Kathryn Smith (32 page)

“Because you love him, and he wouldn’t be deserving of you if he wasn’t!”

She stared at him. He seemed every bit as surprised by his outburst as she was. Sweat beaded on his brow. This ex
change was taxing him. He was so agitated he was aggravating his injuries with every little move.

“Forgive me,” she whispered, unable to think of anything else to say.

He squeezed her hand. “Only if you forgive me first.”

She smiled, her eyes blurry. “Done.”

His gaze met hers. “He is a good man, Moira. I feel it in my heart, and I think you do too.”

She was saved from having to deny, or confirm his statement by a knock on the door. Mrs. Wright peered inside with a happy smile.

“Oh bless me, you’re awake Mr. Nathaniel! You have a visitor.”

“Who is it, Mrs. Wright?” Moira asked.

“Matthew Sedgewick, my lady.”

Moira turned to Nathaniel with a smile. Even though she knew Matthew had been unharmed, it was a relief to hear he had come to call. “Would you like a visitor?”

Nathaniel nodded. “I would.”

“Send him up, please.”

Her friend cast her a nervous glance. “How do I look?”

Rising, she bent down to brush her lips across his forehead. “Like a beautiful mess. I’m sure it will win you much sympathy.”

He smiled. “Oh good.”

Moira left the room. She met Matthew on the stairs. He stopped to say hello and inquire after her health even though it was obvious he was anxious to see Nathaniel. Moira sent him on his way quickly and continued down the stairs with a fading smile.

Was Wynthrope Ryland a good man? She should know. After all, she seemed to have been blessed enough to have already shared some of her life with two of the best.

“No doubt you are wondering why I asked the three of you to come here tonight.”

Sitting in the room that doubled as parlor, library, and study in his apartments, Wynthrope glanced at each of his brothers. They sat in a semicircle before him, waiting and watching expectantly.

It was Brahm who spoke. “Since you never invite me here, I for one am very curious.”

“I need your help.” It was like swallowing mud, but he was glad to have it out. “Something—
someone
from my past has come back into my life and I cannot get rid of him alone.”

North was watching him with an expression akin to horror. He knew who Wynthrope meant.

“Perhaps you had better tell us who this person is,” Brahm suggested, massaging the thigh of his injured leg as he stretched it out before him.

Yes, that was a good place to start. Start at the beginning and leave nothing out.

Wynthrope drew a deep breath. “Several years ago I was approached by a man claiming to work for the Home Office.”

“Wyn—” North’s voice had an edge of warning.

Wynthrope held up his hand. “I have to do this, North. You will understand soon.”

North fell silent, his expression both dubious and worried. What Wynthrope was about to reveal affected him as well, but there was no avoiding it. Wynthrope had to do this—it was the only way to end this nightmare.

And his only chance of ever winning Moira back.

“This man—Daniels—told me I could help my country defeat Napoleon without marching off to fight. Since I was young and foolish and filled with the same fervor every young man at that time was filled with, I jumped at the chance to do my part without having to leave London. After
all, I was Father’s spare. God only knew what kind of accident might befall Brahm when he was in his cups.”

Brahm raised his brows but said nothing.

Wynthrope drew a deep breath. “So I began working for him. He told me we were spies of sorts, stealing back items that had been acquired by French supporters to help fund Napoleon’s campaigns. It was my job to repossess those items so Daniels could make certain they helped support England instead.”

“You believed all this?” Obviously Brahm could not keep silent any longer.

Wynthrope shot his brother a glance that said he knew just how foolish he had been. “I was but eighteen at the time, and Daniels treated me like a man. He became a father figure to me.”

The eldest Ryland brother nodded. “To replace the real father you believed did not care about you.”

Perhaps his reasoning really was that crystal clear, but it annoyed him that Brahm saw through him that easily. “I suppose so, yes. Anyway, I did what he asked. I became a thief and a very good one at that. It wasn’t until a Bow Street Runner approached me about an investigation he was working on that I began to realize the truth. That I was a stupid boy who had been tricked into becoming little more than a common criminal.”

Devlin and Brahm both turned their eyes to North. “Bow Street Runner?” Devlin asked. “How many years ago would this have been?”

North glared at them both, his arms folded across his broad chest. “Yes, it was me. And yes, it is the reason why I left Bow Street. Both of you would have done the same rather than have your own brother arrested for being the burglar all of London was beginning to call the Ghost.”

Surprised faces turned back to Wynthrope. “You were the
Ghost?” Brahm’s tone was incredulous. “Sweet Jesus, Wyn!”

Wynthrope nodded. In another time, many years ago, he would have been proud of his brother’s disbelieving expression. His prowess and reputation had been something he wore like an invisible mantle back then, but not now. Not when he realized it was nothing to be proud of.

“I was,” he replied, casting a thankful glance at North, who still didn’t look terribly impressed with him. “And if not for North, I would have either gone to prison or had to flee the country in disgrace.”

“It would have topped any scandal I was ever involved in,” Brahm remarked lightly. Did nothing faze this man? Now he was making jokes. He’d been surprised for maybe, what, two seconds? And now he was acting as though Wynthrope had just admitted to having cake for breakfast.

“Why did you never tell us this before?” Devlin asked, his tone more curious than hurt.

“Better yet,” Brahm added, his expression knowing, “why are you telling us now?”

Wynthrope swallowed what was left of his pride. “I never told you because I felt every inch a fool. And I did not want Brahm to know what an idiot I had been.”

Brahm glanced up, as though momentarily taken aback. Then he gave a slight nod, as though the explanation made perfect sense.

“I’m telling you now,” he said, exhaling a deep a breath, “because I need your help.”

North shot him a narrow gaze. “What is it? Has someone uncovered the truth?”

Was his brother concerned for Wynthrope, or for himself? Both, if he was smart. “Worse. Daniels is back.”

The announcement was lost on their brothers, but North knew the full implications of it. His face lost some of its usual ruddy color. “What does he want?”

“A diamond tiara. He told me to retrieve it.”

North’s gaze was hard and shrewd. “And did you?”

It was one of the hardest things he ever had to do to look his brother—brothers—in the eye. “I failed.”

“Who does this tiara belong to?” Of course Brahm would ask that.

Wynthrope lowered his gaze, staring at the shine of his shoes. “Moira Tyndale.”

There was a chorus of oaths, but North’s was the loudest. “You used her? You bastard! She’s a friend of my wife’s. How am I going to explain this to Octavia?”

A hard gaze shot to his brother. “First of all, you are not to tell your wife anything.” He glanced at Devlin. “That goes for you as well. The fewer people who know about this, the safer we’ll all be.”

“Safer?” Trust North to jump on that.

He tugged his cravat down so they could see the wound on his neck. “Daniels left me with this. I believe him also to be behind an attack on Moira’s friend Nathaniel Caylan.”

North ran a hand over the stubble on his jaw as he muttered an expletive that would have made even the devil’s ears burn. “I cannot believe you allowed yourself to get involved in this. You should have come to me.”

Did North really think him fool enough to simply jump back into a life of crime? Did he have so little faith in him? “Daniels threatened to expose your cover-up of my involvement in his gang. He says he has proof that could ruin you. I could not risk bringing scandal upon the family name.”

“Scandal?” Brahm echoed. “Who cares a whit about scandal when there are lives at stake?”

Wynthrope turned to face him. “I did not know it would come to this. I believe Daniels will make good on his threats. He is that kind of man. He has only turned violent since I failed to get the tiara for him.”

A muscle ticked in North’s jaw. “So you tried to steal it, then?”

He nodded.

“Christ, Wyn. How could you pretend interest in Moira just to rob her?”

Of course North would think that was the way it was. North had spent so much time in the underbelly of London that his first instinct was to immediately distrust a person’s motives, even if that person was his brother.

“I didn’t. Daniels approached me after Moira and I had already begun our…relationship. Later, when he started to catch on that I might be developing feelings for her, he started threatening her as well. His attack on Nathaniel is a clear warning that Moira, or perhaps her sister, will be next if I fail to deliver the tiara next time.”

“Next time?” North’s face was red now. “What do you mean,
next time
?”

“What do you think it means? Daniels has no intention of letting me off his hook. It is not over until I get the tiara.”

There was an uncomfortable silence as they all weighed the implications of that threat—not just to Wynthrope, but to themselves and everyone he cared about as well.

“What stopped you from making off with it during your previous attempt?” Brahm asked.

Wynthrope closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, not wanting to think about that night. “Moira found me.”

“Found you?” North threw his arms in the air, looking as though he were about to have a seizure—or start laughing. “Excellent. So now she knows about our past as well?”

Wynthrope shook his head. “No. I did not tell her about you. She thinks I have always been a thief. She thinks I used her right from the beginning.”

“And you did not tell her the truth?” It was Devlin who spoke, he of few questions.

Wynthrope shook his head at him. “It was not my place to tell her about North. Besides, it is better this way.”

“Oh yes,” North remarked caustically. “It is much better to have you looking like hell and Moira acting as though she has lost her best friend. Best for everyone involved.”

“Would you rather I told her about you?” The fragile string holding Wynthrope’s control under wraps was about to break. “You have just begun what is going to be a promising career in politics. You think I would risk ruining that?”

“You would rather ruin yourself.” Brahm’s tone was remarkably calm against the heightened tension in the room. “You would rather hurt the woman you love than one of us, even me.”

It was true, but when it was said aloud it sounded so…soft. He didn’t bother trying to deny his feelings for Moira. He didn’t even argue his feelings for Moira. What difference would it make? Besides, he wouldn’t know love if it slapped him in the face. Perhaps he did love her, but he hoped not. It would be much easier if he didn’t.

“You are my brothers.” And just in case that wasn’t explanation enough, “I would do anything for you.”

The room fell silent once more. His brothers traded glances, communicating without words, before turning those gazes on him.

“Do you have a plan?” North asked, most of his anger having seemingly evaporated.

“I did, but it changed last evening.” Striding across the room, Wynthrope collected the oaken box Moira had given him from a locked drawer in his desk. He returned to his brothers, opening the box for them to peer inside.

Brahm whistled. Devlin was unimpressed by such shiny things. And North cursed.

“I thought you said you didn’t steal it.” North’s pale blue eyes were bright.

O ye of little faith.
“I didn’t. Moira gave it to me last evening.”

Three sharp gazes pinned him, but only Brahm spoke. “She did? Why?”

Wynthrope closed the box and set it on the table beside him. “She said she did not want anyone else to get hurt.”

“Including you?” North wondered aloud.

Wynthrope shrugged. “Apparently even me.”

Brahm’s expression was appreciative, even a little teasing. “Well, that makes her a better person than me.”

Devlin nodded. “Me too.”

North actually managed a half smile—one that he directed at Wynthrope. “I think we are all in agreement that we would let him rot, but that is not the point. The point is now we are in possession of what Daniels wants. We just have to decide how to go about making him think he is going to get it.”

“How do we do that?” Devlin asked, always the first to volunteer for battle.

“
You
don’t,” Wynthrope informed him before the other two could speak. “You have a pregnant wife to think of. You are going to stay the hell at home so I do not have nightmares about being responsible for my nephew losing his father.”

Devlin scowled, ready to argue, but he was outnumbered. Brahm and North both agreed with Wynthrope. Devlin would be allowed to help plan, but he was not to be involved with the execution, and that was final.

“The first thing we have to do,” North began as he started to pace. “is to let Daniels know Wyn has the tiara. We will arrange a meeting for the exchange…Wyn, get me some paper, will you, and a pencil?”

And so it began. The brothers talked and plotted for what felt like hours, working out every last detail of their plan. It was relatively simple; they baited Daniels and they hooked
him. They hoped they’d have him netted before he knew what was happening.

It all hinged on Wynthrope being able to play his part, and on North—and perhaps Brahm—calling in a few favors. If anyone could make it work, the three of them could.

Wynthrope might have felt sorry for leaving Devlin out of the action, but his brother didn’t look all that upset. Years in the army had given him enough excitement and danger to last a lifetime. The youngest Ryland liked the quiet life he and his wife led, even though Wynthrope would rather die than live in the country all year round.