“This position is not for your personal vendettas,” Gwynne growled. “Hargraves has been acting under my direct orders, as has Mr. de Vere.”
Barnabas slowly turned his gaze up until it clashed with Gwynne’s. “Have they?” he asked very quietly.
After a few moments of attempting to hold his gaze, Gwynne broke the connection nervously.
“They have,” he said with bravado. “And you are jeopardizing an ongoing intelligence operation with your foolish bumbling.”
“Am I?” he asked. “That’s odd, since any intelligence operation on English soil must first be approved by me, and then the Home Secretary. Has Lord Sidmouth signed off on this operation?”
“Lord Sidmouth is well aware that smuggling is still a problem and is costing England a great deal of money,” Gwynne snapped.
“That was not an answer to my question,” Barnabas pointed out.
“I’m sure Lord Sidmouth will be appreciative when he finds out what I have uncovered,” Gwynne said.
“Really? Why don’t you share that information with me?” Barnabas said. “Perhaps I can be of assistance in this matter, since it does fall under my purview.”
“There is no need for you to know the details.” Gwynne looked down his nose superciliously.
“I think there is,” Barnabas countered. “You see, in my position, it is expected that I am privy to all information on all intelligence operations on English soil. And I would hate for anyone to think I had approved an operation that involved the kidnap, imprisonment and repeated rape of an English gentlewoman.”
“Speaking of Mrs. de Vere,” Gwynne said, “return her to her husband immediately. She is his property under English law. Whatever happens in their bedroom is between them, which is right and proper. Mr. de Vere has suffered at the loss of his young wife.”
“Mr. de Vere will be joining Lord Hargraves in Hell very soon,” Barnabas said. “And as I’ve only just rescued his wife from there, I do not think she will be accompanying him this time.”
“You overstep your authority,” Gwynne said angrily. “I have told you they were operating under my direct supervision. Lord Meeks is even now in custody for espionage, and we owe Lord Hargraves and Mr. de Vere a debt of gratitude for his capture.”
Barnabas laughed outright. “Meeks?” He turned to de Vere, who had been unnaturally quiet during the entire encounter, which had the hair on Barnabas’s nape standing on end as he waited for him to make his move. “So you’ve framed him, have you? Served him up on a platter? What are you trying to cover up?” He tapped his fingers on the desk. “You were quite eager to defeat Lord Winston’s bill, weren’t you, Hargraves?” he asked after a moment. “Why? Or rather, why did you order him to make sure the bill was defeated?” he asked de Vere after turning to him. “I know you hold his leash now. His perverse bedroom appetites have ensured that.”
“You dare accuse me of being perverse?” Hargraves demanded. “We all know you are a practitioner of unnatural love. At least I only bed women!”
“What you do is not bedding,” Barnabas said. “It is rape and physical abuse.”
“You are very quick to judge,” Gwynne said, frowning. “I have it on very good authority that you did much worse during the war.”
“I did not make war on women and children,” Barnabas said. “Collateral damage was not caused by me.”
“Women are a tool,” de Vere finally said. “They are to be used for whatever ends we need them to achieve. It is the way of things, as it has always been.” He sneered at Barnabas. “You and Wetherald and your shining knight in armor compulsions. You destroyed a very potent scheme that brought several influential men under my power. For that you will pay.”
“And who will make me pay?” Barnabas said, curious.
“I will,” Gwynne said imperiously.
Barnabas scoffed. “None of you have enough power to unseat me here. I know more secrets than you could hope to learn in a lifetime of your schemes and blackmail. I command the loyalty of every agent under my command, not to mention the trust and admiration of Lord Sidmouth, the palace and my allies in Parliament. Do you really think a lackey, a rapist and a smuggler can destroy me?”
With shocking clarity he realized it was true. Should they kill him tonight, he had amassed enough friends and loyal acquaintances to see the guilty brought to justice. It was a small measure of comfort. And of course Daniel would most likely kill them as soon as he returned. There was always that.
“How dare you?” Gwynne said in a furious voice.
“Oh, shut up,” de Vere said to him in disgust. “I knew bringing you along was a slim chance anyway.” He pulled a gun out and pointed it at Barnabas.
Chapter 28
“Ah, the dramatics,” Barnabas said drily. “I was wondering when they would begin.”
“What are you doing?” Gwynne asked de Vere. “We cannot kill him, especially here.”
“Here is perfect,” de Vere said. “And since Hargraves obligingly came with us, we can make it look as if they shot each other over the tarnished honor of my nubile bride.” Barnabas saw he held a double-barreled pistol. That second barrel meant Barnabas could not attack de Vere even if he shot Hargraves first.
“W-what?” Hargraves stammered, inching toward the door.
“Did you really think you were anything more than a means to an end?” Barnabas asked him in disgust.
“You owe me.” Hargraves went on the attack. “Without me you’d have nothing. Meeks didn’t supply you with anything valuable and you know it. I was the one who got you the naval schedules and the bank information.”
“What are you talking about?” Gwynne asked, going pale. “Why does he need the naval schedules?”
“To sneak his cargo past the watch, of course,” Barnabas said. “Do keep up.”
“But he is no longer smuggling. He is helping us catch smugglers.” It was really rather sad how out of step Gwynne was at this point.
“No,” Barnabas told him. “He’s eliminating the competition. What did they tell you Meeks did?”
“He sold privileged documents to the Russians and the French,” Gwynne said.
“Neither of whom is all that interested in our privileged information right now,” Barnabas drawled. “They are both too busy with new kings and revolting colonies, not to mention Spain, Austria, Prussia and Glücksburg. We are an afterthought.”
“Glücksburg?” Gwynne asked.
Barnabas shook his head. “This is why you have not secured an appointment.” He turned to de Vere. “I’m more interested in the banking information he traded for Mrs. de Vere.”
De Vere smiled and it was perhaps more frightening than any expression Barnabas could make. To think his Mel had been under this man’s thumb for years, abused and neglected, forsaken by her family and all who knew her. She would never want again, never be alone again, never fear de Vere or others like him and Hargraves. Barnabas would make sure of it.
“Financial crises lead to destabilization and war, which lead to much money to be made,” de Vere said. “I find peace not to my liking.”
“You’re funneling banking and investments information to…whom? Who would also like to see Britain at war?” Barnabas began to run through a catalog of possible enemies.
“Who wouldn’t?” de Vere said with a laugh. “We are not well liked, you know. Particularly in the colonies.”
“Where there is money to be made.” He paused, thinking. “You had a great deal invested in the African Company of Merchants,” he mused. “You lost it when the crown dissolved the company. Were you involved in Governor MacCarthy’s death in Sierra Leone last year?”
“Good God,” Gwynne said, finally sitting down in the small chair facing Barnabas. “Even now British forces are at war there with the Ashanti. Are you saying this man caused that war?”
“You give me too much credit,” de Vere said. “Let’s just say I may have encouraged the Ashanti to assert their rights on the Gold Coast.
For a fee, of course.”
“The naval schedules aren’t just to protect your smuggling operations, are they?”
“No, they are not,” de Vere said. “I am going to make a very nice return on that investment. Even now they have passed into hands that are not friendly to Britain.” He looked apologetically at Gwynne. “Sorry, my lord. Sir Barnabas’s insistence on interrogating me means that I’ll have to kill you, too, I’m afraid.” He looked at Barnabas with satisfaction. “Apparently Sir Barnabas went mad in his office and killed you and Lord Hargraves.”
“I have been harboring a viper in our midst,” Gwynne whispered.
“Indeed, my lord,” Barnabas said. “This is why intelligence should be left to the professionals.”
“How long have you been gathering intelligence on me?” de Vere asked.
“Several years,” Barnabas told him. “Your smuggling operations during the war put you in our sights, of course, and your involvement with the African Company of Merchants and your shady dealings with Barbary pirates.”
“Never enough to bring me in?” he asked. “What a shame. And then Melinda came along. You jumped on that opportunity. That surprised me. You are a well-known cynic, particularly when it comes to women. I thought you’d let that play out longer.”
“It was a personal favor,” he said, controlling his anger and channeling it into trying to find a way out of this mess Gwynne had brought to his door.
“The lovelorn Lord Wetherald,” de Vere sneered, “and his penchant for ruined ladies and lost causes.”
“Indeed,” Barnabas concurred. He’d been a lost cause until Ambrose had come and saved him, hadn’t he? “You do know this building is never empty, correct?” Barnabas asked. “Nor is it ever left unguarded. I have too many files and too much information here to take a chance.”
“Yes, yes, that’s right,” Hargraves said. He stood with his back to the wall, as far away from de Vere as he could get. “Sir Barnabas always has men surrounding him.”
“Not tonight,” de Vere said. “He sent them all on a wild goose chase after dear, dear Simon.” He made a mocking face of despair. “Poor, misguided Simon, sent to infiltrate my network and report back. As if I wouldn’t know he was one of the men who stole Melinda from me. I, too, rarely leave my valuable possessions unguarded, you see.”
“Where is he?” Barnabas asked, his heart in his throat.
“Oh, don’t worry, he’s not dead. Yet. But he’ll soon wish he was.” De Vere laughed. “He’s quite a scrapper, isn’t he? That won’t do in the mines. They punish that sort of insubordination.”
“What mines?” Barnabas asked.
“Who is in the mines?” Gwynne asked, clearly confused.
“Now, if I told you, I’d have to kill you,” de Vere said. Then he laughed again. “Oh, wait. Right. You know, this is turning out to be far more amusing than I thought it would be.” He backed toward the door, blocking Hargraves, who’d been inching his way over. He pulled another gun out of his coat, a single barrel this time. Not that it did Barnabas any good.
“They all thought I wasn’t good enough to join their ranks,” he said, pointing at Gwynne and Hargraves. “Just like you,” he said to Barnabas. “We’re not good enough. Well, we’re a good sight smarter than they are, aren’t we? I’ll be having the last laugh. With my beloved wife, who is probably already awaiting my return at home.”
Barnabas jumped out of his chair and de Vere jerked the gun up into firing position. “Yes, that’s right,” he gloated. “While you’ve been sitting here foolishly questioning me, my men raided your townhouse. It will all look very suspicious for you, Sir Barnabas. You shall die in disgrace and ignominy. I hope Wetherald was there and they find him dead in your bed. That would be perfect.”
Barnabas’s heart was beating so loud it almost drowned out de Vere’s voice. “What have you done?” he whispered.
“What needed doing,” de Vere said. “Isn’t that what our kind always does?”
He raised the gun higher and all three men backed away from him. But before he could fire, the door burst open, knocking him off balance. His shot went wild. He threw his back to the wall and turned to fire at the new threat, but a shot ripped through his chest and he slid down the wall, dead. Barnabas turned to the door in amazement.
“Is he dead?” Ambrose asked calmly, still pointing his spent pistol at de Vere.
“He’s dead, my lord,” Hastings said from behind him. He reached around and carefully took the gun from Ambrose’s hand. He looked apologetically at Barnabas. “I was trying to figure out a way in and he just burst through the door.” He shook his head. “I’m in trouble again, aren’t I?”
“He saved my life at the townhouse,” Ambrose told him. “Mine and Mel’s.”
“You are not in trouble,” Barnabas told Hastings. He turned to Ambrose. “You, however, have earned a stern talking to.”
“Can I shoot Hargraves, too?” Ambrose asked. “No one will ask questions.”
“I say, Lord Wetherald,” Gwynne protested. “He is unarmed.”
“He is the lowest form of snake,” Ambrose said. “He doesn’t deserve rules of civility.”
“My Lord Gwynne,” Hargraves said, scurrying over to hide behind his back.
“I wouldn’t be so eager to avoid a quick bullet,” Gwynne told him. “You’ll most likely hang in the end.” He sighed. “God forgive me, so may I.”
Chapter 29
Mel paced back and forth in the parlor in front of the fire. Soames stood at the parlor door, dividing his attention between her and the front entrance. She felt safer with him there and was glad of the company, even if no words were exchanged. Periodically one of the other servants would appear and speak quietly with Soames, who always shook his head. They were worried, which didn’t make Mel feel any better. They were apparently trained agents, and so their worry held weight.
How could she have been such a fool as to not tell Barnabas and Ambrose how she felt? What if something happened to either of them? She threw herself down on the settee in despair, lowering her head to her palm, hunched over as her stomach cramped with her maudlin thoughts. They’d both become so dear to her. She loved them.
What an idiot she was. Barnabas could never love her in return. She wasn’t all that intelligent, and she’d been weak and foolish enough to let de Vere do unspeakable things to her. There was no possible way a man like Barnabas could ever love her. And Ambrose thought he loved her, but he’d come back to reality soon enough when his friends and family made him see how grossly inappropriate she was. Their interest in her was purely charitable.
Apparently she’d learned nothing in the last few years and was still as vain and foolish as ever if she’d let herself love two such men, so clearly far above her in every way. And yet she wouldn’t trade the last few weeks for anything. If they were both all right she’d walk away tomorrow, content in the knowledge that however briefly they had cared and she had held them close.
And really, how on earth would something like the three of them work? Barnabas and Ambrose were public figures. Their liaison was more inappropriate and dangerous than any she could think of. How could they make a home together?
And she would never marry again. She simply couldn’t, even if de Vere died. The thought of it gave her cold chills. No matter how much she loved them, she couldn’t stand the thought of being any man’s property again. And surely Barnabas and Ambrose would insist. They were not the sorts of men who would consort with a woman out of wedlock for years on end. They’d insist on some kind of legal arrangement.
But if they would just come home, she’d go and live happily on her own knowing they were safe, and perhaps they would find some way to be together.
When she heard a carriage in the street she jumped up and spun around to face Soames. His head was tipped to the side as he listened. The carriage stopped.
“Is it…?” she asked.
Soames turned and went to the door. He slid a brass plate o
ut of the way and peered outside through a small hole. She hadn’t even known it was there.
“It is,” he told her with relief. He pulled open the door and Barnabas walked in, his gaze finding her immediately. She didn’t care who else was around—she ran over to him and threw herself into his arms.
“You’re all right,” she said, her voice uneven. She could feel herself shaking. “Ambrose?”
“Is right here,” he said from behind Barnabas. She reached out a trembling hand, not letting go of Barnabas, who had his arms wrapped around her just as tightly. Ambrose took her hand and kissed it before he pressed it to his cheek. “I told you I’d bring him home,” he said.
“You did.” She sniffed and pulled back to look at Barnabas. She knew right away that something was wrong. “What happened?” she asked. “Was it de Vere?”
“Of course it was,” Barnabas said calmly. “Come on.” He let her go only to grab her hand and tug her toward the stairs. “Ambrose.”
“Hello, Soames,” Ambrose said. Mel looked over her shoulder to see him smiling at the butler. “Go put a beefsteak on that eye.”
“Very good, sir,” Soames said, smiling. “I shall go see Cook.”
Barnabas stopped suddenly and Mel ran into his back. “What does this new cook look like?” he asked suspiciously.
“She’s very young and pretty, and French,” Mel told him. “We were very lucky to get her. You’re paying her a fortune.”
“Of course I am,” he said in disgust. “I should have known by how happy Soames was at her arrival.” He looked over his shoulder. “Ambrose.”
“I’m coming, and not because you are ordering me around like one of your agents,” he said. “But because I want to see Mel.”
“You are a terrible liar and always will be,” Barnabas said. “You would never pass the test to be one of my agents.”
For Love and Country (Brothers in Arms Book 13) Page 22
