Servants. Warwick had probably come to see her disguised, and she must have left the same way. With that blonde hair shoved under a mobcap and an ill-fitting maid’s gown, the watcher would have paid her little heed. Belmont left the man with orders to begin a thorough search of the house for anything that might help, and returned to the carriage where Riki waited. Without comment he handed her the letter.
She read it quickly then lowered it to her lap. “No.”
“Yes! He’s admitted it!”
“No!” She shook her head. “It can’t be true. He…he must be going to help the British.”
“My God, how naïve can you be? He’d have come to me if that were his intention.”
Riki closed her eyes and drew a long, quavering breath. “I’m sorry, Belmont.”
He let that pass. “Exactly how much good can he do Napoleon?”
“A lot, I’m afraid.” Her voice sounded muffled, as if she didn’t want to answer but felt compelled. “You saw his gaming room. He knows Wellington’s battle plans for the entire campaign in intimate detail. He’s fought and re-fought every battle with his gaming friends. The…the result will be disastrous.”
“There is only one hope.” He sounded grim and he knew it, but at this point he didn’t care. Sparing Riki’s feelings was the least of his worries. “I must find him at the earliest possible moment.”
“We must find him,” Riki avowed. “You’re not going after him alone. This is my fault.”
He looked down at her, his expression carefully veiled. “And what do you think you could do that I cannot?”
“He is my cousin. My money provided him with the leisure to indulge his fascination with war games. It’s my responsibility to prevent him from causing further damage.”
“And what makes you think I’ll let him?”
Her eyes opened wider as his intent became clear to her. “You— No, you can’t kill him! You promised me!”
“What else am I to do? Rely on him to agree to be a good lad and conduct himself with propriety from now on?” He freed himself and took her by the shoulders, shaking her gently. “Damn it, Riki, he’s proved we can’t trust him. God alone knows what damage he’ll have done before I can stop him. Once I catch up to him, I can’t permit him another chance to aid the French. I gave him one already.” Bitterness hung heavily in his words.
“Because of me.” Her huge, lovely gray eyes brimmed with moisture. “Gil, I…” A single tear, followed closely by another, slipped down her cheek.
He brushed them away with one finger then stopped the next with his lips. That did it. He enfolded her in his arms and held her tightly, crushing her petite form against his chest, kissing her with all the passion he’d been trying for so long to deny. His mouth brushed her cheek then her eyes, tasting the salty tears before he reclaimed her mouth once more. Sensation blended with primitive need and his control hovered on the brink.
With an almost superhuman effort, he dragged himself back, thrusting her from him while he could still think. Have I no resistance when it comes to this woman? Desire, more intense than any he’d ever before experienced, warred within him against the anger he ought to feel with her for influencing his better judgment. To possess her would be worth any price—except the betrayal of his country.
That brought him partway back to earth. She wasn’t of his world. They didn’t belong together. He forced himself to repeat that over and over. He couldn’t have her for more than just a little while longer. And that knowledge haunted him.
“Gil—”
He silenced her by pressing his fingers to her lips. “No, Riki.”
“You must let me. Please, if we can find him, I’ll take him back to our own time at once and then you’ll be rid of…us.” Her voice trailed off on the last word.
Lord, he’d like to keep her at his side every moment of the precious time they had left together. The temptation was almost irresistible. “No,” he repeated before she could change his mind. “I won’t expose you to the risks of searching for your cousin behind enemy lines.”
She drew a deep, unsteady breath. “Damn it, Gil, this is no time for misplaced chivalry! I won’t be left out. I’m not the kind of shrinking, fragile damsel you’re used to. I was brought up very differently, to make my own decisions and accept their consequences!”
“No.”
“Give me one good reason. And I mean a good one!” She looked up at him, challenging.
Belmont gave up. “Because I can’t think straight when you’re near.” And somehow he had her back in his arms where he wanted her—and where he knew she could never stay.
* * * * *
Two questions still bothered Belmont, but he was not about to mention them in front of that enterprising young lady. One, the identity of Marie Marley’s contact, he might never know—unless he one day caught up with her. He’d choke it out of her then, if he had to. The other problem might have a much simpler answer and he intended to see to it at once.
Only one person, in his mind, seemed likely to have followed their carriage from Brighton. Therefore, as soon as he had seen Riki safely off on a visit with Felicity and his mother the following morning, Belmont strolled around the corner to Clarges Street, where Sir Julian Taggart kept rooms while in London. He knocked sharply on the door and several minutes passed before Julian’s valet answered.
The ever-correct gentleman’s gentleman regarded Belmont in haughty amazement. “Sir Julian is still abed, m’lord.” His tone, if not his words, implied that anyone who had been so long acquainted with his master must surely be aware of the solecism of calling upon him before noon.
Belmont waved his objections aside. “I need to talk to him, Grooby.”
“But my lord…”
Belmont set the affronted valet aside and took the stairs two at a time. He knocked on the inner door, then made his unceremonious way into his old friend’s bedchamber without waiting for an answer.
Sir Julian, wrapped in an elegant dressing gown, sat in a wing-back chair by the window and sipped tea as he read the morning paper. He eyed his visitor with pained reproach. “Really, my dear Belmont,” he protested. “So early?”
Belmont impatiently waved Julian’s protest aside. “I intend to have a few answers from you. Now.”
Sir Julian set down the paper and spread his hand in an inviting gesture. “Far be it from me to interfere in your plans, dear boy. You may have as many answers of me as you wish.”
“What did you think would happen to me on the road from Brighton to the Court?”
A slow smile spread across Julian’s face. “Was I that clumsy? I take it you lost me on purpose, then. I wondered at the time.”
“I did. And you didn’t answer my question.”
Julian examined his immaculate manicure. “I didn’t trust Miss van Hamel. Your story, you know, didn’t sound completely true to me. It seemed quite possible she was responsible for your aborted trip and had planted herself on you with the intention of working her way into your household. That would make her either a spy or an adventuress.” He tilted his head. “Which would you have considered the more dangerous?”
In spite of himself Belmont smiled. “She is neither, as a matter of fact.”
“You relieve my mind. I do not believe I could have supported the sight of you in the toils of an adventuress.”
“Neither could I.”
“Tea, dear boy?” Julian waved the pot toward him, hospitably.
And that, he reflected as he left shortly, was that. Dear old Julian, a well-intentioned—if somewhat clumsy—meddler. Riki would undoubtedly take Julian in even greater dislike once she knew his opinion of her, but at least one mystery had been explained to his satisfaction.
The rest of that day and the better part of the next, Belmont spent at the War Office in Whitehall. The conferences were endless, the results not positive. Finding one traitor who had deserted to the French seemed a formidable and unnecessary task to the so-called “experts” on the
war effort. Any other traitor and Belmont would have agreed. But David Warwick represented a special case, a potential disaster not to be comprehended by any of the British officials.
Nor did Belmont feel capable of explanations. Instead, and knowing he sounded as if he was out for petty vengeance against his treacherous assistant, he remained unswervable from his purpose. Lord Bathurst at last gave grudging permission to what he referred to as a “damn-fool waste of Belmont’s valuable time” and washed his hands of the business.
That left Belmont free to plan his venture, which he did with meticulous care and every bit of help and advice he could scrounge in the busy department. It seemed most likely that Warwick had done precisely as he’d said and was even now on his way to Spain, where he could be at the sight of the battles, giving his advice to the generals. Therefore the sooner Belmont left for the Peninsula, the better it would be.
A supply ship would leave Newhaven in two days, which left him little time to make his personal preparations. He would have to depart for the port early the following morning. The worst, he realized quickly, was not knowing how long this venture would take. The letter he carried from Bathurst would give him the cooperation of every commanding officer in the Peninsula, but his would be a difficult and desperate search with no guarantee of success—or even of his survival.
With that dark thought in his mind, he spent an intense morning with his man of affairs, ordering the disposition of his unentailed properties and assuring that all would run smoothly until his return, however long that might be. That left one last task, taking leave of his family. They were to spend a quiet evening at home for once and that suited him very well.
Belmont dressed for dinner quickly and hurried down first, refusing to take any special pains with his appearance on this, his last night at home. Why should he care what memory Riki had of him? Probably by the time he returned, having dealt with her cousin, he would have recovered from his ridiculous infatuation and be only too glad to pack her off to her own time. Perhaps he should have arranged to send her home if an electrical storm occurred while he was gone. But that, he realized, he couldn’t bring himself to do.
When the door to the Blue Salon where he waited opened, he looked up eagerly. But the exquisite gentleman who paused just over the threshold for dramatic effect bore little resemblance to Riki’s dainty self.
“Good evening, Uncle Sylvester.” He tried to keep the resignation out of his voice. “To what do we owe the honor?”
“I found myself forced to cry off from a little party this evening.”
“Gaming, I assume. Are your pockets wholly to let—as usual?”
Sylvester crossed to the fire to warm his coattails. “Really, Nevvy, to hear you talk, one would think I’m perpetually under the hatches.”
“You are,” replied his dutiful nephew, but with no malice in his tone. “Have you informed Newly you will be joining us?”
“Certainly.” Sylvester straightened his slight frame. “What’s this I hear about you leaving for the Peninsula? Think you’ll make it this time?”
Belmont’s eyes narrowed. “Where did you pick up that bit of information?”
Sylvester made an expansive gesture. “Happened to drop in on Linton this afternoon. He had some fellow from the War Office there, picking up papers. Linton says he’s resigned his post. The whole household was in an uproar with their packing and preparing to leave London.” Sylvester fixed an accusing eye on his nephew.
Belmont nodded. “His health, you know. I believe this will be for the best.”
Sylvester’s gaze narrowed, but before he could demand any more information, the door opened again and Lady Prudence, Felicity and Riki entered. Lady Prudence came to a halt in a rustle of purple silk.
“You here, Sylvester?” She raised her lorgnette and regarded her brother-in-law with quelling intensity.
“As you see, my dear Lady Prue. Felicity, you look lovely as always. And Miss van Hamel, a never-ending delight.” He swept an elegant bow in their direction. “I have come to bid Belmont farewell.”
To Belmont’s surprise, his mother merely nodded. “Very proper.”
He cast a speculative glance at Riki, who made a show of seating herself on the edge of a gilt-trimmed sofa. “I see my journey is no secret.”
“Did you expect it to be?” In a cloud of pink gauze, Felicity settled on a blue brocade chair. “Really, Belmont, you’d think you were the only person capable of finding out anything.”
“And whom do I have to thank for informing everyone of my movements?” His wrathful gaze came to rest on Riki once more.
“It was only reasonable you’d be resuming that journey you were taking when your boat sank,” Felicity declared. “And from your activities over the last few days, it was obvious it would be soon.”
“So it was.” Belmont fixed a penetrating eye on his sister but decided she only spoke the truth. Actually he’d forgotten that message he’d attempted to carry to Wellington. It seemed ages ago, as if it had occurred in some dream—or to someone else. He hadn’t known Riki then.
Dinner passed with less confusion than was usual in his family, perhaps because Hillary had departed for Oxford and was no longer present to enliven the meal with his practical jokes. Afterwards he allowed his uncle only one glass of brandy before steering him into the drawing room where the ladies waited. He saw the others settled at a whist table then made his excuses because of the early hour of his departure and said his goodbyes.
When he came to Riki he hesitated. The success of his mission meant she would leave him to return to her own time. It was for the best, he reminded himself savagely. Abruptly he turned away, but she rose and went to him.
“I’ll do my best.” He spoke before she could. To his surprise she merely nodded.
“Have a pleasant voyage this time.” She gripped his hands for a moment, then returned to the card table and took her place.
Feeling considerably deflated, he made his way upstairs to where Pervis, his valet, was already packing his trunks. He should be pleased to find Riki so docile instead of continuing her arguments to accompany him, but perhaps she realized how difficult and dangerous this undertaking would be. The fact that she didn’t seem to mind being parted from him, though, hurt. Irritated, he paced about his chamber, hindering Pervis as the man carefully folded and smoothed the numerous garments he deemed necessary to sustain his master among the officers in Lisbon.
The urgency of his mission proved an overpowering weight on his broad shoulders, robbing him of sleep as he tried to see his way to its successful completion. Yet as he departed before dawn the following morning to drive his curricle the considerable distance from London to Newhaven, it was Riki’s indifference that haunted him. Had it all been pretense on her part to bend him to her will? Had she abandoned that ploy once she’d realized he intended, if necessary, to kill the traitorous Warwick? She hadn’t even made one last plea for her cousin’s sake. She must have known it was pointless.
By the time he reached the port shortly before two o’clock that afternoon, he was in a foul mood. He left his curricle and baggage in the charge of his groom and made his way along the teeming wharf, careful to avoid contact with the fishmongers.
Screeching gulls swooped low over the boats that rocked gently at anchor. He located the Sea Witch with little trouble, merely following the steady parade of soldiers carrying crates and baggage on board. Women and children gathered near the gangplank, bidding their menfolk farewell.
Belmont strode on board unchallenged and was directed to the hatch where he found the captain overseeing the securing of the cargo. He presented his papers, and in a very little time he was escorted by a boy to a small cramped cabin that would be his quarters for the duration of the voyage. He tossed the boy a coin and was promised his luggage would be aboard in a trice.
He stood at the porthole, gazing out over the harbor until the smell of pitch, barely noticeable at first, grew on him. He might be in the wa
y on deck but at least the fresh salt air would be clean and a welcome change from these closed quarters.
He strode up the companionway, dodging the hurrying sailors, and found a place in the bow where he could watch the bustling activity without obstructing it. The day promised to be clear with a strong breeze, perfect for setting sail. Wavelets slapped at the hull, but not a single white-cap showed its stormy head. He stretched, easing his stiff muscles.
He had made it to the ship with a bare half-hour to spare. Already sailors were drawing back the gangplank. The captain’s voice boomed forth over the cries of the sea birds, and more men cast off the lines that had secured the great ship to the dock.
A creaking protest of heavy chains sounded as five strong sailors dragged up the anchor. Canvas snapped in the wind as others raised the sails, and the deck rose beneath Belmont’s feet as the Sea Witch slipped free of her berth and turned her bow toward open water.
They moved slowly at first, until they passed the last line of moored boats. Then the sails were hauled fully into position, the wind caught them and the heady salt spray lashed against Belmont’s face as the ship picked up speed. His spirits surged, filling him with that familiar energy and joy of being on the sea.
Behind him the dock would be growing distant, half-hidden by the lines of bobbing boats. But he looked forward, on toward his journey. Behind him…
Behind him voices raised in angry shouts.
“What’s this about?” The captain’s words reached him, rising on an incredulous note. “A spy? Why were you stowing away, lad?”
Belmont spun about. Two sailors stood before the captain, clutching between them a youth garbed in ill-fitting clothes. A short, slender youth with bright auburn hair hanging to his shoulders.
The captain drew his pistol and Belmont, fury filling him, strode quickly to intervene. Shoving one sailor aside, he grabbed the youth’s shoulder.
“Damn it, Riki, what the devil do you think you’re doing?” he exploded.
Chapter Nineteen
Riki, despite her bravado, trembled in Belmont’s clasp. The sailors, even the captain with his threatening gun that had terrified her a moment before, now seemed unimportant.
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