The Hero Least Likely

by Darcy Burke

  His senses went on alert. There was a truth here. He could sense it. "He wants to see the handwriting. I suspect he will know who it is based on that alone. I also suspect he won't tell me, and that concerns me."

  Sabre looked out at the starry night. "That wouldn't surprise me. I've thought for awhile that he's playing a deeper game here."

  Quince asked the question he had loathed considering. "Did he send you here to Belle Fleur?"

  She turned her attention back to him, smiling sadly. "No. But he does know that I'm here." She looked at the sky again. "That day my horse had a stone in his shoe? Robert had his men seize me so that he could speak with me."

  "He did what?" Quince could feel his heart stutter with worry about how she had been treated. He didn't take her as a woman who would use a word like "seize" lightly. No wonder she had hugged him as she had upon return to Belle Fleur.

  "It's all right. I'm quite used to Robert and his ways. He's worried about me. But there is something more afoot."

  "As much as I love having your here, how could he stand to let you return?"

  She raised a brow at him. "That's the term he used. Let. That indicates a level of authority I don't allow others to have over me."

  He chuckled. "Really? Saying that was a strategic mistake."

  She became very still. "What do you mean?"

  "That's hardly a statement to attract a husband."

  She laughed and gave him her most flirtatious smile, leaning down until her breasts pressed up against his chest. "Perhaps not for a typical man, but you are not a typical man."

  Prior to meeting her he might have agreed with her statement. But now he knew himself to be far more typical than he had ever hoped. He struggled daily to keep himself from using her for his own pleasure, and hearing her so clearly state her independence both irked and frightened him. How could he keep her safe if she would not submit to protection? Which only served as a reminder that Jessica needed protection as well.

  His distraction must have reminded Sabre of their original conversation. "If you won't trust her to Robert, then who would you trust?"

  He put his arms around her. "I only trust two people and the most logical candidate, Gideon, is far too wrapped up in Parliament to send off to Chippenham."

  "Well, then who is the other one?"

  He looked at her to confirm that she truly, innocently did not know. "Yes, that's an excellent question, isn't it?" he asked.

  Rather than take his bait she sulked and said, "I've been meaning to ask you about Gideon."

  "Ask what about him?"

  "I don't like the way he treats Jack. He's so high-handed and authoritarian. And that's when he even bothers to be around, which isn't often. I don't understand why Jack puts up with it at all."

  Rather than defend his friend, which was very tempting, Quince mildly asked, "Was there a question in there somewhere?"

  "Yes! Why does he act like that? Why does she put up with it?" She seemed genuinely upset so he refrained from chuckling at her.

  "Attraction does funny things to people."

  She gave him a sour look. "Attraction makes him an overbearing ass? I argue he was already that way."

  Now he did chuckle. "Yes, Gideon has always been an overbearing ass. He's actually less so with Jack's influence."

  "Small miracles," she muttered. She plucked at the front of his shirt, obviously discontent.

  "I saw it the first time he introduced me to her," he said.

  "Saw what?" she asked, looking up with curiosity.

  "How right they were together. It's like studying a painting, watching how people are together. It's all about balance."

  The look she gave him was skeptical at best. "That makes no sense to me."

  "What I'm saying is of course Gideon annoys you. The two of you wouldn't balance out at all."

  "But Jack has changed! She used to be independent. She valued her freedom. Now she won't do anything without checking with Gideon."

  "Are you upset for her or for yourself?"

  "Beyond my annoyance, yes, I am upset for her. Why would I want her to become a shadow of what she once was?"

  "Have you asked her if that's how she feels?"

  "I don't need to ask her, I can see it!"

  Quince was quiet for a moment. "You are disturbed that she surrenders some of her freedom and independence to please Gideon? Has it ever occurred to you that she exercised her freedom and independence to please you?"

  Sabre's mouth dropped open. "That's not... That's silly! Of course she didn't..."

  But he saw that her mind was considering it, turning the thought around and about to see what flaws it held. Rather than argue further she laid her head on his shoulder. After a few minutes of silence she petulantly said, "That's poppycock.”

  "Me for suggesting it or Jack for doing it?"

  She raised her head again and gave him the most autocratic look he had seen from her to date. "I don't want to talk about that anymore. How shall we protect Jessica? Who is this sainted second person who has managed to earn your trust?"

  He stroked the corner of her mouth. "I can certainly see how we balance. The things I see most clearly are where you have blind spots."

  That only served to make her frown more fiercely. "I'm not particularly known for my blind spots."

  He smiled at her. "It's you, Sabre. The second person is you."

  Only moments earlier Sabre had thought to herself Quincy Telford can be annoying. And he was, certainly. Quite annoying. The smile he had given her after announcing she had blind spots had been downright patronizing. She hated patronizing men. Then he had said, "It's you, Sabre." Simple. Direct. That he trusted her more than almost anyone in the world. As though it were blindingly obvious. As though it were a given. She heard the blood rush in her ears, felt her heart squeeze in her chest. She was a bit dizzy and glad they were already lying down. She had discovered that her heart was quite willing to do foolish things to make him smile at her. But for his trust? She would do irrational things. Unwise things. She felt both invincible and fragile.

  Not sure how to respond she laid her head on his shoulder and waited for the dizziness to pass.

  Later that evening Quince watched Sabre brush her hair. This would be their fourth night sleeping in the same bed. Before they left the balcony he had asked her if she would like to stay with him. She had enthusiastically agreed and gone to retrieve her nightgown. Now she was seated in a chair and brushing the curls out of her hair. He lounged on the bed watching her. He had a moment of clarity that this was what the rest of his life held. That in forty years he would be here on this bed watching her brush her hair. It filled his heart with a warmth he had never known before.

  When she set her brush down she saw that he was watching her. "What?" she asked.

  He held a hand out and she came to him, crawling up on the bed to join him.

  "What?" she asked again, more softly.

  He cradled her face in his hands and drank his fill of her beauty. He realized he had yet to see her, all of her, as he had dreamt about.

  "May I take off your nightgown?"

  He saw her brow furrow in worry. "Quince, I'm not sure-"

  "We won't. I just want to see you."

  She nodded hesitantly. He pulled the hem of her gown up, kissing her briefly, sweetly. She raised her hips as he continued to pool the fabric up at her waist, then sat up so that he could pull the voluminous fabric over her head. He sat back on his heels, stunned. She was even more beautiful than he had dreamt. Her proportions were perfect. He couldn't decide whether he wanted her portrait just like this, nude and lounging back against her arm, or if the idea of anyone else seeing her like this would kill him.

  "Quince, what are you thinking?"

  "You're perfect," he said in a strangled whisper.

  She gave him the sweetest smile he had ever seen. "Now let me see you."

  "Sabre, I'm endeavoring to keep my promise not to touch you."

  She
tilted her head as though considering his words. "I want you to touch me. I want to see you."

  He nearly tore his shirt in his haste to remove it.

  Seeing him, all golden muscle, long and sleek, lying with him skin to skin, Sabre had wanted him so desperately. She begged him to join with her. He seemed torn between his desire and his need to protect her. At last he had given in to her begging but on his first thrust she knew she had made a terrible mistake. It hurt almost as much as the first time, although it didn't surprise a scream out of her. She bit her lip and held onto his shoulders as he thrust into her over and over. The pain subsided a bit but she never experienced the pleasure she had been led to believe would occur. That her own body seemed to promise her every time he touched her, kissed her.

  When he grunted her name on his final thrust she hugged him and kissed his shoulder.

  He cradled her face. "Are you all right?"

  "I'm fine."

  "Was it any better?"

  "Some." She kissed his shoulder again. "It will get better. Did you enjoy it?"

  "Beyond all things."

  She felt a warm glow. "Then that makes me happy."

  But he still looked worried.

  TWENTY

  When Quince awoke, Sabre was no longer in their bed. His first instinct was to jump up and prowl around until he found her. After lying in bed for a quarter hour trying to control the impulse he finally gave in and pulled on trousers and a simple shirt. Hopefully she hadn't gone far. She wasn't in their sitting room or the duchess's quarters. She wasn't in the rose-colored guest room. He went downstairs and didn't find her in the dining room or study. He finally stopped to address a footman.

  "Where is my... guest?"

  "Miss Bittlesworth is in the kitchen, your grace."

  Quince cocked his head to the side. "Indeed? And... where would I find the kitchen?"

  "This way, your grace," the footman said, leading him past the dining room and down a narrow hallway. They descended a short flight of stone steps and as they approached the kitchen Quince could hear chatter and laughter. He could hear Sabre's laughter.

  When he entered the room one of the maids spotted him and exclaimed, "Your grace!" and dropped into a deep curtsy. The chatter and laughter stopped, with all of the servants addressing him as "your grace" and bowing or curtsying as though he were on parade. Sabre had been rolling out piecrust on the center table and didn't curtsy, but did give him a blindingly happy smile. She wiped her hands on her apron and walked over to him.

  "Good morning, love," she said, pulling his face down for a kiss.

  "Good morning." He felt foolish for charging around the house looking for her. Doubly foolish for interfering in the work of the kitchens. Work that he hadn't realized she involved herself in. And to be kissing in full view of the servants? He was behaving like a man who had no care for her reputation at all.

  "We thought you might fancy a kidney pie for lunch. Havers assures us it's a particular favorite of yours."

  It was a particular favorite of his but he didn't remember ever expressing a preference. Apparently the old butler paid attention to which dishes went back barely touched and which earned a clean plate. He looked at all the expectant faces peering at him, awaiting his slightest sign of pleasure or discontent and realized what a horrifying employer he had been. They wanted to please him and all he had wanted to do was avoid them. He looked back at Sabre. "I've never had a bad meal at Belle Fleur," he assured her. "But yes, kidney pie is a favorite."

  She looked as pleased as a mother whose child had won a prize, and he found himself unreasonably delighted. "I've told them that the kitchen is exceptional," she said, "but I'm sure they are happiest to hear it from you."

  In that moment he realized he had found his chiaroscuro, the light that balanced his darkness. "I'll leave you to it, then," he said. "And perhaps track down my valet so that I may be presentable for the breakfast table."

  As he left he heard the excited chatter start again, first in a hushed tone and growing louder as he made his way up the steps and into the hallway.

  Sabre sat across from the duke and admired him. He was more than presentable for breakfast. Other than the fact that he was wearing a morning jacket, he was polished enough to attend any ball in the ton. She had a hard time concentrating on her breakfast while thinking about how he must smell like lemongrass.

  He paused in picking up his glass. "Are you all right?"

  "Yes." She moved her eyes to her plate in hopes that she could get some breakfast down and deal with the pressing matters at hand well. "My thought is that I should fetch Jessica and take her to Gideon and Jack. It's hard to imagine anyone breaching the Wolfe household when they are on alert."

  Quince was silent for too long and Sabre looked at him again. He looked troubled. "Gideon doesn't know about my siblings. He would hardly take it well to have one of them thrust upon him without warning."

  "What do you mean Gideon doesn't know? I thought you were friends."

  "We are friends. I didn't find out about these siblings until after my father died."

  "That was four years ago. What did you do, shove them into a bedside drawer?"

  "I suppose you would look at it that way," the duke said testily.

  "I'm beginning to have some sympathy for poor Gideon."

  "He's not the easiest person to talk to."

  Sabre gave a frustrated sigh but realized this line of discussion wouldn't be fruitful. "All of this aside, what will we do for Jessica? And your mother?"

  "Robert did send men to check on my mother."

  "And you trust that, yet do not trust him to have his men fetch Jessica?"

  "It's just a feeling. That I shouldn't show him this most recent note from the blackmailer. That I shouldn’t involve him any more deeply. Not yet."

  Sabre blew out a frustrated breath and sat back in her chair. "At least half of your problems are of your own making."

  "You were the one who said you wanted to help."

  "And I have helped! If it weren't for me you would have missed your meeting at White’s and most likely wouldn't have had any papers to string him along with at all."

  "For all the good it's done us! In case you have forgotten, he is threatening my sister."

  She folded her arms. "Something he was already planning to do if he could respond like that in under an hour. If I asked Robert to have Jessica protected, even without revealing her true identity, he would do it, no questions asked."

  "He might not ask you any questions but I'm sure it would raise his curiosity."

  Sabre had to admit that he was right about that. "Well, then we are at an impasse."

  They sat in an angry silence, picking at their food. Sabre finally made another suggestion. "I could send John and either Laura or Lizzy. Perhaps both. Having servants pick up Jessica may actually be much less notable."

  "Who are John, Laura, and Lizzy?"

  "John is my coachman. Laura and Lizzy are two of your maids. They seem levelheaded enough to be up to the task. The only question after that is where on earth we can put Jessica that she would be safe."

  Quince closed his eyes, putting his fingers to his temples.

  "Are you all right?"

  "Shh, I'm thinking."

  Sabre sat back in her chair again. Yes, Quincy Telford was quite annoying.

  When he finally opened his eyes again he gave her such a brilliant smile that she almost forgot how to breathe.

  "I've got it," he said. "I don't send her to Gideon. You send her to Jack."

  Sabre frowned. "Doesn't that accomplish the same thing?"

  "No, because Giddy would never question anything Jack would want to do. And Jack would never question anything you would ask of her."

  Sabre smiled. "I stand corrected. You can be devious."

  "I have my moments. Now, I just need to write a letter to Jessica asking her to conceal her identity while with the countess. And you need to write a letter of introduction for Jessic
a to Jack."

  "If she can't go by Jessica then what name should we use?"

  Quince thought for a moment. "Celia Frederick."

  Sabre smiled. "When in doubt quote the Bard?"

  "Always."

  "And while Jack is quite likely to pick up on the implications of the name, Gideon is not."

  "Most likely not."

  She felt better knowing they had a plan, even though the stress of the situation seemed to be wearing on both of them. At least she knew she could trust John implicitly. He had been the boy who had taught her to kiss all those years ago. What was it? Thirteen years now. He had never been untoward but it had been clear that he had a soft spot for her ever since. And if she invoked the Haberdashers code to ask Jack to look after Jessica, then there would be no question of it being done. Yes, this plan would work. She would write the necessary letters this very morning and send John and the girls on their way. Quince would need to write the letter to Jessica. She looked over at him, resplendent in a soft gray morning coat and snowy white cravat, rather precisely cutting his meat. Certainly she could count on him to be hasty in writing a letter that ensured his sister's safety. Certainly.

  Quince sat at his desk, pen in hand, thinking about what to write to Jessica. Sabre ostensibly browsed his book collection, but nearly vibrated with energy in her interest to get their plan underway. She had already brought him all of the items she had drafted so that he could review them. A letter to her friend the countess, rather carefully worded, and letters of reference for each of the servants that would be traveling for him to sign. She was, in short, even more managing than Gideon. He was sure that if he sat here long enough she would seize the pen from him and draft this letter as well. It was tempting to find out how long that might take. But tempting as it was to torment her, Jessica would be most receptive to something written in his own hand. He bent to finish his task.

  Dearest Jessica,

  It is not something I can explain at present, but I need you to go with the three servants who bear this letter and stay with my good friend, the Countess of Harrington. Please remain there and be attentive to her instruction until I fetch you. Keep the maids with you at all times you are not directly with the countess and do not speak to any strangers. You are not to tell anyone who you are and travel under the name Celia Frederick. Please burn this letter before you leave the school, so that no trace remains.