Dangerous to Love (46 page)

Her words died away as she took in the scene in the parlor. Julian, eyes closed, was gagged and his arms were tied behind his back. Clive was slumped in one of the chairs. Clive!

She spun to face the man who had let her into the house.

“Why didn’t you drink the wine?” he said. “You always do.”

She was so frozen with shock that he had her gagged and bound before she could do more than put up a pathetic resistance.

I
t was Serena’s voice, now raised in anger, now reduced to teary sobs, that roused Julian from his stupor. He must have made some sound for she broke off her harangue and came to kneel in front of the chair he occupied.

“Here, drink this,” she said, and pressed the rim of a cup to his lips.

His head felt too heavy for his neck. His legs felt like water. At least he wasn’t gagged. He flexed his wrists. The bonds, too, had been removed. They must feel very sure that he posed no threat to them. Hell! He didn’t pose any threat. The way he was feeling, he could not have fought his way out of his own coat.

Opening his eyes slowly, he took in his surroundings. Two men were silhouetted against a French window that gave onto what he supposed was a terrace. Though it was light outside, the fog had not lifted, and several candles around the room had been lit. He saw a desk and shelves of books. Then he saw Serena.

“Drink,” she said.

He took the cup from her hands and gingerly tasted the contents. Water, sweet and pure. He drank it to the last drop. The two gentlemen had come to tower over him. He recognized one. The other was unknown to him, but he knew, deep down, he knew his identity.

“Sir Robert Ward,” he said, “or his ghost. How do you do, sir? Jeremy, this is a surprise! I say, is that wicked-looking pistol you are holding loaded? Because if it is, I’d be much obliged if you would lower it. Thank you. And
this must be”—his eyes traveled the room—”this must be Riverview.”

His captors exchanged a long look.

“Do you know,” said Julian, straightening in his chair, “I never expected this? I was almost sure that Lord Charles was directing things, or even Lord Kirkland.”

“Julian,” said Serena, “I am as shocked as you. When I entered this room, not five minutes ago, I could not believe my eyes. That my own father, my own brother, would perpetrate such a trick on me! I truly believed Papa was dead. I swear it, Julian.”

Though Serena’s words registered on one level of Julian’s consciousness, and he felt a surge of elation, knowing now that she was innocent, for the most part he was absorbed in taking stock of the man whom he had once sworn to bring to ruin. Sir Robert was a virile figure of a man, not unlike his son, Jeremy, but where Jeremy exuded a natural graciousness, Sir Robert had a hardened look about him, like a military man. His face was hawk-like, his eyes were razor-sharp and watchful. There was not a shadow of doubt in Julian’s mind that this man was in control, had always been in control, and that he would pursue his ends with single-minded purpose.

“So you are Raynor,” said Sir Robert. “You should have remained in America. You were a fool to return.”

“Will someone please tell me what is going on?” demanded Serena. Her voice was rising in her agitation.

“Why is she here?” asked Julian.

It was Jeremy who answered him. “I had to bring her. She caught me in the act of abducting you.”

Julian let that thought revolve in his mind. “And Clive and Flynn?”

“You need not trouble yourself about them. They have not been harmed.”

Serena elaborated on this curt statement. “Clive is upstairs,
under guard, and Flynn,” she steeled herself to tell the lie, “well, I sent Flynn home last night. I had decided to see the thing through to its end, you see.”

Sir Robert made a sound of derision and Serena’s eyes moved to him. She was still stunned, still grappling with the discovery that her father was not only alive, but that for two years he had also callously and deliberately allowed her to believe that he was dead. “Why, Papa? Why was it necessary to falsify your death? You had received a pardon from the Crown. You could have returned to England openly. This does not make sense.”

“It makes perfect sense,” said Julian, “if you consider that Sir Robert Ward, that most fanatical of all Jacobites, would always come under surveillance.” He spoke his thoughts aloud as they occurred to him. “What better way to allay suspicion than to obtain a pardon and, shortly after, succumb to a fever? How unfortunate! How tragic! How brilliant! And all the time, Sir Robert was here at Riverview, directing things from the grave, so to speak. No one, of course, would question Jeremy’s frequent trips out here. To all intents and purposes, he was merely protecting his investment, or showing the property to prospective tenants. Now that I think of it, this place is the perfect setting for conspirators. It’s close to London and at the same time, it’s on the river with direct access to the sea, and France.”

“But Jeremy has no interest in advancing the Jacobite cause,” Serena cried out. “Give and I could never take him into our confidence, he was so adamantly opposed to helping Jacobites.”

“That’s what he wanted you to believe,” said Julian. “Don’t you see, he was playing a role? If you had known the truth, you might have inadvertently betrayed him. He could not take that chance. He is too important to the Cause. You and Clive were small-fry. All you were doing
was helping a group of wretched fugitives escape to freedom. Your brother, Jeremy, was involved in treason up to his neck.”

She was staring at her brother. “Jeremy, it can’t be true! Tell me it isn’t true?”

“Think about it, Serena,” said Julian. “Who passed these Jacobite fugitives on to you? No, there was no group at Oxford. It was Jeremy. All the time, it was Jeremy, and behind Jeremy stood your father. Oh, there may have been a go-between, but they were the ones who were directing things.”

Jeremy said, “I did what was necessary to promote the Cause.”

Her face was ashen. She was remembering conversations round the dinner table, and Jeremy warning them all, especially Clive, to steer clear of his Jacobite friends. “Then why did you warn us not to become involved? If we had listened to you, the escape route would have ceased to exist.”

Jeremy looked a question at his father. “Tell her,” said Sir Robert.

“Clive is a hothead,” said Jeremy. “I knew that he and that wild set of his were members of one of those so-called Jacobite societies. If they had started something, and if Clive were part of it, it might have proved disastrous for our plans. He was calling attention to us Wards, and that is the last thing we wanted. It was necessary to warn him off.

“As for the escape route, almost as soon as our man recruited Clive, I came to regret it. You and Clive are too rash; you run too many needless risks. Lord Alistair is an example. No one gave Clive permission to help that young man escape to France. Clive did that on his own initiative. I even forced him to accompany me to France so that in my absence he could not get up to mischief.
Much good it did! That debacle with Lord Alistair was the final straw. After that, I made damn sure that you and Clive were out of it. Others took your place, so you see, the escape route was still open.”

“And all the time, Clive knew about you, knew about Papa?” she asked incredulously.

Jeremy made a gesture of impatience. “Of course he did not know. Do you think we are such fools? Do you think we would trust our lives to children who only play at being grown-up? This is not a game, Serena. This is war.”

“But .  .  . but Clive must know.” She looked helplessly from Jeremy to her father. “He reactivated the escape route to get Julian away.”

Sir Robert answered, “I deemed it expedient at this point to lay all the facts before him. He is no longer a boy. He must put his youthful enthusiasms behind him and learn to act the man. He is a Ward, and it is inconceivable that a son of mine would not have a part to play in our plans to restore the Stuarts.”

Julian scoffed, “You mean your
plots
to overthrow the anointed king of England! And that’s what it is, isn’t it, Sir Robert? Insurrection?”

Into the silence, Sir Robert said, “You are remarkably well informed, Major Raynor.”

Julian’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s just say that I can put two and two together as well as the next man. You drugged Clive, did you not? That tells me that he isn’t really with you on this. You don’t trust him, and he knows it. He said something .  .  .” Julian’s eyes went wide. “My God! There is something big going on, isn’t there? Or there soon will be? That’s why Jeremy has been so preoccupied of late. That’s why it suddenly became necessary to take Clive into your confidence? That’s why you took fright when I let it be known that I was fixed in
England for a long time to come? What is it, Sir Robert? Is this the moment when Charles Edward Stuart, your Messiah, returns to England in glory to reclaim the crown for his father?” He made a scoffing sound. “You are insane if you think that Englishmen will look upon that catastrophe with favor.”

“Enough!” roared Sir Robert. “Enough, I say!”

In the moment or two that passed as Sir Robert struggled with his temper, Julian’s impression of the man came more sharply into focus. A profusion of unrelated images and snatches of conversation flashed through his brain. He wasn’t dealing with an ordinary man, he was dealing with a fanatic. To Sir Robert Ward, Jacobitism was a religion, and nothing came before it. Those who opposed him were heretics, and must be dealt with accordingly.

His own father must have known his man, and knowing him, he had chosen to go into hiding with his family. Clive may have suspected it. Serena? No. He did not think that Serena had even begun to plumb the complexity of her father’s character. And Jeremy Ward? Julian’s eyes came to rest on Serena’s elder brother.

Jeremy Ward, the man he knew, seemed to change before his eyes. The very things he admired in Jeremy—his moderate political persuasions, his efforts to stave off the financial ruin his father had brought on him, his open and friendly manner, all these things were based on a misconception. Like everyone else, Serena included, he had believed what Jeremy had wished him to believe. It was not Serena who was the consummate actress. It was her brother who was the consummate actor.

He should have remembered that Serena was no slouch at putting two and two together either. Before he could head her off, she went on the attack.

“It’s true, isn’t it? Everything that Julian says is true! I
think I could forgive you both your loyalty to the Stuarts. What I cannot forgive is your rank deceitfulness.” Anguish and outrage made her voice tremble. “I
mourned
for you! Do you understand, Papa? I
mourned
for you! No. You wouldn’t understand, would you? You’ve never mourned for anyone in your life.”

Jeremy said, “That’s enough, Serena. It was necessary to convince you that Father’s death was genuine so that your grief could not be questioned by our enemies. And it worked.”

In an instant, her anger found a new target and she rounded on her brother. “You fraud!” she said, advancing upon him, halting suddenly when he brought his pistol up, pointing it directly at her. “Who was it,” she went on, anger making her heedless, “who was it found fault with Father and the misery his allegiance to the Stuarts had brought upon our family? You blamed our financial woes on him—the loss of my dowry, the loss of this house—your wife’s house, not yours—the stringent economies we’ve been forced to practice, and let’s not forget your earnest desire to get Letty and me married off so that we would no longer be a burden to you. You’ve been raising money for the Stuarts, paying bribes, buying arms, equipping men. I remember from the last time how it’s done, you see. That’s why we are on the verge of financial ruin, isn’t it, Jeremy?”

“You are a woman. You do not understand these things,” said Jeremy. “What we are suffering now is only a minor inconvenience compared to the honors and wealth that will be heaped upon us when the Stuarts are restored.”

“How dare you speak of honor,” she yelled, “you .  .  . you snake!”

“Calm yourself, Serena,” said Sir Robert, “or I shall be
forced to gag you and tie you to that chair. I mean it. Now sit down.”

She looked as though she might argue the point, but after exhaling a soft protest, she obediently seated herself. Only then did Sir Robert take his place behind the great, flat-topped desk. Jeremy stationed himself to one side of Sir Robert, where he remained standing, the pistol cradled in the crook of one arm. There was another pistol on the desk by Sir Robert’s right hand. Julian glanced at it, then looked away. He began to flex his muscles, and by sheer dint of will, forced the haze in his brain to recede to manageable proportions.

Sir Robert addressed himself to Julian. “We did not bring you here so that we could answer your questions, but so that you could answer ours. This is in the nature of a court-martial, Major Raynor. As a soldier, you should be familiar with what that signifies. We are not outlaws. We are not barbarians. Even in times of war, such as this, we abide by the codes of the civilized world.”