“No one knows, but I would imagine it’s a goblet of some sort. Some stories say it’s made of gold. Some say it’s of silver. Still, others say it’s not made of a precious metal at all.”
That narrows it down nicely. He refrained from snorting in derision. “Where was it last seen?”
“Only Basselton could tell you.”
“And he is deuced missing.” Jonathan bit back the urge to offer an additional, curse-laden retort. “Do your contacts know if he wanted it to sell to England’s enemies, use it for himself, or to bring back to you and Liverpool?”
The duke and the prime minister took possession of the ancient relics and treasures that Miles or other agents in the field rescued, acquired and ultimately presented for safe keeping.
“Other than speculation, no.” Rathesborne shrugged. Then he trained his intense gaze on Jonathan. “I grow weary of discussing something you should already have knowledge of.” He poked a forefinger into Jonathan’s chest. “Find Basselton and the missing items before he’s killed or leaks sensitive information.” Low-grade annoyance wove through the command. “All of the paperwork you should need is in the packet I gave you earlier in the week. You brought it, didn’t you?”
“Of course. I’m not a green agent.” He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
“Excellent.” The duke nodded.
“I shall do the best I can.” Jonathan shifted his weight, pleased that the new artificial leg he’d had commissioned didn’t chafe or compromise his balance. Again, the prickling sensation assaulted him and he scanned the immediate area. Did someone watch him unseen? It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, for he undoubtedly had enemies everywhere. The knowledge was rather unpleasant, and he was glad for the small weapons cache tucked away in the hollow center of his wooden leg. “Thank you for the opportunity, Your Grace.”
“I try to accommodate my agents’ requests,” the duke murmured in a low voice. His gaze softened slightly. “Is everything well with you?”
Things hadn’t been well with him for almost a year, and the more he attempted to regain the devil-may-care attitude he’d once had, the more crotchety he became. “I am well enough. What haunts me won’t affect my ability to perform my duties on the mission.”
“Good to hear, for distractions in the field can make sticky work of things.”
“I will be as focused as always.” He frowned as a new thought occurred to him. “I am aware I’m not the noble star that Archewyne is, but I’ll still produce results.”
The duke snorted. “I never said you’re weren’t his equal. You and he merely have different skill sets, and I have no doubts your methods will be as effective.”
“Ah, if it isn’t two of my favorite people.”
Both Jonathan and Rathesborne turned at the sound of the Earl of Archewyne’s voice.
“Speak of the very devil,” Jonathan said, but he extended a hand to his best friend. Tall, debonair and darkly handsome, the man looked fresh as a daisy. No one would even know he’d seen so much drama in the last year. Except for the new lines framing his mouth and crinkling the corners of his eyes, and the touches of silver in his raven hair, Miles Hawkins, fifth Earl of Archewyne, appeared very much like the young man Jonathan had fought alongside in their early days. Since his convoluted courtship and marriage to his countess—formerly Lady Emmaline Darling—Miles had changed into a better version of himself. And became a besotted fool in the process. “Fancy seeing you here, but a send-off wasn’t necessary.”
Miles greeted both of them before replying, “I am not here to offer you a bon voyage, you nodcock.” He exchanged glances with the duke. “It would appear we are all to travel together, at least as far as Gibraltar. Emmaline took the children ahead, while I attended to a few last minute pieces of business.”
Jonathan struggled not to let his displeasure at the recent development show, but he uttered a growl. “How quaint.” Five days travelling with the Hawkinses and being forced to bear witness to their blatant displays of affection.
I should have packed brandy, and lots of it.
Both Miles and Rathesborne chuckled, and he grew more sullen.
Miles clapped him on the shoulder. “Buck up, Jonathan. It could be worse.” Guilt suddenly flitted through his expression.
I don’t know how.
The duke grinned. Amusement twinkled in his eyes. “I shall take my leave, but know that I wish the both of you luck on your respective missions.” He leveled an assessing stare on them. “I don’t have to remind you I will be out of reach while you are abroad. As always, England stands in your debt.”
“We won’t disappoint you, Your Grace,” Miles murmured as he bowed slightly from the waist.
Jonathan followed suit. “Failure isn’t an option.”
Once the duke left, Miles hunched into the wind with his hands buried in the pockets of his greatcoat. “What is wrong?”
Jonathan swung his attention to his friend, the man he would die for, the man he knew would return the favor. “What makes you think something is amiss?”
“You are more prickly than usual.” The earl rolled his eyes. “Plus, you keep glancing over your shoulder.”
He relaxed, but only slightly. “I feel as if I’m being watched, as if there is something not quite right about this upcoming mission.” The statement didn’t remove the tightening in his chest.
“Interesting.” Why did that guilt deepen on Miles’ face? “What makes you assume there is something off?”
“I’m not certain.” Jonathan narrowed his eyes. “It may be nothing. Perhaps it is merely nerves for the upcoming journey.”
“Do you suffer such things before every mission?”
“I do not make it a habit to give into skittishness.” He heaved a sigh and once more looked over his shoulder. Soon he’d be jumping at shadows like a fearful widow. “I will be glad to leave England for a while. It shall clear my head.”
“You are thinking of Lavinia.” It wasn’t a question. Miles knew how much her death had cost him.
“Not more than usual.” Which meant all the time, or at least when he allowed those thoughts out of their strapped down hiding place. “There is much that weighs on me. As maudlin as it sounds, I am ready for a change. Perhaps this trip will be the balm I seek.”
Miles nodded. “At least we travel together until Gibraltar. You won’t be alone.”
“There is that.” As much as his friend annoyed him, he’d come to depend on Miles and even Lady Archewyne. Their presence cheered him as much as it highlighted the fact he was alone. And as much as he groused about the trouble that followed them, being useful invigorated him. This mission was the first solo trip since he’d lost his leg. “Great twist of fate, that.”
“Indeed. Jane will be beyond pleased.” Miles delivered the statement with a grin.
Ah, the children. Then another thought occurred to him. “They are with their governess I assume?” His body tensed. A trip with her would be untenable.
“Uh.” Miles cleared his throat. “She has a personal engagement to attend to and will not make the voyage with us.”
The tension riding Jonathan’s shoulders relaxed. “I see. Well, perhaps that is for the best.” He willed himself not to grin as he changed the subject. “Speaking of Jane, she will forever dote on you.”
“Lady Jane is a marvel.” Thinking about Miles’ first born child curved Jonathan’s lips. The girl and he had bonded several months back when they’d both been taken captive and held hostage against a set of scandalous paintings. Now, he was her honorary uncle and they were as thick as the proverbial thieves. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for the charming girl, and he rather thought he spoiled her terribly. “She will lead you a merry chase one of these days.”
“You think she doesn’t already?” Miles snorted. “She is a handful.” Then his expression sobered. “I hope she and the baby will fare well on the journey. So many things can go wrong…”
Poor fellow. Th
e responsibility he must feel for those under his protection must be terrible. Thank God I have no such issues. “But there are just as many things that can go right.” It was his turn to clasp Miles’ shoulder. “From all I’ve seen and experienced with the females who accompany you, I’m more than certain they can handle themselves if a crisis arises.” Hell, Lady Archewyne would sooner split a man asunder with her dagger’s blade before she’d let harm befall her children. Or Miles, for that matter. Another cloud of surliness descended upon him. His friend was a lucky man indeed.
“Don’t I know it.” They shared a laugh. Miles fidgeted. “Well, I should go aboard. Emmaline will wonder what happened to me.”
“I wish you well, Archewyne. Be on guard.” He shook his friend’s hand. “Watch your back. India is too far for me to rescue your sorry arse.” A wave of concern plowed into him. For the first time in a long while, he wouldn’t accompany Miles on a mission, and he wouldn’t be the one to defend the earl or even the countess. Anxiety clawed at his gut. I have to trust that they will not meet with danger. They were more family to him than those related to him by blood. If something happened to any of them, he’d never forgive himself for failing to be there.
A bout of surprised laughter escaped the earl. “I’ll bear that in mind, and since you won’t be with me, I’ll have to settle for the skill of Hudson and Lord Castlereagh.”
Oh, God. Jonathan rolled his eyes. In recent weeks, Archewyne had been tapped to select candidates for king’s men. “Good luck training the green bloke.” Nothing like a trial by fire in the field.
“Thank you. And…” Miles’ words trailed off. Compassion clouded his dark gaze. “Watch yourself as well.”
“I will.” Again, Jonathan scanned the immediate area, but the prickling sensation remained. “Regardless, I shall see you at tea. At least we shall be properly entertained for a few days.”
And maybe the damn nerves would settle. He hated this not knowing, and hated even more the wondering why—and what—he didn’t know.
Chapter Two
Miss Sophia Wickham traversed the crowded expanse of the London Docks with a mix of anxiety and excitement buffeting her stomach.
A porter trailed quietly after with her carpetbag in hand. She appreciated the fact that he didn’t pepper her with inane and unwanted conversation or censure as she chose the most efficient path through the teeming collection of people. Talking didn’t appeal to her at the moment, and certainly not about things that didn’t matter.
Especially when the only thing occupying her mind was Viscount Trewellain and the mess her life had been in for the last two and a half years because of him.
The heels of her half boots echoed dully against the wooden boardwalk as she marched in the direction of the vessel, the HMS Spirit. Another round of worry coiled snake-like in her belly, for she would not be a proper passenger on the ship. In fact, she didn’t intend to make the voyage to Gibraltar at all, regardless of what she’d told Lady Archewyne. The carpetbag, though packed with a change of clothes and other essentials, was merely a cover and would help her sneak upon the vessel. The key to convincing people of a thing was carrying off a deception with confidence.
These past years have led to this very meeting.
She shook her head in the attempt to banish the misgivings still churning. Even though Lady Archewyne had given her the funds to book passage home from this fool’s errand, Sophia would rather die than use that coin. Regardless of the wastrel her father had become—said lifestyle had plunged her into this present coil—she was not a charity case. Neither would she deplete her meager savings on a ticket to Spain. There was no need. The solution was quite simple, really. She would gain access to the viscount’s quarters, wait for him to board, and then they would talk in a civilized manner.
There’d be nowhere the viscount could run, and the much-needed conversation would take mere minutes. The outcome of which would set her free to live her life in whatever way she wished. What that would entail, she had no idea, but without the yoke of doom weighing down her shoulders, the possibilities were endless. He only needed to answer one question.
A tiny smile curved her lips. Yes, quite simple. This would go off splendidly. After having her destiny released from Trewellain’s, she would then sneak off the ship before the last passenger and piece of luggage had come aboard. No one would know, and her mission would be accomplished with her customary efficiency.
There was little chance of failure; she wouldn’t allow it. Not now, not when she’d felt exactly that for far too long.
No more.
Thus uplifted with renewed confidence, Sophia squared her shoulders. Never in all of her nine and twenty years had she looked forward to the future more. Why, she could pursue studies or travel or… anything she’d only dreamed of. Her smile widened. How lovely the world looked when one had a taste of freedom.
Then her steps faltered as the frigate loomed, and frenzied activity buzzed about the ramps leading into the ship. There, off to one side and out of pedestrian traffic was that dastard Viscount Trewellain. Her smile faded as a frown replaced it. She came to a complete halt.
“Is there a problem, miss?” the young porter asked with confusion in his voice.
“No.” Yet she stood there, almost transfixed as her heart beat a frantic rhythm, while she took in Jonathan’s form. She’d seen him other times, of course, and had interacted with him as well, for in her capacity as the Hawkins’ governess and with him being the earl’s close companion, the viscount was always underfoot. Except… here with the backdrop of the water and docks and the tang of salt on the breeze and noise and the crush of people, he wore an air of mystery as he would a cloak.
A curious flutter worked through her lower belly. Beneath the brim of a black top hat, his golden hair gleamed in the sun like molten gold. He wore it slightly longer than current fashion, and the ends curled just above the snowy cravat that was tied in an intricate knot. His jacket and trousers, well-tailored and no doubt quite expensive, fit his frame and even from this distance she was able to discern his lean, muscled body, for the clothes were made to highlight exactly that. Too bad the greatcoat hid much as it flapped about him in the breeze, lending to the intrigue. Damn him for looking so dashing. It shouldn’t be allowed after what he’d done.
Or didn’t do as the case might be.
“Miss? Shall we continue?” The porter’s prompt brought her out of her musings.
With a soft curse and a firm shake of her head, Sophia gave the man a cursory glance over her shoulder. “In a moment. I think I see someone I know.” And wish to avoid. It wouldn’t do for him to see her and chastise her before she accomplished her mission. Or worse, order her home to await his leisure.
After tearing her gaze from the viscount, she cursed again. Her muscles tightened with the sudden urge to flee. The Earl of Archewyne joined him as the Duke of Rathesborne moved off. Interesting, that. How had the earl come to be such contemporaries with one so high on the instep as a duke? “What is he doing here?” The tall man with raven hair and dressed in dark, military-style clothing, launched into serious conversation with her quarry. They both turned out of the wind and the viscount’s face was lost to her.
Having her employer in the mix hadn’t been part of her plan. Cold fingers of dread played down her spine. Never say the earl and his wife traveled with them.
Damn and blast. Misgivings flared and she led the porter farther away but kept her focus on the two men. This whole endeavor smacked of secrecy —both on her part and the viscount’s—but the fact he met with the earl sent doubt spiraling through her gut. Above everything, she couldn’t be seen by him or Lady Archewyne, not after she fairly lied to the countess in order to procure a leave of absence from her post.
To chase after the viscount on a madcap mission to free her hand from the betrothal her father had forced upon her. This is what she couldn’t bring herself to reveal to the countess, out of embarrassment and fear. For Lady Archewyne w
ould want to fix it for her, smooth her way with her influence, and Sophia was not in the habit of accepting help. She would meet her problems on her own. It’s what she’d done since her father had put them all in the drink.
Yet the chilly foreboding wouldn’t fade. If things went horribly wrong, how could she return to service within the Hawkins’ household? She would be humiliated… and still bound to the man she’d hated for almost three years.
I won’t allow that to happen. There was no way her plan would fail.
“Miss, we should continue,” the porter prodded after a firm throat clearing.
“Yes, yes. One moment more while I gain my bearings.” She held up a gloved hand in a gesture to wait while never taking her gaze from the two men. As a gust of wind ruffled her cloak, she arranged the folds. She’d never traveled anywhere before, let alone out of England. Truthfully, she’d only been to London a few times. Most of her days were spent in the country on her father’s acreage… waiting for life to begin. She wished for her bow and arrows that she’d been forced to leave behind at her father’s house. Archery was a matter of stress relief for her, and she’d honed the skill after her eldest brother had died. Many hours she’d spent practicing and training her mind to concentrate only on the straw targets or the trunks of trees. Too bad she wouldn’t be able to use that skill now.
On the viscount.
Sophia forced a swallow. She couldn’t fail on this mission, couldn’t disappoint the memory of her brother, couldn’t go back to the Hawkins’ townhouse a disgrace. They were more than her employers; they were more family to her than her own.
Thoughts tumbled over themselves so strong she couldn’t stop them. Tears misted her eyes as an image of her brother popped into her mind’s eye. Sixteen years before, he had died in the Battle of Trafalgar in Spain with no answers as to how it had happened. There’d only been a letter sent home informing her father of the loss—signed by the damned Viscount Trewellain, yet another way her life was irrevocably intertwined with his—and that Stephen had been buried in a grave not far from the battlefield. Her life had changed after that, of course it had. She still felt her brother’s loss keenly, for out of all her siblings, she’d been closest to him. There had been no closure, no comfort from someone who’d been there for her brother’s last moments. Had he suffered? Was he alone? Did any of the men with him mourn his passing?
What the Stubborn Viscount Desires Page 2
