by Georgie Lee
He had only to ask it of her.
She leaned deeper into him, waiting for him to guide them in this as he had in every aspect of her activities since she’d agreed to help him.
Then the carriage jolted to a halt, forcing them to break from the kiss. It shattered the spell between them and he let go of her, shifting back across the squabs, the passionate man who’d held her a moment ago replaced by the stoic barrister. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.’
His riveting glance betrayed his words, but she feared his adoration would vanish if she pushed him for more. ‘Don’t be. I owe you more than a kiss for saving me today.’
‘I was only doing my duty.’
She struggled to retain her smile as he lumped her in with his men as if the kiss had meant nothing or hadn’t changed anything. Of course it didn’t and she should be grateful for his honesty and for helping her to see reality instead of a misguided fantasy. He dealt in a shadowy world of London she was just becoming aware of, one, until this week, she’d only ever seen from the inside of a passing carriage. It forced her to concede he was right about not wanting a family and children for it would place them in the kind of danger she’d encountered today. She craved the safety and security of a home not under constant threat by rogue criminals who might either steal her life or Bart’s away at any moment. She’d already watched one husband fade away. She couldn’t imagine doing it again, yet the thought of giving up Bart when this was all over terrified her more. Except he wasn’t hers to lose.
She moved aside the curtain to see the front of a building she didn’t recognise in a part of town she was unfamiliar with, determined to be as nonchalant about what had happened between them as he was. ‘Where are we?’
‘At the home of a colleague.’ He shifted past her and out of the carriage as if the small space had grown too close. ‘He’s an expert on pistols, cannons and gunpowder.’
He held out his hand for her to take and descend. She examined the lines of his palm, hesitant to touch him and recall any hint of the passion they’d just experienced, when they were both doing their best to forget it had just happened. Unable to sit inside the carriage all day, she laid her hand in his, hopping down fast so as to let go of him quickly. Her breath caught in her throat when his fingers tightened around hers, trapping her in his grip as he drew her up the front path to the house.
While constantly surveying the street for any hint of danger, he told her about the powder he’d found in Lady Camberline’s house. When they reached the door, he placed her between him and the imposing wood while they waited for the butler to open it. ‘It’s an odd thing to find in a lady’s salon, but given your suspicions about the lady, it isn’t so odd any more.’
With his chest so close to her she could see the facets in the ruby of his cravat pin, she could barely concentrate on his words. His presence projected power and strength, not comfort and calm, and it resonated deep inside her, making the strain of their kiss and the awkwardness between them afterwards even more difficult to endure.
‘Given the people she keeps company with, maybe she thought to protect herself with a pistol.’ She forced the words out through her tight chest, all the while resisting the urge to rest her palms on his shoulders and press up against him. She had to stop reacting to him like a silly girl in love with an actor. This was all part of his duty to her and nothing more, no matter how much her imagination prodded her to believe otherwise.
‘This kind of powder isn’t for musket balls.’
At last, the door behind her opened and Moira all but sprinted into the entryway and out from beneath Bart. He followed behind her, calm and collected as if their standing mere inches apart from one other, and the kiss, hadn’t bothered him at all. It probably hadn’t. Unlike her, he maintained excellent control of his emotions. It was a trick she needed to learn, and quickly.
‘Good afternoon, Wilson. Is Mr Transom here?’ Bart asked.
The butler, a sombre man of later years, nodded. ‘He’s in his study. I’ll take you through.’
While they followed the butler, Moira took in the house to settle herself, surprised by the tidiness of it and the simple lines of the furniture and decorations adorning the few rooms off the main hallway. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from Bart’s descriptions of a weapons expert, but numerous guns and knives lying about apparently wasn’t involved.
The butler led them to a study near the back of the house. ‘Mr Dyer to see you, sir.’
A young man with round spectacles and a bit of softness along the chin looked up from where he sat at the desk. Around him were piled all the small pistols and munitions she’d expected to see in the rest of the house. They were kept company by the numerous books and papers cluttering every surface. She touched none of them, afraid something might go off. Bart didn’t hesitate, but approached his friend and reached across the desk to shake his hand.
‘Mr Transom, it’s good to see you.’ Bart let go of his associate and waved Moira forward. ‘Lady Rexford, may I introduce Mr Transom?’
Bart didn’t offer an explanation about her presence and Mr Transom, apparently well versed in the ways of intrigue, didn’t ask. Instead he offered her a little bow. ‘A pleasure to meet you, Lady Rexford. Welcome to my home. I’m sorry it’s such a mess, but I’ve had a great deal of enquiries lately into weapons and other such issues.’
‘I understand and I don’t mind at all.’ Moira’s graciousness brought a grin to the young man’s thin lips.
‘Have you had a chance to examine the gunpowder sample I sent you?’ Bart’s question ended the pleasantries.
‘I was reviewing it again in anticipation of your visit.’ Mr Transom came around his desk and went to the table by the window. He bent over it and stared through the magnifying glass affixed to one end of a brass arm. A whale-oil lamp burned near the magnifying glass, throwing light on a narrow slip of paper and the dark red powder on top of it. Mr Transom picked through the granules with long metallic tweezers.
‘What do you think?’ Barth stood beside him. Moira perched herself on the edge of a small stool at the end of the table to Mr Transom’s left in order to watch.
‘Definitely gunpowder, but a disturbing mixture,’ Mr Transom declared. ‘More potent than regular red powder.’
‘Red powder?’ Moira knew the ingredients for numerous cakes and pastries, but gunpowder was beyond her expertise.
‘There are two kinds of gunpowder typically used,’ Mr Transom explained. ‘Weaker white powder for when a regiment wants to salute or make some other noise that’s not intended to do damage. The other is red powder, for when you want to blow your opponent out of the water or off the field of battle. This concentration of red powder—’ he waved a hand at the sample ‘—is so potent, a good quantity of it would sink three or four ships. I have no doubt if this small amount were to catch spark, it would kill us all and bring down most of the building. Whenever the Rouge Noir is planning to do with this, it will make the Gunpowder Plot look like a schoolboy blowing up toy soldiers in a field.’
Moira reached over and carefully slid the oil lamp away from the sample.
‘Where did you find this?’ Mr Transom asked Bart.
‘At Lady Camberline’s house.’
‘Not something one usually finds in the house of a marchioness,’ Mr Transom mused, giving further credence to Moira and Bart’s growing suspicion of Lady Camberline’s involvement.
‘Who do you think prepared this?’ Bart asked.
Mr Transom pushed his spectacles up over his head, drawing back the light brown hair against his temples. ‘This is high-quality gunpowder, not the cheap stuff produced in America or other colonies. It’s from our colonies in the West Indies. I can tell by the larger crystals that form due to the moister air out there and the way it hasn’t decayed.’
‘Decayed?’ M
oira asked.
‘When gunpowder sits for too long, if it isn’t a quality mixture, the ingredients can separate, making it useless. This sample came a long way and it’s still holding together, indicating its quality and lethalness.’
‘Is this something a smuggler might bring in?’ Bart asked.
‘Not likely given the blockade. This would have to come in on a Navy ship with free access and a number of guards. Something this potent isn’t likely to be mixed with regular munitions or left unattended. My guess is it was stolen.’
‘It isn’t unheard of for men like Mr Dubois to skip the risks of loading up their own ships with contraband by stealing it from dock warehouses.’
‘But a Navy warehouse? They’d be shot dead before they got away with anything like this.’
‘Unless Mr Dubois had help from someone with enough influence in the Navy to know about the transport, pay the guards a hefty amount to make them look the other way and give Mr Dubois and his men the time they needed to spirit this away.’
Mr Transom nodded. ‘If high-ranking men are involved in the plot, it’s possible one of them gave a smuggler access to a warehouse. I think it’s important to know how much of this is out there and get some sense of the damage someone might do with it. Is there a way to find out if a great deal of this stuff has gone missing lately?’
Bart pressed his lips hard together, while Moira and Mr Transom waited for the answer.
‘There is,’ Bart offered with noted reluctance. ‘My father is on the Navy Acquisition Board. If anything important has gone missing, he’d know about it.’
* * *
Bart stared at the uneven boards with their square nail heads beneath his feet. He’d been invited to the social evening at his parents’ house tonight and he’d roundly rejected it. It seemed he no longer had a choice but to attend. How he would get his father alone and find a way to ask questions about the gunpowder without having to endure a barrage of insults seemed like a bigger challenge than sniffing out the Rouge Noir, or resisting the allure of Moira’s kiss in the carriage.
He looked up to catch Moira watching him from across the room where she perched on the edge of a high stool near Mr Transom’s desk. It took a great deal of effort for him to remain where he was and not stride up to stand beside her and experience the pressure of her fingers against his. When he’d kissed her, the connection between them had been as natural as breathing, and despite the warnings going off in the back of his mind, he’d only reluctantly let her go. He’d vowed not to do this to her again or to trifle with her. It was yet another pledge he’d been unable to uphold, and with this misstep torturing him, it appeared he had no choice but to face the disappointments of his father. It wasn’t exactly how he wished to end this trying day, but with Moira beside him, his father’s insults might sting a little less.
She smiled encouragingly at him and he offered her a half-smile in return. He’d held a great many prejudices against her in the years after their initial flirtation, but she was destroying every one of them. He could use her strength tonight and the advantage of her station for there was nothing his father loved more than titles and lineage, and Moira possessed both. If she was willing to help him again despite the foiled attack on her, he’d be willing to face an even greater danger than Mr Dubois and his assassins or the longing in Moira’s lips drawing out the one in his heart.
He’d face his father.
Chapter Nine
‘I hardly think I need a chaperon in my own home,’ Moira protested when Bart followed her into her house. Once inside, with it being so quiet she was glad he was here. Freddy had put the house on minimal staff since his departure, meaning if she weren’t going to stay with Bart then it would simply be her, the butler and the housekeeper here tonight. As she did not wish to be slain in her bed, Bart was the better option despite the risk of ruin. ‘Wait here while I change and retrieve my things.’
She started up the stairs, surprised to hear the thud of his footsteps behind her. ‘What are you doing?’
She whirled to face him, forcing him to stop short on the stair below hers. Despite the difference in their elevations, with his height he was more than even with her and so close to her she could lean forward and sweep her lips against his if she decided to. No, she’d done so once already and made a fool of herself. She wouldn’t do it again. As thrilling as all this was, in a short while it would be over and she would have to return to her former life. It would not help her dreams of finding a new husband if she did so as a fallen woman.
‘I’m not leaving you alone. If they’ve figured out you’re working with me, then they’ve figured out where you live and possibly how to sneak in here and do what Mr Roth failed to accomplish.’
‘It’s bad enough the butler will see me leaving with you and a packed valise, but what will he or the housekeeper say if they catch you upstairs with me?’
‘Hand them enough money and they’ll keep silent.’ His certainty indicated he had more experience with matters like this than she cared to consider.
‘I hope so.’ Thankfully the old butler was as near-sighted as he was hard of hearing, but the housekeeper wasn’t so decrepit. They and the other servants had been discreet about the family’s affairs in the past, but she wasn’t certain they would be so tight lipped about her being reckless with her reputation. If Aunt Agatha learned she was alone in the house with Bart, the woman would collapse in an apoplectic fit and seal Moira’s fate as a family outcast for good. ‘Remind me to pay them before we leave.’
She turned and started up the stairs again. Thankfully, in London, she shared a lady’s maid with Aunt Agatha and the woman was sure to have returned to the country with her aunt. It would make this brief visit home less expensive.
Bart followed her down the first-floor hall, but when she reached for the door to her room, he placed his hand over hers on the knob before she could twist it open. Their eyes met and Moira froze, aware of his steady pulse flickering against her skin.
‘I’ll go in first and make sure everything is safe.’
‘You think bad men are hiding under my bed?’ she challenged with a sly look, trying to ignore her racing heart.
His finger tightened on hers. ‘One can never be too careful.’
‘I believe you and I are being anything but careful.’ He might pretend there was nothing more to their relationship than the investigation, but in the heat of his hand on hers, and the way he’d studied her at Mr Transom’s, she knew there was more. Whether or not it was strong enough to overcome his reservations and her better sense remained to be seen. She withdrew her hand from beneath his, allowing him to open the door and step inside the room.
The curtains pulled over the window muted the already fading sunlight and deepened the shadows beside the wardrobe and bed. Bart checked everywhere in the room where anyone with vicious designs could hide. ‘All safe.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Even if she didn’t entirely believe it.
She entered and he closed the door behind her. She tried not to focus on how alone they were, or the temptation of her bed and him while she removed a travelling case from beside the wardrobe and folded a few dresses inside for morning and walking. It was what to wear tonight that caused her to debate which gown to select next. She had no idea what the event was or who might be there besides his father and mother. She selected two gowns and held them up in front of her. ‘Which do you think is more appropriate for meeting your parents tonight? The blue one or the red one?’
‘The more conservative of the two.’ Bart barely glanced at either of them as he pushed the curtain aside to study the street below. ‘Change into it now and we’ll go directly to my parents’ house.’
She lowered the dresses. ‘Are we invited to this event?’
Bart allowed the curtain to fall back into place. ‘I am.’
&n
bsp; ‘And what about me?’ It wasn’t like her to parade into homes to which she had not been invited.
‘This will be the first time I’ve ever attended a family event with a lady. You’ll most likely incite more curiosity than scorn.’
She returned the blue dress to the wardrobe. ‘I hope so. I’d hate to be asked to leave.’
‘My father is too enamoured of titles to risk insulting you,’ Bart said with a half-smile Moira did not find reassuring.
‘Then I’m glad I chose the red one.’ The bodice on the red dress was cut much higher, but by current standards both were incredibly modest. Her entire wardrobe was less than appealing and, if she weren’t embroiled in all this nastiness, she might consider at last visiting the modiste and ordering something fashionable and a touch more revealing.
She laid the dress across the bed and began to consider how to change out of her current one and into this one without asking Bart for help. There was no way for her to reach the buttons on the back without assistance. She glanced over her shoulder at him, her pulse pounding in her ears. ‘Would you mind undoing my dress?’
He stared across the room at her, looking more shocked than he had after the attack on her earlier. Her confidence faltered a touch, but she held on tight to it. He probably hadn’t expected her to be this daring, but Aunt Agatha was right, a little knowledge was a very alluring thing. She was no green girl unfamiliar with men and she would make sure he understood it. A thrill of power tripped through her and she wasn’t sure what it was about him that made her bold, but at the moment she very much enjoyed it.
