoil, her future was settled, after a fashion. Whatever else she faced, she did not have to face parting from Adam. She slipped into bed beside Emily and fell into a more peaceful sleep than she would have thought possible a few hours before.
Emily looked from Caroline, seated beside her on the sun-dappled parlor window seat, to Adam, who was leaning against the white-painted molding. "You mean Adam's my real father?"
Caroline nodded, wondering if she had framed the story correctly, wondering if she should have spoken at all. She glanced at Adam. From his expression one would think there was nothing out of the ordinary about the scene, but his knuckles were white.
Emily's brows drew together, as if she was trying to puzzle the story out. "Is that why my other father never liked to play with me the way Uncle Victor plays with Juana and Beatriz?" she asked.
Caroline's throat closed. She heard Adam draw in his breath but didn't dare look at him. "Of course not," she said. "Your fath—Jared loved you. That's why he called you his daughter."
Emily nodded. She seemed curious, but not as shocked as Caroline had expected. It occurred to Caroline that the very young were far more matter-of-fact about these things than their elders. Emily knew how children were made, but perhaps she hadn't put together what Adam being her father implied about her mother's relationship with him. Caroline had just reassured herself with this thought when Emily looked at her out of grave eyes. "Does this mean you were like Adam's wife, the way Elena is like Hawkins's wife?"
Caroline glanced at Adam and saw a gleam of appreciation in his eyes. "In a way," she told Emily. "Very soon I really will be his wife."
Caroline paused, waiting for Emily to respond. She could feel Adam's utter stillness. The sound of the birds outside in the garden suddenly seemed deafening.
Emily considered this fresh piece of information. "You mean we'll all live together?"
Caroline nodded.
Adam moved toward them, hesitantly at first, then with his usual decisive stride. He dropped down in front of the window seat. The sunlight fell across his face, catching him in a rare moment of vulnerability. "I'll be your mother's husband and your friend, but you don't have to think of me as your father until you decide you want to."
Emily smiled. "I'd like you to be my father. I like you better than my other one. What will I call you?"
Adam hesitated, glanced at Caroline, then turned back to Emily. "Whatever you like."
Emily looked thoughtful. "I called my other father 'Papa.' Can I call you 'Daddy' like Sally and Lizzie and the boys call Uncle Will?"
Adam gave a smile that was so sweet it made Caroline's heart turn over. "I'd be honored."
Emily laughed and bounced on the window seat. "I'm glad you're my father." She thought a moment, then added, "I wouldn't have minded if it were Hawkins."
Adam made his way along Downing Street, his mind filled with his night with Caroline and their talk with Emily, though he knew he should be thinking about the interview ahead. He had received a summons from Lord Castlereagh that morning. The committee wanted to talk to him again now that Talbot Rawley was in England.
Adam climbed the steps to the Foreign Office and was shown to the same dark, musty room where the committee had questioned him before. The others were already grouped about the table: Castlereagh and Granby conferring together in lowered voices; Palmerston staring out the narrow, murky widows; Talbot lounging in his chair, an impatient look on his face.
Subduing an impulse to seize Talbot by his shirt front and demand an accounting for what he had done to Caroline and Emily, Adam closed the door behind him and looked at Castlereagh.
Castlereagh turned from his conversation with Granby and nodded coolly. "Sit down, Durward," he said in a colorless voice, "we're ready to get started. You and Colonel Rawley have met before, of course."
Adam looked Talbot Rawley full in the face. He had noted Talbot's casual arrogance when they met in Freneda, but he hadn't realized the danger which lay behind the facade. He had been jealous of Talbot then. Now he felt blinding anger.
"We have," he said.
"So we have," Talbot agreed with a mocking smile.
Adam pulled out one of the straight-backed chairs and seated himself, taking the other men's measure. Their faces told him there had been a change in their view of the situation and the change had not been in his favor. What new lie had Talbot invented?
Castlereagh shuffled a sheaf of papers on the table in front of him. "Colonel Rawley has clarified one question. The informant Limon is not a British spy but a man who happened to stumble upon information he thought would be of value to the British. Limon had met Colonel Rawley some months previously, so it was Colonel Rawley he sought out when he reached the British army."
"Ah," said Adam, folding his arms. "I knew there must be an explanation." He glanced at Talbot, but Talbot merely continued to smile.
"Colonel Rawley has also provided us with some additional information," Castlereagh continued, a repressive look in his eyes. He glanced down at the papers in front of him, then back at Adam. "In the course of your journey across Spain with Mrs. Rawley was an intercepted French dispatch placed in your keeping?"
Adam was caught off guard. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a look of satisfaction on Talbot's face. Talbot had done something far more clever than invent a lie. He had told the truth. Wellington must have spoken of Adam's actions with the dispatch and the story had got back to Talbot. Adam understood at once why Talbot had repeated it and where Castlereagh's inquisition was leading. "It was," he said, cursing himself for not having foreseen this turn of events.
"Why didn't you mention it at our last meeting?" Castlreagh demanded.
Adam settled back in his chair and crossed his legs. "You didn't ask."
Palmerston's eyes glinted with appreciation. Granby continued to regard Adam with an impassive expression. Castlereagh's brows drew together. "Cleverness will get you nowhere, Durward. Did you deliver the dispatch to Lord Wellington as promised?"
"I informed him of the contents of the dispatch."
"But you didn't actually give it into his hands."
Adam looked levelly at the Foreign Secretary. "I did not."
Castlereagh returned Adam's gaze, his eyes cold and appraising. "Why not, may I ask?"
"Because by the time I reached Freneda, I no longer had the dispatch in my keeping."
"I see." Castlereagh leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, and tented his fingers with careful precision. "You had lost it?"
"In a manner of speaking. I was forced to give it to Colonel Lescaut in exchange for his help in rescuing Mrs. Rawley's daughter"
At this confirmation of the story, Adam heard a faint exhalation of breath that might have come from Granby or from Palmerston. Talbot, Adam knew, was watching him, probably with the same bloody satisfied look on his face. Why should he speak? The scene must be going exactly as he wished.
"Let me get this straight," Castlereagh said. "You gave a French dispatch, intercepted by our Spanish allies, no doubt at considerable risk, into the hands of a French intelligence officer?"
"I did. It seemed the only way to secure the return of the child. But I very much doubt if Colonel Lescaut found the dispatch of any use. After I read it I took the precaution of giving it a thorough soaking. It was illegible."
None of the men looked surprised by this information. They would have already had the story from Talbot. "But you memorized the contents and were able to give Wellington a report," Castlereagh said. "Convenient. There will, of course, be no way to verify the accuracy of the information until the coming campaign. If it is false, it could prove costly."
"It could prove damnable." Talbot leaned forward in his chair. "By God, Durward, if you've misled Wellington—"
"Talbot," Granby said sharply.
"Your concern is understandable, Colonel Rawley," Castlereagh said, "but it's Durward's story we're interested in now."
"I can't vouch for the information in the dispatch," Adam told him. "I merely acted as a courier."
"Quite." Castlereagh's eyes were hard. "You also can't prove that the information you gave to Wellington was the same as that contained in the dispatch."
"Very true," Adam agreed cheerfully. "But if I really were in Colonel Lescaut's employ, couldn't I have obtained a fresh dispatch from him to present to the general? Much tidier all around."
There was a brief silence. "I'd heard you were clever, Duward," Palmerston said. "It seems the stories were right."
Castlereagh frowned at the younger man, then turned back to Adam. "Do you have anything else to say for yourself, Duward?"
"I don't think so," Adam said. "Colonel Rawley seems to have reported the story quite accurately."
Castlereagh cleared his throat. "Apparently Wellington was impressed by your ingenuity. Whe
n he repeated the story of the dispatch he did not, of course, know of the accusations made against you. Colonel Rawley thought it prudent not to mention them to Wellington until we had come to some decision on the matter."
"Did he?" Adam glanced at Talbot, who was observing the scene with ill-concealed triumph.
Granby gave a faint smile. "My son has never been known for his restraint, but in this at least he seems to have shown some sense. There is still a great deal we do not know."
"I've written to Wellington and Stuart," Castlereagh said, "but it will be some time before we hear from them. Until then, you will continue to remain in London, Durward."
Adam inclined his head. "Of course, sir. I have nowhere else to go."
"One last question, Durward," Palmerston said over the scrape of chairs being pushed back from the table. "Why did you accompany Mrs. Rawley to London? I understand Lord Sheriton was also on the ship. Surely he could have served as her escort."
For the first time Adam saw a flicker of fear in Talbot's eyes. Adam hesitated, weighing consequences and possible outcomes. "I had reasons of my own for coming back to England," he said.
"And they were?" Granby who had started to rise, settled back in his chair.
Adam leaned forward, resting his hands on the worn table top. "Five years ago I was charged with investigating the mater of some faulty cannon which were used at Vimeiro. Recently I obtained evidence which leads me to believe the matter was more complicated than I at first supposed."
"Complicated how?" Castlereagh demanded.
"I would prefer not to say," Adam told him. "As yet all I have is supposition, not fact. But I mentioned my suspicions to Stuart and he agreed to allow me to come to England."
There was a moment of silence. Castlereagh and Granby exchanged glances. Palmerston regarded Adam speculatively. Talbot sat very still. Adam was sure Castlereagh at least thought the story was a lie to divert their attention. He wondered if Stuart would support the story when he answered Castlereagh's letter or if he would find it safer to deny any knowledge of the affair.
