Ransomed Jewels

by Laura Landon

  Sam whispered a muffled oath while he slipped her gloves from her quivering hands. “Does Barnaby know?”

  “I told him when he was here last night.”

  Sam got up from the settee and paced the room. “Where is Barnaby now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did he say what he was going to do?”

  She shook her head and tried to answer, but her voice broke when she tried to speak. But he’d heard the fear in her words. Seen the trepidation on her face.

  He raked his fingers through his hair in frustration and walked across the room. With one arm braced against the fireplace, he stared into the flickering flames. Bloody hell! They only had a few days.

  “Roseneau won’t kill your brother until he’s certain we won’t ransom the necklace for him. This was a warning. His trump card. He’ll wait now for us to answer him.”

  “How?”

  Sam was saved from having to lie to her when Honeywell burst through the door.

  “What is it, Major? Watkins said—” Honeywell’s eyes grew wide when he looked at Claire.

  Sam turned back to Claire. “We need to find your brother, my lady. Does he have a town house here in London?”

  “On Kensington Square.”

  Sam issued Lieutenant Honeywell an order. “Go to Lord Barnaby’s place on Kensington Square, Lieutenant. See if he’s there.”

  “Yes, sir. And if he’s not there?”

  “Go to Roseneau’s town house on Berkely Square. See what you can discover. Be careful, though. Don’t let anyone see you.”

  “Right, Major.”

  The door closed behind Honeywell before Sam could bring himself to face her. He knew what he’d see on her face. The pleading look that said she wanted his promise to hand over the necklace if they found it. A promise he could never make.

  “Why don’t you go upstairs and lie down for a while? I’ll send someone for you when your brother arrives.”

  “I’m not tired. I can use the time until Barnaby gets here to continue our search.”

  “You’re exhausted. What good will you do anyone if you become ill?”

  She bolted from the settee and glared at him. “What good will my resting do Alex? If you need to rest, feel free to do so, Major. I intend to look for the necklace.”

  Sam held his breath and forced his temper to cool. She wasn’t thinking clearly, wasn’t in any condition to know what was best for her. She’d gone through too much in the last few weeks. That must be it, or she wouldn’t have tried to handle everything on her own. She would have come to him a long time ago.

  “You and Roseneau were never lovers, were you?”

  She turned on him with the most blatant anger he’d ever witnessed. “I loathe the man.”

  “And at his ball? When I saw you in his arms?”

  The look of surprise on her face was genuine. “Roseneau caught me unawares. He made advances that”—she paused and took a breath—“that I was unable to stop. Luckily, Barnaby was keeping an eye on me and interrupted us before things went too far.”

  Sam swiped his hand across his face and thought of all the times he’d accused her of being unfaithful. Of having an affair with Roseneau. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Tell you what? That there was nothing between Roseneau and me? That finding the necklace was a matter of life and death? That I couldn’t let you have it when we did find it?” She clenched her hands at her sides. “I did!”

  With a lethal glare, she stormed across the room. They were in Hunt’s study, the room that most reminded them of Sam’s friend, Claire’s husband. The two side walls were lined with books, the shelves running from ceiling to floor. The back wall was made up of tall, multipaned windows that looked out onto the garden behind the house, a garden that, if it were daylight, would boast well-tended flowers in full bloom.

  A door took up the middle of the front wall, the empty spaces on either side of the opening decorated by two huge paintings, one of which Sam was certain was a Gainsborough original. This whole room represented the Marquess of Huntingdon’s life, from the books on the shelves to the paintings on the wall to the maps and charts on a table in the corner. This was what his friend’s existence had consisted of.

  Sam felt a pang of regret and loss. Then he wondered what he would leave behind if something happened to him. And whether or not his death would matter to anyone.

  Even Hunt’s presence, in time, would be of little consequence. Once the people whose lives he’d touched were no longer here to remind the world of his existence, what would be left behind to tell future generations of the man he’d been? Hunt had left no legacy. No children. No heir. Even his name would be extinct after Lady Huntingdon was not alive to carry it. Or when she remarried and forsook the Huntingdon title to take on her new husband’s name.

  Sam felt a stab of anger that things had turned out as they had. That Hunt’s life had yielded so much—yet so little. But was his own life any different?

  He looked at the woman sitting on the floor, opening each book in search of the necklace. She’d been Hunt’s wife. Had known him better than anyone. But what did that matter when she was left alone with nothing but her memories?

  Sam realized how little he really knew her. How wrong he’d been about her. And how much he admired her.

  The need to be with her and protect her intensified. He’d never had these feelings before. Never wanted to let anyone get close enough to be a part of his life. Not like he wanted Claire to be a part of his.

  He suddenly realized these feelings for her had been growing for a long time. From the second he’d found her after Roseneau’s henchman had hurt her. When he’d sat at her bedside hour after hour and cared for her. When he’d comforted her and held her in his arms. And later, when he’d kissed her.

  If he would have allowed his heart to speak instead of his mind, he would have known then that he wanted her. Even though he knew how impossible it was for him to ever have her. He was a bloody spy. The same as Hunt had been.

  He mentally shook himself, facing head-on a dilemma that had only one outcome. No matter how he looked at it, the situation both he and Claire had been thrown into could end only one way. He had a duty to perform, for both his fellow man and his country, and that duty was to do whatever it took to bring about a quicker end to the war. He could never let his feelings for Claire get in the way of what he had to do.

  With every ounce of his will, he concentrated again on the task before him. “When you and Hunt returned from France, what did Hunt do?”

  “I told you already,” she said, thumbing through another book. When she finished, she put the book back on the shelf. “We returned home late afternoon. We changed, ate a cold supper, then Hunt came in here. I didn’t see him for the rest of the evening. When I came down the following morning, he was still working in here. I don’t think he’d slept all night.” She pulled another book from the shelf and opened it.

  “Did he say anything? Anything at all about the necklace? Or the papers?”

  She shook her head, then put the book in her hands back on the shelf and reached for another. “I sent a tray in to him because he hadn’t joined me for breakfast. About an hour later he had his valet pack a bag and he left.”

  “Did he say where he was going?”

  “He said he had estate business he needed to take care of.”

  “How long was he gone?”

  “A month. Maybe longer. I can’t remember.”

  “A month? He left you here alone for a month?”

  “He did that often when he had estate business. Now I know that excuse also included work he did for the government.”

  “Did he say anything at all before he left?”

  She shoved herself to her feet and moved to the other side of the room. “No. But that was not uncommon. He rarely did.”

  Sam watched her pull out a book, look inside, and shove it back with more force than before. He knew he shouldn’t ask her more, but
he had no choice. Time was running out.

  “He rarely did what? Inform you where he was going or when he would return?”

  “Both, Major. Does that surprise you? Hunt told me very little of his business dealings. He spoke even less of things that mattered to him. His purpose was obviously to keep me in the dark regarding anything in which he was involved. It was only when we were in public, when the two of us were on display and he had to act his part, that he pretended we were the perfect couple. Now are you satisfied?”

  Sam stood in shock, his feet rooted to the floor. He watched her whip books from a shelf, open them with an angry flip, then shove them back in place.

  Sam knew she’d passed the point of exhaustion long ago. She was frantic with worry. And desperate. Perhaps that was why she said what she just had. Had exposed certain pieces of her personal life she normally wouldn’t have revealed.

  “This isn’t Hunt’s fault,” Sam said, as if he knew how angry she was with Hunt.

  She slammed a book against the floor. “Isn’t it? Then whose fault is it?”

  Sam didn’t have an answer for her. He wasn’t even sure why he’d said that, other than he’d felt a need to defend Hunt.

  “He loved you, Cl—”

  “Don’t!” She held out her hand to stop him. “You can say a lot of things. But don’t tell me my husband loved me. I don’t care what you thought he said. He—”

  She clamped her hand over her mouth and hissed through clenched teeth as she took a deep breath. When she spoke again, her voice was laced with bitterness.

  “Just. Don’t.”

  Sam watched her continue searching through the books. How could her marriage to Hunt have been anything like what she was describing? Hadn’t Hunt’s dying words been that he loved her?

  “I don’t understand what you’re telling me,” he said, watching her open another book.

  “Don’t try, Major. It’s not important.”

  “Maybe I think it is.”

  She glared at him with a look that left no room for debate. “Perhaps I don’t consider my relationship with my husband anyone’s business but my own.”

  Her face was pale, her lips drawn tight. Sam knew she was on the verge of collapse. He stared at her as she turned to continue her search. She staggered, and Sam bolted forward to catch her. He wrapped her in his arms.

  She allowed him to hold her long enough to gain her balance, then tried to push away from him, but he refused to let her go. “You can’t keep this up for much longer,” he whispered in her ear.

  “I don’t have a choice. I have to find the necklace. Roseneau’s going to kill Alex if I don’t.”

  “We’ll find him first.”

  Sam kept her in his arms, moving one hand over her back while running the fingers of his other hand through her thick, golden hair. He cradled her head in his palm and nestled her close.

  She snaked her arms around his waist. Not out of instinct, or maybe it was, but more than likely it was because she didn’t know where else to place them. She pressed her palms flat against his back and leaned closer. It was as if she needed him to hold her as much as he wanted to have her in his arms. “Tell me about your marriage to Hunt?”

  She shook her head. Her body stiffened against him. The subject of her marriage to Hunt was obviously off-limits.

  He rubbed his hand over her again until she relaxed in his arms. He’d never felt such consuming fire when he’d been with any other woman, and he’d had more than his share in his nearly thirty years of bachelorhood. But none of them affected him like she did.

  He tried to ignore the fiery heat that spread through his body. Told himself in a dozen different ways that he shouldn’t hold her like this, that he shouldn’t think the thoughts he did when she was near. But none of his warnings mattered. None of the rules he’d set down for himself seemed to have any substance when she was in his arms. He knew she felt it, too.

  She kept her body pressed against him, her thighs touching his, her torso next to his, her breasts moving against his chest with each labored breath she took. It was magical, the heat that spread from her body to his, from his body to hers. He needed to have her, to taste her. To feel her melt in his embrace.

  Sam held her tight with one hand and moved the other over her shoulder and down her arm. Her waist was narrow and he spanned it easily, then worked his hands up her torso until his fingers grazed the underside of her breasts. He wanted to touch them, to feel their heavy weight in the palm of his hand.

  She took a deep breath, as if she realized the danger they were in. Her arms dropped from around his waist and skimmed up his chest, palms flat, fingers splayed. And she pushed against him, gently at first, then with more force.

  “Don’t. Please. We can’t—”

  Sam halted her words by placing his finger over her lips. Her face was tilted upward, her eyes wide, filled with wonder, her lips slightly open as if searching for an objection that would fight her desire. And Sam couldn’t wait any longer. He lowered his head and caught her sigh in a kiss.

  Chapter 17

  He was going to kiss her.

  Claire started to push him away, then stopped. She was unprepared for the pleasure of his kiss. She had never felt such pull, such warmth spread through her body. It reached every part of her. Waves of desire swirled low in her stomach. Her need to be touched and held grew in intensity.

  She knew she shouldn’t let him do this. Shouldn’t allow him to touch her, hold her, kiss her. But Heaven help her, what he did to her was nothing short of earth-shattering.

  She felt so safe in his arms, so alive and wanted when his hands touched her, when his fingers moved over her. It was almost as if she could begin again, as if he were showing her what it could be like with someone who desired her. As if this time . . .

  He deepened his kiss. Hot, fiery spirals swirled deep in her belly. Her mind rushed in confusion.

  She tried to match Sam’s efforts, amazed that she’d never known a man’s kiss could have this effect.

  She’d never dreamed a man’s touch could be so consuming. Hunt’s kisses had been quick, cold, unfeeling. His lips pressed to her forehead. Or her cheek. But never to her lips.

  Memories of Hunt’s avoidance of intimacy struck her full force, filling her with a desperation to experience what she’d lived without every day of her marriage.

  Sam’s mouth moved over hers, tasting her lips, drinking from her. Her legs weakened beneath her; her whole body tingled with a sensation she didn’t understand. Her stomach churned as if she’d been thrown into a raging whirlpool.

  With shocking clarity, she realized she wanted this. She desired this. She didn’t want to live another minute without knowing what it felt like to be held and kissed by someone who cared for her.

  Time ceased to exist. Everything ceased except Sam’s lips moving over hers, his hands holding her, and his body pressed against her. With a desperation she didn’t understand, she moved her hands over him, feeling the corded muscles across his shoulders and down his arms. It was as if she couldn’t touch enough of him, as if she suddenly realized how empty and lacking her marriage had been. She was being given a glimpse of the wonders Sam’s kisses promised, and she was desperate to experience more.

  He kissed her again, drinking deeply, then broke their kiss and lifted his mouth from hers. She didn’t want him to, and she pulled him closer.

  “Sam?”

  “Someone’s coming,” he said without releasing his hold.

  His breathing was heavy and labored, and hers was no different. She listened to the commotion at the front door and struggled to regain her composure before they were found out.

  She stepped out of Sam’s arms as Barnaby threw open the door.

  “Claire? Are you all right?”

  Barnaby crossed the room and grabbed her by the shoulders. He held her at arm’s length and looked at her as if he feared the worst.

  “It’s not me, Barn. It’s Alex. Roseneau sent me one of t
he handkerchiefs I embroidered for him last Christmas. It’s all bloody.” Claire clamped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, Barn. They’ve hurt him.”

  “Sh,” Barnaby said, pulling her close. “It’ll be all right.”

  Major Bennett stepped toward them. “I’m glad Honeywell found you.”

  “He was just leaving Roseneau’s home,” Lieutenant Honeywell volunteered. “From the back.”

  The major’s brows arched, which only emphasized the frown on his forehead. “What were you doing at Roseneau’s house?”

  “Paying a visit.”

  “I hardly think so. Roseneau isn’t home.”

  The major waited and finally Barnaby answered, “A perfect time, then.”

  “Perfect for what?”

  “To look for anything that might tell us where Roseneau has Alex.”

  The major’s body stiffened as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. He finally spoke. “Did you find anything?”

  Barnaby reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. He handed it to Sam.

  “What is it?” Claire asked, her heart pounding faster. She moved to the desk where the major had taken the paper and was reading it beneath a lamp. She stepped closer and looked over his shoulder.

  “It’s a sheet from Roseneau’s ledger. There’s an entry to a Clyde Biggins, made just before Alex was kidnapped. It’s for rent on a warehouse in Southwark.”

  Claire looked up at Barnaby. “Is that where you think they’ve got him?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s a place to start.”

  The major folded the paper and put it in a drawer in Hunt’s desk. Next, he opened a side drawer and took out a gun. He checked to make sure it was loaded, then put it in his pocket. He closed the drawer, then turned to Barnaby. “Stay here with your sister. Lieutenant Honeywell and I will see what’s there.”

  Claire saw Barnaby’s shoulders tense, saw his eyes turn black with fury.

  “You, Major, can go to hell. It’s my brother who is possibly in that warehouse and I’m going to get him out. If you insist on coming with me, that’s your choice, but I’ll not stay behind like some pampered dandy.”