The Hero Least Likely

by Darcy Burke

  Sabre felt her heart beat heavily in her chest. Her father had escaped the country just in time. "How much of this did you read?"

  "Not much. Enough. Murder, treason, stealing from the Crown..."

  She looked around the room. "We need to go through it all. We need to know-"

  "No!” Quince pushed away from the wall. “We don't need to know! Our fathers were monsters. Their friends were monsters. The only use we have for this is ridding ourselves of the dragon."

  "But Quince-"

  "No." His voice rang with finality. He picked up the candle, opened the panel, and signaled her to exit. She stepped back out into the bright mid-day light of his bedroom. The mood between them was tense, but she preferred his anger to the misery she had seen when she arrived.

  "Have you had luncheon?" he asked, obviously grasping for the comfort of the mundane in polite exchange.

  She shook her head. "I haven't even breakfasted."

  He checked his pocket watch. "It should be served shortly if you would like for me to escort you downstairs."

  "I was hoping to change but my clothing was no longer in my room."

  He gave her an odd smile. "Of course your clothing is in your room."

  She frowned at him. "I went there first and couldn't find anything."

  "I suppose we should check again." He took her hand and rather than leading her to the hallway he led her through the sitting room and to the duchess's suite.

  She poked his ribs. "You could have said something."

  He raised a brow at her. "This wasn't the room you checked?"

  "You know it wasn't."

  He settled his arms loosely around her. "I was fairly certain you had claimed it the first day you were here."

  Rather than answer she leaned into him and kissed his neck.

  He sighed, relaxing a bit in her embrace. "Strange, but at the time I thought this room would mean you were too close. Now I think it is too far away. A shared sitting room is charming, but I would want you closer. At least our rooms in London are side by side."

  Sabre looked up at him. His wit had returned, but his eyes were still shadowed and reddened. Although she was content breathing in his scent, warming under his touch, she truly was hungry. "I need to change," she said. He took a step back and began unbuttoning her riding jacket. Once he had removed it his fingers were slower in unbuttoning her shirtwaist. Although she could tell from his eyes, his breathing, that he wanted her, he simply removed all of her dusty riding apparel and set it aside, leaving her standing in her undergarments. Taking her hand he led her to the dressing room and the limited number of dresses she had to choose from.

  "Which would you prefer?" she asked softly.

  "Today? Perhaps the blue. Today needs as much innocence as we can give it."

  He helped her don the dress with the same gentle patience he had used to undress her. She found that his sweet and loving care was undoing her more than any seduction could. Once she was dressed they walked hand in hand down to the dining room.

  FORTY

  Although there were still many dangers, Sabre felt overall better about their strategic position. When she had quit Belle Fleur, it had been in fear that Quince was going to get himself killed, that he wasn't even using the resources they had available. Now they had a good number of allies in play with the Harringtons and her brothers. They had in hand the evidence that The Four seemed so anxious to keep from emerging into the light of day. Cygnus, her father, had left the country so his influence was at the very least severely diminished. The only thing left to discover, and it did give her pause to not know it yet, was who Draco was and what resources he had.

  She hoped that going through the papers would yield some clue. Everything she had seen continued the tradition of only listing them by their names in The Four, but certainly there would be something. A reference to a location, a personality quirk, a physical trait. Something. Anything that would help them to identify Draco and Ursa.

  Quince watched Sabre as she picked through the offerings on her plate. She seemed relatively undisturbed by the documents he had uncovered. He, however, was still disturbed. Deeply disturbed. He was, in fact, already on his second glass of wine with luncheon and strongly considering finishing off the bottle before trying to do anything else.

  Sabre had opted for lemonade and seemed absorbed in her own thoughts. Should it bother him, he wondered, that she seemed unaffected by the morbid nature of the documents they had reviewed? The details were listed with the same detachment as a grain report, but in some ways that made it all the more horrifying.

  29 April, 1794 ~ Draco brought a girl child he found in the London streets. He wanted to keep her at the Cellar but I said no.

  What on earth had happened to that child? There had been no further mention of her that he had seen. He didn't want to think about the other entries where the disposition of women and children were much clearer. The Four's disregard for human life, for basic humanity, was staggering.

  His father had always criticized him for being too sensitive, too gentle. And perhaps that was true. Because as he steadily made his way though this wine to dull his senses, a girl barely out of the schoolroom sat across from him without a seeming worry in the world.

  "How old are you?" Quince asked.

  Sabre looked at him and raised a brow. "Why do you ask?"

  "Because I'm curious." He could hear the edge to his own voice and almost winced at it himself.

  She stared at him a moment more. "Nineteen," she finally answered.

  Nineteen? God's teeth, she was so young. He remembered himself at that age. Naive. Idealistic. Were the tables turned and his attraction had been to an older woman when he himself had been nineteen, he would have been a slave. He had to respect her firmness of mind in comparison.

  "What's wrong, Quince?" she prompted.

  "I didn't realize you were so young."

  She gave him a flirtatious smile. "I thought men liked younger women."

  "I can't speak for all men. For myself, I find a variety of women beautiful. But I have only ever wanted you."

  That made her smile, but she was also looking progressively worried. "Quince, why are you being so serious?"

  "Is there not enough to be serious about?"

  "I've thought so for some time, but it didn't seem to matter to you before."

  He stared at her and she returned his regard. He finally answered, "This is a very serious game and I don't want to lose any of you."

  She cocked her head to one side. "It's a game?"

  "It is to Draco. A game where the prize is more power and wealth. He thinks that his most recent winnings include the obedience of a duke." Quince could feel a cold fury even contemplating that. "But having played so deep he has set himself up with much to lose."

  "If we can identify him."

  "We will identify him. Then the question becomes what we do with him."

  "After what we know he has done? Turn him over to the Crown for punishment. He'll be hanged in a fortnight."

  "Giving him a fortnight to exact revenge. Even the most closely held prisoner can't be kept from everyone. He would find a way to plan what he would consider a fitting retribution. I shudder to think what that might be."

  Sabre was quiet for a moment. "We could kill him outright."

  Quince studied her. She had withdrawn to a blank, unreadable expression again. His little chameleon could be so good at only showing others what she wanted them to see. Did even he really know her? It would do well to remember that fairy queens were not known for their sympathy with the troubles of mortal men. Yet their wisdom often transcended that of the material world, as well. "I've considered it. But I don't think I want that on my conscience."

  "Then that leaves us at something of an impasse."

  Quince nodded. "And one we must resolve immediately. I plan to leave for Bath in the morning to see if Mother can help us to identify him."

  Sabre looked down at her plate for a momen
t, pushing peas around with her fork. "One concern I have is that, with all the documents in one place, it is that much easier to destroy the evidence. If he has infiltrated the other houses, why not this one? And if he has an agent here we need to act quickly to secure what evidence we have."

  "What do you suggest?"

  "We have such a great deal of it that we should parse it out to a number of people for safekeeping. At least Robert and Gideon should be asked to hold enough of it to condemn him. Is there anyone else you trust to hold some as well?"

  "It is of no use until we can prove a connection between their code names and real names, so couldn't anyone hold the papers?"

  "Perhaps, but I would keep it fairly close if you are able."

  "Then an additional packet to my man of business in London, with instruction to secure it in his vault and not open it unless he receives notice from one of us."

  Sabre nodded, seeming pleased with the plan. "Shall I compile a suitable packet for each of them?"

  The duke stared at her for a moment. Should he be worried that she remained unconcerned about the nature of the papers? The atrocities that they held? Of should he just be relieved that someone he trusted was willing to handle a job he wasn't sure he could accomplish himself? He entertained the thought of letting her take control of the issue and felt himself relax. He even found he didn't care for any more wine.

  "Yes, if you wouldn't mind doing that it would be very helpful."

  She smiled and gave him a brisk nod. "Would you like for me to select the messengers?"

  "As you seem to know the staff better than I do, that would be appreciated."

  "Then if you will excuse me, I will get started so that everything will be ready before you leave in the morning as I will need you to seal the cover letters."

  "Of course." He rose when she did, as a gentleman should. Then she was gone.

  Sabre diligently worked at creating four stacks of papers. She wanted to ensure that each had at least one example of each type of crimes for which Draco and Ursa were accountable. She worked to minimize the evidence against her father except in the stack she designated as being bound for Robert. If anyone were to pass judgment on him, let it be his son. She also tried to minimize any information about Leo himself. If the evidence were to come to light it wouldn't do to embarrass the duchy any more than necessary. However, she noted, his sins were either lighter than that of his companions, or he had been clever enough not to document all of his own perfidy.

  Some of the details in the papers were unimaginably gruesome. She couldn't decide if they were more or less breathtakingly horrible because of the cold, detached way in which they were recorded. The complete lack of compassion inherent in the former duke's writing was startling. He documented Draco strangling a young woman with the same tone as he might have a killing frost on the rose garden.

  She had become so engrossed in her work that she startled when there was a knock at the panel. Almost calling out, she realized that if it wasn't Quince she shouldn't betray the location of this room. She waited until she heard his voice.

  "Sabre? Are you in there?"

  "Yes. Do you need me to open the panel?"

  Rather than respond he simply opened it and stepped in, closing it behind himself. As there was only the one chair she was sitting in, he sat on the floor next to her with his back to the desk. "Are you doing all right?"

  She bit her lip but gave him a determined smile. "Well enough."

  He rested his hand on her knee, caressing her through the light muslin. "Thank you for doing this."

  "Of course." His simple touch lightened her mood immensely. Perhaps no task was too horrible as long as she had Quince. She leaned down and kissed the top of his head.

  He gave her a wan smile. "What was that for?"

  "Being here. It's easier when you're here."

  His fingers stopped their idle stroking for a moment and he looked up at her curiously. "This does bother you?"

  "The only person it wouldn't bother is someone capable of doing such things as are described." She gave a delicate shudder. "It's hard for me to even imagine that we are related to two of them. Conversations between you and your father must have been strange indeed."

  He smiled sadly. "We certainly didn't speak the same language. What of you and your father?"

  "I know as well as anyone how to handle him. But I never would have suspected..." she made a sweeping motion to include the papers, "this. It would have made me much more circumspect in my dealings with him."

  Quince nodded. "I imagine so."

  Sabre went back to her work but after a few moments the duke spoke again. "Do you think we should consider sending something to the Prime Minister? Or the Prince Reagent?"

  "At this stage? We might just elicit questions we wouldn't want to answer.”

  Quince frowned but nodded again.

  "What are you worried about?"

  "These are extraordinarily dangerous men and one of them has directly threatened my mother and sister." More soberly he added, "And I must be careful revealing my attachment to you or you will be in danger as well. Otherwise I would take you to Bath with me."

  Sabre felt her heart warm at his suggestion that he would take her with him. It had hurt when he had said 'I plan to leave for Bath,' making it clear with his tone and words that she wasn't to go. Her fear was that he didn't want to introduce his mistress to his mother. But it was because he was trying to protect her. Silly man. "Well, he already thinks he knows your intentions towards me. If he is there, he will only be vastly entertained to see that you have landed me. And," she said, preparing to deliver her coup de grâce, "if he is there, I am the only one who can recognize him on sight. And he doesn't know that. What a tremendous strategic advantage you're wasting."

  He stared at her for a moment, then took her hand and kissed it. "Sabre, would you like to go to Bath with me?"

  "Why yes, Quince, I would."

  His expression turned somber in the flickering candlelight. "Promise me that you won't get hurt."

  "If I thought we had control over that I would make you promise me the same."

  "Well, I suppose there is that." He sighed. "Would you agree to have supper with me? I had planned a special meal for what might be our last evening together."

  "You thought to salve leaving me with a fancy meal?"

  "Indeed. You were to be swept away with the romance and grandeur of it. Actually, I've asked them to set the table in our sitting room again. Certainly you can't say no to that."

  "Yes, Quince, I would love to sup with you."

  Sabre was once again surprised at Quince's ability to set aside his worries and enjoy the moment. At first she resisted the idea of simply enjoying herself. But they were in an immensely better position, strategically, than they had been before. In the parlance of her old game War, they occupied their own hill now, and were fortified with troops and artillery. Certainly she could take a few hours to focus on her beloved. And he was correct, everything could go horribly wrong on the morrow and this could be their last evening together. What if another attempt was made on Quince's life? Since she was traveling with him she was equally at risk. Any such attempt could kill one or both of them.

  If ever there was a time to simply appreciate being with the man she loved, it was now.

  She looked at him across the candlelit table and wondered at the love she felt for him. Today he wasn't the dapper and perfectly turned out duke, but the casual country gentleman that had become her favorite version of him. His eyes sparkled as he told her amusing anecdotes from the various ton events he had attended over the years. Everything about him drew her. His wit, his gentleness, his confidence in his own authority. She would never regret this, she knew. She would never regret being with him any way she could be. Reputation and Society be damned. She might never again socialize at a ball, but he would tell her stories about it that would make her feel like she had been there. And certainly Jack and George would never deser
t her. She hoped.

  He stood and held out his hand to her. "Would you care to repair to the balcony?"

  She nodded and took his hand. The warmth of his touch was both comforting and thrilling. He led her to the balustrade and trapped her between the railing and himself. She could feel the heat of him against her back as she looked out at the stars.

  "Do you have a favorite star?" he asked, his voice low and intimate.

  She laughed. "Not particularly."

  "All right, then which one do you think is the prettiest?"

  She looked out at the blanket of stars. "Hmm. That one," she said, pointing. "The brightest star in Lynx."

  "You mean this one?" He reached past her pointing hand and made a plucking motion. When he brought his hand back he presented a ring to her.

  Even in the dim light she could see that it was an outrageously lovely ring. A large light-colored stone surrounded by smaller stones. She wasn't sure what it meant. It could mean everything. It could mean nothing. "Thank you," she said, making sure to infuse her voice with delight. But she wasn't feeling delight, it was something more like panic as her mind warred over whether it was a gift to a beloved mistress... or something more.

  "You aren't very good at hints, are you?"

  She refused to permit her hopes to rise. Refused. But she could feel a bubble of hope already. "What do you mean?"

  He sighed and moved so that he was standing next to her. He still held onto the ring. "What is your middle name?"

  Now she was confused. "What?"

  "What is your middle name?" he repeated patiently.

  "Tündér."

  "I'm sorry, it's what?"

  "Tündér. It was one of my grandmother's names." When he raised a brow at her she said, "It's Hungarian. It means fairy."

  He chuckled, apparently amused. "Of course it does." She wasn't sure whether or not to be offended.

  Then he gently took her left hand in his and sank to one knee. She felt her heart start to race, her breathing quicken.

  "Sabrina Tündér Bittlesworth, would you do me the great honor of being my wife? My duchess?"