“Simon is missing,” Daniel said sharply. “What have you done with him?”
“Why do you assume I have anything to do with his disappearance?” Barnabas asked.
“Because you look guilty and you keep answering my questions with more questions,” Daniel said. “And you never forget anything.” He walked over and with both fists on the desk leaned over and stared right into Barnabas’s face. “Now, tell us where he is.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Barnabas said honestly. “I haven’t seen him in almost a week.”
“Why did you see him a week ago?” Daniel asked. Ashbury had taken up a position near the door, nonchalantly leaning against the wall. As if he’d be able to stop Barnabas if he truly attempted to leave.
“I had a job for him to do.” Barnabas sat back in his chair with a raised brow.
“You bastard,” Daniel grit out through a clenched jaw.
“What?” Mrs. Manderley said, jumping to her feet. She was pale and her hands were shaking. “What does that mean? What kind of job?”
“Do sit down, Mrs. Manderley,” he said impatiently. “How did you find out he was missing?”
“Very told us. She sent a letter to Ashton Park saying he hadn’t come to tea, which wasn’t like him at all. You know he likes to keep an eye on her ever since he helped rescue her at Peterloo. And she feels the same way. She said no one had seen him for over a week.” Daniel stood up and crossed his arms. “I mean it, Barnabas. You had better tell me what’s going on.”
“That is classified information,” he lied. “Suffice it to say I needed him to infiltrate someone’s inner circle. He was in the perfect condition to do so.” He speared Daniel with a sharp look. “Why haven’t you been keeping an eye on him? He looks dreadful.”
“Why? What’s wrong with him?” Mrs. Manderley cried out, sitting nervously on the edge of the chair.
“I believe you broke him when you left him in favor of your new husband,” Barnabas told her. “He’s fallen back to his old ways. And apparently was abandoned by his best friends.”
“Don’t you dare try to make this our fault,” Daniel said angrily. “You lost him. Not us.”
“He was lost long before that,” Barnabas said. “You’ve been away from London for over a year. When I saw him months ago, he was dissolute and slowly killing himself.”
Daniel’s face was drawn. “He wrote to us that he was fine,” he said. “Lengthy, amusing letters.”
“Of course he did,” Barnabas said. “Because that’s what you wanted from him, wasn’t it? So that you could all play house in Scotland and at Ashton Park with the duke and duchess.”
“I told you,” Mrs. Manderley said, starting to cry. “I told you there was something wrong with his letters but you wouldn’t listen.”
“Christy, please,” Ashbury said. “Now is not the time to assign blame.”
“Oh, I think it’s as good a time as any,” Barnabas said. “I have agents looking for him.”
“I’m going to help.”
“So am I,” Ashbury said, coming over to stand by his lover’s side.
“Good,” Barnabas said. “The more eyes the better. I suggest you start in the worst hells London has to offer.” Mrs. Manderley let out a little sob.
“Because of this job?” Daniel asked.
“That, too,” Barnabas said. “But my men tell me he’s been losing money there steadily for months, not to mention picking up strays. He’s probably got the pox.”
“Oh my God,” Mrs. Manderley said, crying in earnest.
“Was that necessary?” Ashbury asked, a muscle in his cheek twitching as he turned to console Mrs. Manderley.
“If she was in love with him she shouldn’t have run off and married the constable,” Barnabas said flatly. “Then we might not be in this situation.”
“It is my fault!” Mrs. Manderley cried out. “It is.”
“He’s the one who didn’t offer for you,” Ashbury said. “Not the other way around.”
“You wreak havoc everywhere you go,” Daniel accused Barnabas.
“We are in my office,” Barnabas reminded him. “You sought havoc and I have wrought it for you.” He waved at the door. “Find a man named de Vere. Don’t kill him. He’ll know what’s become of Simon.”
“Charles de Vere? The smuggler?” Daniel asked with a look of horror. “That’s who you sent him after?”
“So you’re aware of the kind of man he is?” Barnabas asked. “What have you heard?”
“Very told us everything about his wife,” Mrs. Manderley said, her voice rough with tears. “My God, if a man could do that to his own wife, what might he be doing to Simon?”
“That, Mrs. Manderley, is what worries me,” Barnabas said grimly.
* * *
Simon rolled over and heaved what little he had left in his stomach across the cold, wooden floor. Again. He was relatively sure they’d broken a rib in that last interrogation. Breathing was painful, but not impossible, which was a small blessing. They hadn’t punctured his lung at least. Simon still hadn’t told them anything.
The sad truth was, he didn’t know much to tell them anyway. He was shocked to discover de Vere knew all about his involvement with Melinda de Vere’s escape and his work with Sir Barnabas. The spymaster was right. De Vere almost certainly had a spy in the Home Office.
He wrapped his arm around his chest and sat up. The pain abated slightly. He leaned against the wall. Suddenly the door opened and his two jailers came back in.
“Time for some new accommodations,” one of them said with an evil laugh. Simon was always amazed when the villains actually had an evil laugh. He supposed caricatures had to come from somewhere.
The two men came over and pulled him up by his arms. Simon bit back a scream. “What’s the matter, fancy man?” the one with the laugh said. He was obviously the mouthpiece of the two. “Did we hurt you?” He laughed again.
Simon thought about killing him, but he wasn’t worth the trouble. Truth be told he wasn’t that concerned for his safety. He’d always imagined he’d die young anyway. Had actually been trying to hasten it along for years. It was why he’d bought a commission all those years ago. Too bad the French had failed him.
They dragged him out the door and he came face to face with de Vere. He didn’t look happy. “You’ve become a problem. Too many people asking too many questions. There’s a ship goes out tonight for the Barbary Coast, boys. Make sure he’s on it. I should get a pretty penny for him. They like the blond ones.”
“You’re not going to kill me?” Simon asked in surprise. “Really, I think that’s your best plan here.” He coughed at the effort the words took.
“Afraid of pirates, are you?” de Vere said with a leer. “You should be. I’ve heard they can split a man in two with hard use.” He and his two henchmen laughed. Simon was getting tired of being the butt of their jokes.
“Funny,” he said. “The same has never been said of you three.”
He saw the fist coming and didn’t bother to duck. He hardly felt the pain as his vision went black.
Chapter 19
Ambrose lay under Barnabas, breathing heavily. His second experience with carnal relations had been just as good as the first. He didn’t think he would ever be blasé about it. It was far too all consuming and intense an experience.
Barnabas rolled off of him and they lay side by side, not touching, for several minutes, the silence stretching until it grew taut.
“You keep coming back,” Barnabas said at last, when his breathing was even and his voice was controlled, as usual.
“Yes.” Ambrose had decided two could play this game earlier today. Barnabas may know how to make him lose control in passion, but Ambrose wasn’t going to allow him to do it at times like these. He knew that he couldn’t let Barnabas get the upper hand in this affair or he’d be dismissed as yet another conquest and Barnabas would move on. It was madness to begin it, it was madness to continue it, and yet Ambrose
wasn’t ready to end it yet.
“Why?” Barnabas asked, rolling over onto his elbow facing Ambrose. He rested his head in his hand. To the casual observer it was a relaxed pose, and yet Ambrose knew that it was indeed a pose. Barnabas was playing this the way he thought Ambrose wanted him to. Barnabas knew how to manipulate people. He’d been in a strange mood all evening. His lovemaking had been rough, but at times so tender that Ambrose had felt emotion choking him. Something was going on, but of course Barnabas wouldn’t reveal what. Not willingly.
“Why not?” Ambrose asked. He rose from the bed. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said politely. “I must wash up.” He didn’t really want to. He had become so depraved he rather liked having the evidence of their passion all over him.
“By all means,” Barnabas said just as politely. He indicated his dressing room off to the side.
When Ambrose returned to the bedroom Barnabas had put on a dressing gown and was standing by the open window, a drink in his hand. Ambrose was at a disadvantage since he was still naked. He cursed himself for not putting something on before stepping out.
“I like you like that,” Barnabas said, as if he could read his mind.
“Perhaps I like you like this, as well,” Ambrose countered.
“What’s done is done,” was Barnabas’s quick reply. “Come have a drink.”
“No, thank you,” he said. He walked over and picked his trousers up from the floor.
“So I haven’t driven you to drink yet?”
“Have I driven you to the bottle?” Ambrose countered, gesturing at the whiskey in his hand.
“You hate me, don’t you?” Barnabas asked. He might as well have been asking about the weather.
“No,” Ambrose said honestly. “Why would I?”
Barnabas turned incredulous eyes on him. “I seduced you. Thanks to me you are now considered a sodomite by British law.”
“So are you,” Ambrose said, stepping into his trousers. “You don’t seem too worried about it.”
“I am the law,” Barnabas said with a frown.
“Well, then, that’s convenient.” Ambrose buttoned his trousers.
“I have been a terrible influence on you.” Barnabas set his drink down and walked over. He stopped in front of Ambrose and ran his hands over his chest and down to his stomach. Ambrose’s muscles tightened involuntarily at the sensation.
“Yes,” he agreed.
“No polite denials?”
“None.”
“I miss your shocked outrage,” Barnabas said, staring at his hands on Ambrose.
“I’ve heard some people like to play pretend in the bedroom,” Ambrose answered. He placed his hands over Barnabas’s. He didn’t want him to move away. “I can pretend to be shocked and outraged if that would help.”
His reward was a fleeting smile from Barnabas. “No,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. “It just wouldn’t be the same.” He stepped closer and bit Ambrose on the shoulder lightly, and Ambrose shivered. “You certainly like a cock up the arse,” Barnabas said.
“Still trying to shock me into outrage?” Ambrose asked calmly. “Yes, yes I do. I cannot deny it.”
“Don’t become like me,” Barnabas warned him, pulling his hands out from under Ambrose’s.
“You’ll have to be more specific,” Ambrose said, letting him go with a pang of regret. “Don’t be a spymaster? Don’t drink? Don’t enjoy fucking? Don’t worry about everything? Don’t care so much?”
Barnabas looked shocked. “Worry? Care? What are you talking about? I’m trying to tell you not to become as cold and hard as I am. Your softer edges were quite pleasant. My edges cut and wound anyone who gets too close.”
“There are only a few reasons that a man would take up your position,” Ambrose told him. “The most obvious is because you care.”
Barnabas scoffed and tightened his robe. “The most obvious reason is power.”
“And yet you yield it judiciously, in the shadows.”
“I wield it as I see fit, which is what happens when you are powerful. Do not mistake a judicious, intelligent use of power for caring.”
“I have seen how much you care,” Ambrose told him. “You cannot deny it.”
“You’ve seen nothing,” he said dismissively. “Any tenderness I’ve shown has been in pursuit of your sexual favors.”
“I might have believed that before we shared physical intimacy. I don’t anymore.” Ambrose stood there, his posture relaxed. He dared not show any aggression or Barnabas would dismiss this discussion as an argument.
“You are trying to salve your conscience over this fuck by painting a halo over my head,” Barnabas snapped. “Trust me, horns would be more appropriate.” He snatched up his whiskey and took a drink.
“That’s what you’d like the world to think,” Ambrose said. He slowly walked toward Barnabas, who looked wary. “I have learned a great deal from you in the last week or so. Actually, since we rescued Mel.”
“That goes without saying,” Barnabas interjected drily. “You have been an apt pupil at fucking.”
“This is true,” Ambrose agreed with a grin. The smile seemed to take Barnabas aback. “But I have learned other, more valuable lessons as well.”
“Fucking is an extremely valuable lesson.”
Ambrose ignored his outburst. “I used to take people at face value.” He pointed at Barnabas. “You have accused me of that in the past. I didn’t understand why you considered it a bad thing. What a naïve fool I was.”
“The fact that I was right is hardly surprising,” Barnabas said. “When it comes to human nature I am usually correct.” He sounded so smug, but Ambrose found it more endearing than annoying. How the times had changed between them.
“But I was wrong about you,” he went on. “I considered you to be a cold, unfeeling bastard when the truth is you have more feelings locked inside you than most men experience in a lifetime.”
“You grow tiresome, Ambrose,” Barnabas said, taking a drink.
“Do I? Well, I have learned that other men are not to be judged at face value either, not just you.”
“Like whom?” Barnabas asked with interest.
“Hargraves.” The name alone made Ambrose blood boil with rage. “Meeks. One I called ally and compatriot, the other I called a useless fool. But that is what they wanted me to see, isn’t it?”
Barnabas put his whiskey down. “Yes. Don’t be so hard on yourself. That is what everyone sees in them. You are not alone in being duped.”
“That does not make it more palatable.”
“Are you going to leave me?” Barnabas asked. Ambrose was shocked at the question and it must have showed. Barnabas gave a wry grin. “I meant tonight. Are you staying again?”
“Yes, I’ll stay,” Ambrose said. “You sleep better.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Barnabas said.
Just then there was a thud from below them and then the sound of a crash and glass breaking. Both men turned as one for the door and ran for Mel’s room.
* * *
She opened the door at the first knock. “I dropped something. It’s fine. Go away.”
She tried to close the door before they could enter and discover the lie for what it was. Ambrose shoved his shoulder against it and pushed it open. Barnabas walked in without asking permission, brushing her protests off.
“You dropped an étagère?” he asked. He sounded neither angry nor interested.
“What?” Ambrose said, pushing past her. He stared in shock at the mess. “Are you all right?” he asked, spinning around to face her. She stood stiffly by the door.
“I’m fine,” she lied. “I shall have the footman clean it up in the morning.”
“Step carefully, Ambrose,” Barnabas warned. “There is broken glass about.” He bent over and picked up a piece of the hated shepherdess. “I can’t say I’m sorry about this one,” he said.
Ambrose swooped her up in his arms, in a similar fashion to the night before. M
el remained stiff in his arms. She shouldn’t encourage him to treat her this way. He and Barnabas were lovers. She was merely the housekeeper.
“Please, my lord,” she said. “Put me down.”
“My lord?” he asked with a frown. “I thought we were past that.”
“My behavior yesterday was inappropriate and I apologize,” she said. She blinked rapidly, holding back the tears. “I forgot my place.” She struggled and he tightened his hold.
“Damn it, let me get you across the room so you don’t cut yourself,” he snapped. She looked at him in shock.
“I know,” Barnabas said. “He’s not our shy Wetherald anymore.”
“I’m sick of both of you lying to me,” Ambrose said angrily. He picked his way across the room and set her down by the window. She’d left it open and he looked at it before turning back to her with a raised brow.
“You look like Sir Barnabas,” she said.
“I smell like him too, apparently,” Ambrose said sarcastically. “Now what really happened here?”
“I had an episode,” she admitted grudgingly.
“An episode of what?” he asked. He began to look her over, for injuries she supposed.
“You do realize you’re wearing nothing but trousers, don’t you?” she asked, blushing as she looked away.
“You’re lucky I already had these on,” he told her sharply. “An episode of what?”
“I was angry.” She confronted him. “Having to listen to you upstairs every night. Rubbing it in my face.”
“What?” Ambrose blushed. “I…I’m sorry. I didn’t even think. I should have after last night. You told me, but I…I’m sorry.”
“There’s our Ambrose,” Barnabas said, delicately picking his way across the room. “So you destroyed my étagère because you were angry that we were fucking?”
“Barnabas,” Ambrose snapped, turning to frown at him. “Language.”
“Yes,” she told him. She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms, suddenly miserable. “Yes, because I’ve never had that.”
For Love and Country (Brothers in Arms Book 13) Page 15
