A Clandestine Affair (Currents of Love Book 5)

by Emilee Harris

  The man lied, just as Sarah predicted. The weight of the past weeks threatened to subdue Thomas as he marched toward the door. How he hoped Eric were close to finding the answers he’d proved too inept to.

  Chapter 17

  All it took was you working alone…

  A thought sparked in Thomas’ mind. Vague and distant, but calling out with urgency.

  One yet living…

  Early on in his career, Thomas had worked with Graham, had learned a good deal from the man and always held him in high esteem. For the past three years, various threats and attempts were made on Eric’s life. Thomas began to wonder if mere association with him brought catastrophic results to all those around him.

  If I could muster a fraction of your confidence, I would believe myself capable of anything.

  Then take some of mine with you.

  The phantom thought strengthened. He knew Graham and Eric to be excellent at their work, able to reason through almost any difficulty and successfully complete their tasks. Could he see himself as Sarah did? Perhaps, rather than clasping to the coattails of his friends, he stood as their equal. Graham discovered too much. Eric approached the same fate, and Thomas had suffered mistake after mistake since separating from Eric, none of which he’d been able to understand. No matter how often he ran through the events in his memory, he never succeeded in finding where his process faltered. What if it hadn’t?

  Blinking, his breath wheezing in shallow iterations, he fought with his scattered thoughts, admonishing their lack of unity and begging them to band together into something tangible. The pace felt somehow slower than time, and as Thomas brought his gaze up toward the door where Manny stood grinning, his eyes fell on the vase beside the door, a planter matching the others in the room. The faux Chinese porcelain bloomed with blue images backed by brilliant white. The main image, framed by scrollwork, was that of a ship, sailing proudly across a sea of even, curving waves.

  Thomas dug in his heels.

  “How go your manufacturing interests, Lord Addington?” He pulled free of one of the agents beside him and turned back toward Addington, who fixed him with a chilling glare, but Thomas couldn’t care less. He tucked his hand into his pocket, reaching for the confidence imbued in Sarah’s ring while taking up a carefree stance.

  The letters from Addington’s uncle contained nothing of any significance. The uncle commented on the family business of creating ceramics, making comparisons between designs of French origin and those of English creation, debating the quality of each as compared to the original designs out of Delft in Holland. He also made frequent mention of the weather. Thomas had despaired of it all, reading nothing more than polite simplicity in the words.

  “I hold no manufacturing interests,” Addington responded, suspicion dripping from every word.

  “Ah, forgive me, I suppose you wouldn’t hold any direct interest in your maternal family’s business. And I’m sure the blockade interrupted any import of those goods at present, a shame, given your apparent appreciation for the craftsmanship.” Thomas nodded toward the vases.

  “Get him out of here,” Addington growled.

  The agents returned to their posts at his side and took hold of his arms.

  “Although, I daresay determined businessmen might find their way around that,” Thomas continued, breaking free of the confused agents and walking back toward Addington.

  “What are you getting at, Mallory?”

  “You don’t hold manufacturing interests in England, but you do maintain shipping interests, do you not?”

  “Ah,” Addington straightened, crossing his arms over his chest. “I see, so a man with shipping interests must be conducting smuggling business as well, is that it? Once again, your reasoning deceives you. The Carthage line of merchant galleys, in which I hold an interest and which you are no doubt referencing, are highly regulated. They don’t sail anywhere near smuggling ports and I happen to sign off on all shipments.”

  He turned his ire on the additional agents in the room. “Well? Why is this man still in my presence?”

  The men hesitated, looking in confusion between Addington and Thomas.

  “Of course,” Thomas barreled on, his thoughts whirling almost beyond his ability to harness them now that he’d allowed his long-humbled confidence free rein in conjecture. “I don’t doubt you are correct. But I’m also sure any number of false-bottomed decorative ceramic pieces could be transported to non-smuggling ports and find passage, given their benign status. Those pieces would inevitably be inventoried, however, on reaching English docks. To include manufacture numbers.”

  Addington’s nostrils flared, but he showed no other sign of discomfiture. “You spin an interesting tale, Mallory. Pray tell, how do these England-bound ceramics find their way into a scheme to aid the French?”

  “As you already mentioned, your ships are above suspicion, but there are private ships aplenty willing to cart merchandise across the channel for the right price.”

  “You honestly think I would bother to go through the trouble of locating those ships and putting my career on the line for such a scheme?” Addington snorted.

  “Not at all,” Thomas shook his head. Even if you did, your character is far too strong to ever admit to it. However, in delegating these tasks, you may have done yourself a disservice.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Addington stormed around his desk, intent on taking hold of Thomas himself, but one of the agents blocked him. “Out of my way! If you won’t do your job, I’ll see you imprisoned alongside Mallory!”

  “If I may complete my thought, my lord,” Thomas interjected. He now held everyone’s full attention, noting with satisfaction the rise of color in Addington’s usually pallid features. “You would certainly be able to hold your own against any inquisition, but are you sure you can trust the iron constitution of your man, Chester?” He angled back to the doorway, where the now quaking secretary wasted no time in turning tail to run. He barely made two steps into his escape, however, before the crash of him tripping and falling sounded from the anteroom. The agent who’d remained beside Thomas sprinted out to detain the secretary.

  “Additionally,” Thomas grinned now, warmed to his topic. “I believe if we track down the captain’s logs of the ships Manny contacted, we will find not only matching goods and manufacture numbers in the listings, but matching time and location information.”

  “Matching to what?” Addington’s brow glistened.

  “To the encoded information in your uncle’s letters. Graham Cartwright used a similar system of substitutions in his journals, I did find it odd how numerically specific your uncle was in his descriptions of weather and market items.”

  “So,” Addington seethed, hands fisted at his sides as he deliberately took in a deep breath. “You think you’ve hit upon something. Tell me just one thing, then.”

  Thomas raised his brows.

  “What sort of smuggling galley captain maintains truthful logs complete with contact names and detailed merchandise listings?”

  A new voice sounded from the doorway. “The sort who plays both sides and thinks ahead.”

  Thomas spun around as Eric entered, holding up a ship logbook. Behind him trailed the other agent, dragging Mansford by the scruff of the neck.

  “MacLeod?” Thomas signed when Eric looked in his direction.

  “MacLeod.”

  “Outrageous!” Addington roared. “How dare you make such accusations! The both of you are going to hang!”

  “That remains to be seen,” Thomas shrugged. “I believe a trial and investigation are supposed to precede that outcome.”

  Addington shook with rage but didn’t reply.

  “Why don’t you two see his lordship and Mr. Mansford out. I’ll tend to Sir Thomas.” Eric addressed the other agents, who nodded and exited with their wards.

  Thomas waited, unsure how to greet his once dearest friend who now despised him.

  “You’ll have to go as well,” Er
ic noted.

  Thomas nodded. “Thank you.”

  Sarah stepped back from the doorway to allow Lord Addington and his escort a wide berth, as well as to make it less obvious she’d completely ignored Eric’s dictate to remain at the far end of the anteroom. They’d arrived in time to hear Thomas’ accusations, Eric taking up a position by the door and looking to her for translation. Their positioning placed Eric in the prime spot to thwart Mr. Mansford’s escape attempt.

  Lord Addington glowered at her as he passed, but otherwise offered no acknowledgment of her. Nevertheless, she shivered to her bones with that small perusal and clutched her purse closer to her chest. The man escorting him stood a good deal broader. Sarah didn’t doubt the agent’s ability to subdue Addington in a scuffle, but Addington held the distinct angular features of a sly fox… or perhaps a slippery eel.

  Letting out a relieved breath as the pair marched out into the hall, she turned back to the doorway. Threshold clear, she took the opportunity and hastened past, eyes roving over the interior in search of Thomas. Finding him near the desk, head bent in conversation with Eric, her spirits took flight along with her feet as she picked up her skirts to run over to him.

  “Thomas!” she shoved past Eric to throw herself into his arms and clasp her own around his neck, thinking she would never be so grateful again in her life as at this moment. “Thank goodness you’re all right!”

  “Far better now than a few moments ago, I assure you,” he gripped her tightly, tugging her off her feet and nuzzling her neck before opening a space between them and looking down at her. “I shall never again question your insistence on a good-luck charm. But what are you doing here?” Concern replaced elation as he remembered their setting.

  Beside them, Eric cleared his throat, causing both of them to look in his direction. At the sight of his disapproving stare, Sarah decided not to tempt her own luck and grudgingly disengaged herself from Thomas, though not without a frown and a not entirely contained grumble. Stepping back, she allowed Eric to approach Thomas.

  “How fast do you think a horse can gallop, man? I came to collect her as soon as possible, but your bumbling didn’t make it easy for me when Addington increased his watch. Hence, we were only just leaving for Heathermoore when the opportunity to attempt saving your neck arose.”

  “And so,” Thomas began with a hesitant half-smile, “anticipating the boredom of your return drive, you decided to stop off for a bit of entertainment?”

  “Something to that effect.” Eric muttered. “I want to make it clear; this changes nothing between us.”

  “Eric!” Sarah attempted to intercede, but her brother held up a hand to stall her before returning his attention to Thomas.

  “By rights I should call you out,” he growled, and Thomas ducked his head, despite being six years his senior. “For multiple reasons, not the least of which is you dragging yet another of my sisters into a dangerous and hot-headed plot!”

  Again, Sarah surged forward, hands at the ready to sign an argument, but she only got as far as opening her mouth before Eric turned on her. “For heaven’s sake, Sarah, be still and let me finish or I shall change my tack and you’ll be the one to suffer for it!”

  Her brows knit together at his odd remark and she clamped her mouth shut.

  “See here, Eric,” Thomas chimed in without effect as Eric’s focus was on her.

  Accustomed to such situations, Sarah diverted her eyes in Thomas’ direction to alert Eric, who spun around, wielding an accusatory index finger like a sword.

  “And don’t you start either, unless you want to lose your one best opportunity in life!”

  That stopped Thomas in his tracks, and he joined Sarah in a display of confusion.

  Letting out an aggravated sigh, Eric ran his hands through his hair before fixing his sights on Thomas again. “Now, as I was saying, it’s bad enough you stirred up this bedlam, but it won’t matter a whit that you were right if I shoot you. Therefore, you have five minutes.”

  “Five… what?” Thomas stared at Eric, who rolled his eyes and began walking toward the door.

  “This door will remain open. If I return and Sarah isn’t knee-deep in thoughts of flowers, colors, and breakfast details, you won’t make it to the constabulary for questioning.”

  With that he disappeared into the anteroom, leaving Sarah and Thomas blinking in his wake.

  Dazed and unsure what to do next, Sarah turned toward Thomas, swallowing against a dry throat before daring to speak. “I’ll talk with him. We needn’t address the two of us right now, you have far more pressing—”

  “Would you not have me?”

  Her head shot up at the plaintive question, and she met with pallor and eyes full of partially realized pain. “I—”

  She blinked, wondering at his reaction. “It occurred to me that all of this has been exceedingly stressful for you and, once things are clarified and settled…” her blinking doubled its intensity as her eyes misted, and she found a corner of the flooring to concentrate on. “If… you entertain regrets, we could—”

  “Never.”

  The strength of his statement brought her head back up.

  “Sarah,” he continued in a far softer tone, taking her hand in his and bringing his palm up to cup her cheek. “The only effect of recent stress has been an opening of my eyes and my heart I may never have had the courage to pursue otherwise. I can only be thankful for the gifts these events have brought me in the form of you and your far too generous heart.”

  She had no words to respond, could scarcely believe such heartwarming sentiments to be true.

  “Sarah, my love,” he continued, reaching into his pocket and retrieving the small silver ring she’d given him. “I promised to get this back to you and will do so now if you would consent to take its place. You are my greatest charm and beacon. You believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself, I could never have done this without you.”

  He lifted her hand to his lips before poising the ring at her third finger.

  “While I strongly believe any advantage in this is stacked squarely on my side, I must ask for my own selfish heart. Will you marry me?”

  Sarah stared at the ring, the small token of affection gifted to her by the man she had adored more than any other in the world, and a calm settled over her heart. How serendipitous it should be gifted back to her now by this man whose love she couldn’t imagine living without. With a tilt of her head and a soft sigh, she whispered “Yes.”

  The metal, warm from Thomas’ hand, slid over her finger, falling back into its place with practiced certainty and an unfamiliar weight. It had taken on so much more significance in that small, ingrained movement, its warmth drifting straight back to her heart. She closed her eyes, afraid this perfect moment might end and she would wake to find it all a dream.

  But then warm lips found hers, reassuring and steady, brushing aside both her tears and any lingering doubts. Her heart thrummed with the celebratory beat of finding a long awaited and elusive love.

  Chapter 18

  “You’re going to ruin your eyes staying up so late reading,” Thomas observed with a small grin from the windowsill of Sarah’s room.

  Sarah started and gasped, looking up from where she sat propped up in bed with a book in her hands. Tossing her book onto her bedside stand, she disentangled herself from the bedsheets and ran over to him.

  “Thomas, what are you doing here?” She hissed, ducking her head out the window and looking across the darkened expanse of the yard before ducking back inside and shutting the window.

  Luckily for him, she’d left it open to catch any warm breeze the summer night might offer, his entrance would have been far less elegant if he’d had to tap on the window and beg entry.

  “You know,” he drolled, standing beside her dressing screen and watching bemused as she tugged the curtains shut. Her nightgown swayed about her small, limber frame and the way the ends of her golden hair brushed across her lower back teased the s
enses his foolish escapade had woken. “It’s a good thing I didn’t take notice of you earlier on. This window is piteously easy to access.”

  “I’m sure my parents never had reason to consider the windows as regular entry points into any of the rooms, she stated tartly, spinning around to face him with fists on hips and glaring through her spectacles.

  “They ought to have, with as often as your brothers went sneaking out after hours, I’m sure they were not oblivious to the possibility. And I’m telling you now,” his voice rumbled low in his throat as he advanced on her. Her eyes widened and she took a step back. “Should we ever have daughters, there will not be a single trellis anywhere near a window, or anywhere on the outside of the house for that matter.”

  Backed into the corner, she had no avenue of escape when he closed in to wrap his arms around her and lay claim to her lips. The press of those smooth, silken lips against his and the way she instantly relaxed into his embrace made the thought of beginning the process of creating those daughters vastly appealing.

  They hadn’t seen each other for more than a few stolen, chaperoned, minutes in weeks. Addington’s arrest had opened a Pandora’s box of scandal, investigation, and legal battles. It still wasn’t settled, meaning he still had to go back and forth to London for hearings, but with her family’s blessing, he and Sarah had decided to move forward with their nuptials anyway.

  The moment his lips fastened onto hers, a fire ignited in him and his body realized just how long he’d been without her. A fierce hunger overtook him, demanding ever more from the kiss he’d told himself wouldn’t linger. After an extended moment, he pulled away from her, gratified to see the haze of desire in her eyes and the tantalizing swell of her lips.

  Drawing in a shaking breath, she blinked a moment before admonishing him.

  “The groom ought not to see the bride before the wedding. It’s bad luck.”