Bound by the Heart (19 page)

Bennett saw Summer's expression of surprise out of the
corner of his eye and kept his voice level. "That was nine years ago. We
were both junior officers; he a lieutenant and I only a midshipman. Our paths
never actually crossed other than that the ships we served on happened to be in
the same general vicinity. The Americans, if you recall, initiated the most
action."

"My point precisely, Commodore. You were in an
excellent position to observe Morgan Wade—observe his blooding ground, if you
will. He led several high-risk forays against the Tripolitans and scored
several brilliant coups."

"He has no lack of nerve or initiative, if that's
what you mean. As to the brilliance of his tactics, I can only say that had he
been serving under my command, he would have been court-martialed many times
over."

"So he should have been," Glasse agreed
silkily. "And yet I doubt if the Americans would have risked drawing
attention to the fact that they had a titled Englishman in their ranks."

"What's this you say?" Sir Lionel paused
midscratch, leaving his wig at a precarious angle. "A titled Englishman?
Who the blazes are you talking about?"

"Morgan Wade," Glasse responded blithely.
"We have every reason to believe he was born Edmund Granville—Sir Edmund
Granville upon inheriting his father's barony. Unfortunately"—and here
Glasse's voice sharpened—"there was some rather unsavory business
involving an unsolved murder which spurred him into leaving England in a hurry.
In any event, Lord Granville disappeared from London twelve years ago—just
about the same time Morgan Wade's name appeared on the Yankee naval
registry."

"What makes you think they are one and the same
man?" Sir Lionel asked, looking skeptical.

"Timing, for one thing. Morgan Wade does not
exist prior to twelve years ago. For another, we have this—" Glasse paused
and reached into an inner pocket of his coat. A small indigo disc was unwrapped
carefully from a layer of linen and was transferred onto the tabletop for
inspection. It was a round of wax. Sealing wax.

Summer did not have to lean forward as the others did
to know it would bear a stamp of a falcon in full wingspread. She remained
seated stiffly in her chair and stared fixedly at a speck of dirt on the woven
carpet as Glasse continued speaking.

"Several documents surfaced a few months ago
carrying the Granville seal—the one you see here. It naturally roused some
curiosity when it was identified as a family stamp that had—in effect—ceased to
be in use some twelve years ago."

"Documents? What kind of documents?" Admiral
Stonekipper asked brusquely. "And where were they found?"

"They were in amongst some ship's papers. A ship
that had been intercepted trying to run the blockade into Philadelphia—a
privateering vessel, one whose captain was willing to exchange some information
in return for the release of his ship and crew. He claimed to know nothing
about the documents themselves, but he did tell us they originated from Morgan
Wade." Glasse's black ferret eyes shifted around the circle of interested
faces. "The papers looked innocent enough on the surface—polite, informal
letters chatting about weather and local customs. One particularly intuitive
young man, however, was bothered by the trivial details and investigated further.
He discovered that storms were reported where no storm had occurred. Harvests
of sugarcane were praised where there were only barren rocks and windswept
beaches."

Summer's eyes rounded as she stared at the speck of
dust. She was remembering the letters she had found in Wade's desk. Weather
forecasts . . . harvests . . . she had thought it peculiar at the time.

"Imagine our surprise when the storms were
interpreted nicely as naval maneuvers. The harvest he mentioned on the island
of Grenada was, in fact, the new garrison stationed there. All of this and more
was being relayed to the American War Office through a Captain Stephen
Decatur—"

Summer closed her eyes and saw the salutation plainly.
. ."Dear Stephen. . . ."

"—another veteran of the Tripolitan wars and one
of Morgan Wade's close personal friends."

"Espionage is a way of life in the West Indies,
Mr. Glasse," Bennett said derisively. "Spies are thicker than
mosquitoes in some instances."

"Ah, yes, but if I can prove that Morgan Wade and
Sir Edmund Granville are one and the same man, he can be apprehended without
any fear of repercussions from the Americans. He can be brought to trial not
only for privateering and smuggling, but as a bona fide traitor to the
Crown."

"And you base your suspicions on the evidence of
a seal and the word of a fellow privateer?" Sir Lionel scoffed.
"Flimsy at best, sir. Flimsy at best."

"Granted, the link is flimsy, but it bears
investigation. Wade's exploits are becoming too widespread, too heroic in
proportion to ignore the man much longer. All the Yankees need is one hero—one
rebel who succeeds in making fools of us all—and they'll have the incentive to
flood the Caribbean in droves."

"They're already here in droves," Admiral
Stonekipper muttered. "You would have my compliments, Glasse, if you
could remove Wade and his kind and have to answer to no one for the
action."

"That is, essentially, why I am here, Sir
Reginald. I represent certain factions of our government . . . men who
anticipate the war between America and Britain becoming a reality within the
year. It is no secret that the Americans are presently ill equipped to engage
in any lengthy naval warfare. Their navy consists of three heavy frigates and a
laughable fifteen mismatched sloops and schooners. Their crews are young and
inexperienced. Their land militia is untrained and disorganized."

"They repelled us once with similar odds as I
recall," the admiral said dryly.

"Hardly similar, Admiral. We have one hundred
ships in the blockade line alone. We have another eight hundred at our
disposal, of which fewer than half are occupied in the war with Europe. No,
sir, their only strength lies in their leadership. Men like Decatur and the
secretary of the navy Paul Hamilton, men who can recruit the private forces and
thus gain the loyalty—and incredible firepower—of men like Morgan Wade."

"And you think you can change all of that by
arresting and removing one privateer?" Bennett Winfield looked amused.

"It is my job to discourage the private forces.
How better to do it than cutting down one of their most prominent
members?"

"You still have to prove your case against
Wade," Bennett reminded him. "If what you say is true and if he is in
the employ of Captain Decatur, they will accept nothing less than cold, hard
evidence for the arrest. That will mean getting damned close to him, something
no one has been able to do so far."

"Indeed. His intelligence network appears to be
astonishing . . . and almost as reliable as my own. However, I was hoping your
wife might be able to shed some light on the matter."

Glasse was smiling as he made the statement, a smile
which seemed to freeze the air in the room. One by one the shock of his words
registered on the men's faces, and they turned to stare at Summer Winfield.

"My wife, sir?" Bennett's voice was
dangerously low. "In what way were you hoping she could help?"

"She was on board the
Chimera,
was she not?" Glasse
looked to Summer for confirmation. "Both you and your brother were picked
up by Wade off Saint Barthélemy after the
Sea Vixen
's
unfortunate demise."

Sir Lionel's brows knitted together. "You are
going to have to explain yourself, sir. I'll not have anyone coming into my
house making wild accusations and upsetting my daughter."

Glasse was still regarding Summer with a cadaverous
smile. "I assure you it is not my intention to upset Mrs. Winfield. I
merely hoped to learn more than what was in the official report of your
rescue."

Bennett surged to his feet. "Now see here,
Glasse—" "Sit down, Commodore Winfield. There is no need for a
display of chivalry. For my part, I can promise you that nothing your wife says
will leave this room. I can also promise you that my sources are impeccable. I
happen to
know
Mrs.
Winfield and her brother were rescued by the
Chimera,
not the
Vigilant.
I also know Captain Morgan
Wade was at the helm, not Stuart Roarke, although I can fully appreciate why
the distinction was not made at the time."

"You are coming very close to abusing your
welcome, sir," Bennett said coolly. "I urge you to caution."

"How the blazes did you deduce it was Wade?"
Sir Lionel demanded. "Oh, do sit down, Bennett. Obviously there were more
than five men on this island who were familiar with the name Roarke. At least
let us hear what the bounder has to say before we run him through."

Glasse cleared his throat and straightened his
waistcoat. "My deductions were not all that difficult, not to someone who
has studied Wade's background as closely as I have. Stuart Roarke's name has
been mentioned several times as an associate, although in what capacity it is
not generally known. Here, too, Mrs. Winfield may be able to help us. . . Does
he or does he not work for Morgan Wade?"

Summer met the black eyes
unwaveringly. "He does."

"Ahh," Glasse leaned
forward, "and were you taken to Wade's island? To Bounty Key?"

"We were."

"And . . .?"

"And we spent one day there before we were
brought back by Mr. Roarke. If you were hoping I could tell you where the
island is, I'm sorry to have to disappoint you. As I have already explained to
my husband, I have no idea. Michael could tell you it lay in a northerly
direction; I can only tell you it had white beaches and a quaint fishing
village. There were no castles, no dungeons, and no walled garrisons."

"A deep-water harbor?
Surely you would know that."

Summer's eyes took on a slight greenish cast.
"The
Vigilant
had no
trouble with anchorage."

"And the
Chimera?”

She hesitated a heartbeat's length. "I did not
see the
Chimera
after
we were put ashore. She was not anchored with the
Vigilant."

Glasse digested this scrap of information. "You
mentioned a fishing village. Did you happen to hear a name?"

"If it had one, I wasn't told."

"I can attest to the fact that Summer did not
even know the name of the island until she heard it from me," Bennett
said.

"Very well, but did the island have any special
features? Any landmarks that might be visible from the sea? Any volcanoes? or
reefs?"

Summer moistened her lips. "Volcanoes? No,
nothing like that. Nothing visible at all. A beach, a village . . ."

"Yes, yes." Glasse frowned. "What of
land masses nearby . . . other islands perhaps?"

"Unfortunately we arrived before dawn—in
darkness—and when we left, both Michael and I were told to remain belowdecks
until we were well away from the island. Mr. Roarke took several changes in
course, though; of that I am fairly certain."

"Why do you say that?"

"Unless I am mistaken, sir, the sun still rises
in the east and sets in the west."

Sir Lionel guffawed loud enough to earn a glance from
Farley Glasse. He adjusted his periwig and signaled for the brandy decanter to
be passed his way. Glasse reverted his attention to Summer. The undercurrent of
hostility was not lost on him. Her thick lashes could not totally conceal the
sparks in the depths of her eyes. Her cheeks were warmly flushed, her lovely
mouth was firm and unyielding. He sensed she knew more than she was imparting.

"You did not see the
Chimera
again?"

"No."

"Have you any idea where she was taken?"

"Probably away to be repaired. As I recall, the
captain was furious when he found out it would take a month or more to make her
seaworthy again."

If Glasse had had longer ears, she was sure they would
have perked up.