by Carie, Jamie
He told them about the missing Sloane manuscript and the prince regent's orders to locate it. How he and the kings of France and Spain were determined to find it. He told of the Featherstones and their commission to find it. Then he told of his ward. He let his tone soften, talking as if she were his long-lost daughter. And then there was the prince regent's order. He must obey his prince regent—their prince regent now that they were the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland—and bring Alexandria home to safety. Had they seen the Featherstones? Did they know anything of the missing manuscript?
The darkly masked man began talking and Gabriel turned to Meade. It was hopeless to try to read his lips so covered by the full face mask. Meade stood behind the man, looked at Gabriel, and spoke slowly and clearly.
They had heard of the missing manuscript and yes, there had been a visit from the Featherstones some months ago. The only clue they had was the rumored location of the last place Sloane's manuscript was seen in Dimmu borgir, the Black Castles of Iceland.
Iceland. So it was true. Alexandria's parents must have gone to Iceland. Had she followed them there already? Had he gone to all this trouble for nothing? Had he missed her?
Meade motioned for Gabriel to pay attention. The man was still speaking.
There was more. Another person had been asking about this. Tonight. Here. At the ball.
"Who?" Gabriel asked, thinking of the Spanish men who were following Alexandria.
Meade's face paled within the green cavern of his costume.
"A woman. Wearing a flowing, colorful dress in colors of blue and purple. She'd said she was dressed as the Wind."
Chapter Thirty
I thought he was old!" Alex exclaimed as she walked into Montague's bedchamber the next morning. He had been in bed, recovering from his stab wound since the musicale and, as everyone in John's household knew, getting crankier with each day he was confined. Alex plopped down on the chair beside the bed. "I thought he would have a cane and a monocle and well . . . gout! I didn't dream he was so . . . he would be so . . ."
"Whatever are you talking about, Alexandria?" Montague sat further up in bed, wincing with the movement.
"The duke. He was at the ball last night. I know it."
"How do you know? Especially with everyone in costume?"
Alex squeezed her hands together in her lap. "We danced. I looked up into his eyes, his very green eyes, and then, after I suspected and turned away from him, I saw Mr. Meade in a crocodile costume heading right toward us. It was him, I'm sure of it."
"Did he know you?" Montague's voice was low and grave.
"I don't think so. I ran away. I had already talked to Jeremy Lyons and I have so much to tell you about! But after seeing the duke, I just ran away. He's here in Dublin and I don't know what he means to do."
"Describe him to me. Any number of people could have green eyes."
Heat flooded her cheeks as she remembered him. "He was tall, almost a head taller than I am, and he had . . ." she looked down, "very broad shoulders. I hardly know how to dance and yet he practically carried me around the floor as if I weighed nothing. He had black hair, worn short, and behind his demimask were very green eyes. I've never seen anything like them."
"Did he say anything to you?"
"Just 'dance with me.'" She couldn't hold Montague's gaze.
"But you don't think he knew who you were?"
"I don't think so. He asked me to dance because we ran into each other, literally, he nearly knocked me down." She didn't mention that he'd held her, for a moment, in his arms and how his nearness had made her light-headed.
"All right. Let's assume it was him and that even if he didn't recognize you, he knows you are in Dublin. Now, what did you learn from Lyons?"
The maid came in with Montague's breakfast tray so Alex waited for her to situate it and leave before speaking. "Mr. Lyons said he had spoken with my parents. I don't know how they accomplished that as he is very private and spoke in a harsh whisper I could barely hear, but somehow they managed it."
"Resourceful, your parents." Montague winked at her while he buttered his biscuit. "Reminds me of a certain young lady I know."
Alex took a pleased breath and continued. "He said they had heard of a missing manuscript from Sloane's collection."
"So it is a manuscript. Did he know what kind of manuscript?"
"No." Alex leaned forward, her eyebrows rising in excitement. "But he did know where it was last seen. And where my parents were going next."
Montague paused midbite. "Well?"
"Someplace called Dimmu borgir: the Black Castles of Iceland."
Montague sat back against his pillows. "You don't say."
"Have you heard of it?"
"Hmm, just barely. We sailed around the eastern shore of Iceland once. It's not what you would think from the name. At least not the time of year we were there. It's mostly known for its volcanoes. There was a huge eruption about twenty years ago. I can't imagine why a missing manuscript of such importance would end up there."
"Maybe that's why; no one would think to look there."
"Do you think that is where your parents went next? All the way to Iceland?"
"I plan to visit the Dublin Custom House today and see if I can find any records of them sailing to Iceland. And then, I plan to buy my own passage there."
"Alexandria. I'm not fit enough to travel yet, and Baylor is planning to leave for Belfast soon. It's too dangerous. I won't allow you to go alone."
Alex sat up straighter. "I have no choice. The duke is here and should he . . . have me within his grasp again, I believe he will haul me off to London. I have to leave Dublin immediately."
Montague sighed. "Maybe the duke is right. Think of it. You will be safe in his house. He has promised to hire as many investigators as you'd like to follow your leads. Think what might happen to you in an unknown land so far away, alone, with the Spaniards likely tracking you? It's not possible!"
Alex remained quiet, thinking. If she argued with him, he might do something, like try to locate the duke and tell him where she was. She couldn't let that happen. She stood, went over to his bed, and kissed his cheek. "Let me think about it. I'll see what I can find out at the Custom House and we'll talk again."
He studied her eyes and she felt a tendril of fear at the thought of deceiving him. She had to convince him to her side.
A FEW HOURS LATER JOHN accompanied her to the main desk in the majestic Custom House. They told the man their names and were directed to one of the smaller desks. A man with red mutton-chop sideburns and friendly blue eyes introduced himself as Mr. McQueen.
"Please, sit down. What can I do for you, Lord Lemon, Lady Featherstone?"
Alex curtsied and sat across from him, John sat next to her. "Lady Featherstone has come from her home on Holy Island to search for her missing parents, Ian and Katherine Featherstone. We understand that they were in Dublin about a year ago."
"Sir, I have reason to believe," Alex quickly added, "that they sailed from Dublin to Iceland. Are there ships sailing to Iceland from here?"
"Oh yes. We have ships sail all over the world from Dublin," the man said with pride.
"Could you check the passenger lists during fall of last year?"
"Your parents are missing? How extraordinary!"
"Please, sir. I know it is not a typical request, but their very lives may depend on us finding them."
Mr. McQueen cleared his throat. "Well, no harm in checking the records, I suppose. You will wait here."
John reached over and squeezed her hand as the man headed toward a back room.
"My uncle is right, you know."
Alex turned suddenly toward John's face. "You heard our conversation?"
"Just the end of it. You cannot travel alone. It's
too dangerous. Especially after that attack. Whatever your parents were looking for—"
"Are looking for."
"Yes, well, whatever it is, we know that it is very valuable. Possibly worth a fortune. It would seem there are those who will do anything to get their hands on it."
"I don't care about any of that. I just want to find my parents."
"You should care. They could capture you, torture you, even kill you should you no longer be of use to them. But if you found it first . . . think of it, Alex. Then you would have something to bargain with. Then if they are still alive, you could ransom them with it."
Alex gasped. "That's true. I hadn't thought of how I would save them once I do find them. John, you're brilliant."
He smiled and shrugged one shoulder. "I have another brilliant idea. One that even my uncle will agree to, I think."
Alex turned in her chair further toward him. "What is it?"
His smile lit up his handsome face. "I shall accompany you."
Alex dropped her gaze. Traveling alone with a man was almost worse than traveling alone. "I would welcome your company, but we couldn't possibly travel alone together. You must know that." Montague was more like a father to her and was probably thought as one as they traveled, but John was young and handsome, very handsome.
"We could if we were married." He said it so quick and low that her head shot up, not sure she'd even heard him right.
"I—I, are you proposing marriage?"
John's face flushed with color, but his blue eyes were earnest. "I beg your pardon. It's not the romantic gesture I'd planned for. I should have waited, but Alexandria, since the moment we met, I think I've been waiting to ask you to be my wife. And now, everything is happening so fast . . . you're about to sail away . . . I'm afraid I might lose you forever."
"It's just . . . such a surprise. I don't know what to say."
John took her hand and squeezed. "Think of it. If you marry, you will no longer need a guardian. The duke will no longer be able to control you."
Or her fortune. If she married, and she wasn't even sure how that was possible without her guardian's consent unless they eloped, but if she married her fortune would be hers, or rather . . . she looked into John's earnest blue eyes . . . theirs. She cared for him. She enjoyed his company—greatly. She could learn to love him, she was certain of it. But dare she trust him?
Dear God, if I ever needed Your guidance it is now. Help me know Your will for my life.
Alex was saved answering as Mr. McQueen appeared, striding toward them with a thick volume in his hands.
"Ah, here we are then." He opened the book to a wide page, turned it for them to see, and pointed his finger to a signature.
At the top of the page was the ship's name: Achilles. Then there were rows of names. Alex scanned them, her chest pounding. There, lines thirty-two and thirty-three, were the names: Lord Ian Featherstone and Lady Katherine Featherstone. Dated 1 December 1817.
"It's them," she whispered. She looked up at Mr. McQueen. "Where was this ship sailing to?"
He turned back a few pages and pointed to the log. The Achilles was sailing to New York but making a stop at Reykjavik, Iceland.
Alex looked at John and then back at Mr. McQueen. "When is the next ship leaving for Iceland?"
"I thought you might ask so I've already looked into it. There is a ship leaving for Ammassalik in Greenland two days hence. For a price, I believe the captain can be convinced to make a stop at Iceland on the way."
Alex's heart started to race inside her. She had to take this chance. It might be weeks if she waited for another opportunity. "Yes, book the passage." She looked at John's hopeful face, his eyes sparkling with love and adventure, and prayed she was doing the right thing. "Book the passage for two."
ALEX STARED OUT THE COACH window, watching the city blur by, dazed by everything that had happened. Her life had changed so much. She'd never dreamed she would ever be in Dublin. She'd never fathomed going to Iceland and couldn't imagine what it was going to be like. She had thought of marriage now and again as any girl coming into womanhood did. But she'd never thought of the handsome, blond stranger beside her. Her future husband always had dark hair, tall, but with a shadowy face, something that time would reveal, something she'd known she wasn't ready for.
John must have sensed her mood as he sat silent. He'd reached for her hand when they had first gotten into the carriage, but she only allowed him to hold it for a moment, and then she leaned toward the window, getting a look, a new look, at the city she might someday, when this was all over, call home. Dublin was this man's home whose carriage she shared. She didn't think he would like living in the windswept solitude of Holy Island. Would she ever live there again? Just the thought made her breath catch, trying to stop the tears.
They came to John's lovely town house, the home they would likely go back to once she found her parents, and he helped her down. She'd worn the new pink bonnet he'd picked out to go with her day dress. It shielded her face from any she chose it to, a fact that brought comfort with it when she was feeling shy and scared as she was now.
He reached down and grasped her chin in a tender hold and lifted it so she had to look at him.
She allowed it . . . stared long into his eyes.
"I love you, Alexandria."
Her lips quivered as she pressed them down into a sad smile. She couldn't say it back, not yet. She didn't know who she was at the moment. She felt swept away on a tidal wave, like the ones she'd so often watched from the shores of Holy Island, wishing when she saw them that she could ride away into an adventure, wishing her life would finally begin. Now that it had, she realized the folly of wishing away a childhood, a sudden knowledge coming to her that she'd tried too hard to be something important when she could have just enjoyed being a girl.
She was growing up. And it was hard, harder than expected.
John's lips came down and she let him brush them against hers. It felt nice, her pulse raced, but in a nice way.
A sudden sound made them spring apart. Baylor came down the steps to the town house and stood frowning down at them from his great height.
"I think it's time for her ladyship and me to go for a walk," he stated in a voice that neither of them could argue with.
John bowed to both, giving her a secret smile, and then went inside.
Alex put her hand onto Baylor's meaty arm and they started down the street of tan cobblestone. "I've tarried with you long enough, my dear. I'm missing the harpy something bad, and well, you don't seem to be needing me anymore."
Alex knew this had been coming. Baylor hadn't attended the ball, hadn't wanted to; instead he sought out Dublin's music dens and had gone back home in his heart. "I can't thank you enough, Baylor. You've been a true friend."
"That's the right of it. I expect to see you again someday with your parents in tow."
Alex looked up at him, a big smile spreading across her face. "As do I." She paused, thinking of how much she would miss him. "Promise me you'll continue your reading lessons. You've made such progress in the last weeks."
Baylor looked down at her with eyes that glowed with fondness and pride. "That I will, Lady Alex. Many thanks for your excellent teaching."
They walked in silence for a time and then Alex stopped. "Baylor, I've just had an idea."
He groaned in mock protest.
"Could you do one more thing for me before you go?"
He looked down at her face and wiggled his shaggy eyebrows. "Is it dangerous?"
Alex threw back her head and laughed. "Very dangerous. You see . . . it has to do with the Duke of St. Easton . . ."
Chapter Thirty-One
By the time he'd searched the ballroom for the fourth time, Gabriel was sweat soaked under his costume. Where was she? His head throbbed, his temple p
ounding in a way that told him he should get control, but he couldn't. Panic, frustration—dear God, love, some strange feeling that made him want to be ill—was filling him. She couldn't have slipped through his fingers once again. Impossible. She couldn't have been here, in his arms, and now be gone.
After a half hour of Meade and him questioning guests and even the vicereine, who was very happy to have a moment of his attention, he finally had to admit defeat. Go home. Sleep. Regroup and plan tomorrow.
They did go back to the hotel and he did climb into his bed and pull the feather coverlet up to his neck, but he didn't sleep. He could not sleep.
The next morning he dealt with his valet's frowns as he was shaved. He stared in the mirror at his reflection, seeing himself in silence, still missing the scrape, scrape, scrape of the razor's song against his skin. What was he doing? Why didn't he just go back to the prince regent and admit that he couldn't find her? That she was more determined than all of them . . . ?
With an irritated move of his arm, he shrugged his valet away. Gabriel took up the warm towel and buried his face in it.
There was one clue left. One more thing he thought Alexandria would do. He'd put that one thought into motion by sending Meade a note to find out if there were any ships sailing to Iceland in the next few days or weeks. He couldn't imagine that there would be.
His valet had crept away, which was good. He needed to be alone. He picked up the hand mirror and peered into it again, seeing the green eyes that to him were so normal but to others seemed strange. Is that what had scared her off?
Scowling at his reflection, he prowled about the room . . . thinking . . . and moving the restless energy from his body. Meade would be back soon with the shipping schedule. He would wait . . . as much as it was killing him. Then he would buy passage and board the ship. He imagined himself waiting for her, on the deck, seeing her board and waiting for the moment when she saw him.
Gabriel closed his eyes and remembered the feel of her in his arms, how perfectly they fit together, how their breaths matched and their bodies melded until they felt like one. He should have known the second he pulled her into his arms that it was her. How had he not known?
