Pleasures of a Tempted Lady (11 page)

Jessica, who’d been sitting quietly to this point, snorted. “Not very effectively!”

“True,” Lord Stratford said. “But in the past, the various people who found it were able to easily discover our connection to the house. This time, it won’t be so easy.”

“The first time, it was Phoebe,” Serena said. “She ran away with Sebastian and they lived there for a few days—until we found them. Jonathan knew it was Sebastian’s only property, so he assumed correctly that it would be the logical place for them to go.”

“And then it was me and Beatrice.” Jessica blew out a breath. Beatrice was Lady Fenwicke—the sweet lady who’d escaped from her abusive husband. She was currently their houseguest and had been for some time.

“That time it was a bit more insidious,” Serena explained. “Lord Fenwicke had employed a spy in our household, and he learned the girls’ whereabouts from her.”

“I think it will be safe for you,” Lord Stratford said again.

“No one knows of your existence except the man who’s after you,” Serena added. “You could go to one of Jonathan’s or Max’s other properties, but surely anyone would search those before looking in Lancashire. It just
feels
like the safest option for you, Meg.”

Meg nodded, relieved. They really did understand the danger to Jake. They wouldn’t demand that she stay in London and parade herself about Town.

Serena leaned forward and squeezed her hand. “I need to remain here,” she said quietly. “It would raise too many questions if I were to go with you.”

“I’ll go,” Jessica said.

Serena shook her head. “No, Jess, you must stay as well, along with Beatrice. Too many people will notice if you leave London now.”

Jessica rolled her eyes heavenward and sighed heavily but didn’t argue.

“I can go alone,” Meg said quickly. “Jake and I will be fine.”

“A full complement of my most trusted servants will accompany you to Prescot. You’ll have a coachman, a footman, a maid, and a cook at your disposal,” Lord Stratford said. “And we’ll supply you with an unmarked traveling carriage with lanterns so you can travel through the night without having to repeat the awkward experience you had on your way to London.”

“Thank goodness Barbara and Mildred are harmless,” Serena said.

Jake looked up at that. “Barbara looks like an orange,” he said, before going right back to his puzzle.

Meg nodded gratefully, feeling a flush rise in her cheeks at the remembered embarrassment of those women believing she was Serena.

Serena brought Meg’s knuckles to her lips and pressed a hard kiss on them. “I know it’s been difficult for you here. I wish you could stay here with me—with us. I wish”—she blinked, her gray eyes, so much like Meg’s own, glistening—“I wish we could be as close as we once were.”

Meg turned her gaze to her lap. That was her fault. She was too quiet, too reserved. She’d withdrawn too much from them.

“But we have time,” Serena added, her voice quiet. “When this is all over. When you come back to us and this affair is all straightened out and”—she glanced down at Jake—“you’re safe.”

Jessica nodded vigorously. “This will be over soon, and we’ll all be together again. I
feel
it,” she proclaimed.

Meg wasn’t so confident. Her family still didn’t know Caversham’s identity—they’d given up pressing her for it—or his relationship to the Marquis of Millbridge. They didn’t know that Caversham would never give up.

Still, she nodded and tried to give her sisters and Lord Stratford a game smile. “When shall I go?”

“We’ll plan this carefully,” Lord Stratford said. “We must take great care in obtaining everything required to ensure your safety.”

“Next week?” Serena asked.

“Next week is perfect,” Meg said. It would give her time to prepare Jake for the journey.

She looked down at him, her expression softening as she watched him mix up the pieces of the puzzle, then shove them to the side to clear a space to put it back together again. Dear, sweet Jake.

Someday, she promised him silently, we’ll have a home where we will live, without moving, until you’re old enough to
want
to move away. And you’ll never have to worry or be fearful ever again.

Chapter Seven

W
ill sat in the alcove that served as his breakfast room. Laid out before him on the round oak table were his coffee, toast, poached egg, and an ignored copy of the
Times.

He hadn’t touched the egg, and he held his half-eaten toast between his fingers as he stared out the window into the small, grassy courtyard behind his house.

He’d lived alone for a long time now, but in the past fortnight his house had begun to feel so…
lonely
. So quiet. Before he’d encountered Meg in the Irish Sea, he’d considered this his place of refuge, but now it seemed so cold and sterile. He hadn’t read the
Times
since he’d arrived in London—extremely out of character for him, a man who liked to keep informed. Every day, he rushed through his breakfast and abandoned it half uneaten simply so he could leave his empty house.

No, that wasn’t completely true. It wasn’t so simple. The truth was, he rushed to get out of here every morning because he missed her.

Will dropped the toast onto its plate and pushed a hand through his hair. It didn’t make sense. He’d managed for so long without her. Why did his skin ache when he was apart from her? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? Why did he make excuses every day to leave his offices early so he could visit Stratford’s house? He’d never been a man to shirk his duties or make excuses… but he was becoming that man.

He’d begun to obsess about the reappearance of the man who’d captured her. Every day, when he rushed to Stratford’s house and after he made sure she’d managed without him for the past several hours, he surreptitiously stood guard over her. When he left at night, he couldn’t help but to remind the butler to check the locks before he retired, and he always took the time to scan the square before entering his carriage.

Will drank the dregs of his coffee and then set down his cup and stared at his half-eaten toast. If it was possible, Meg had become even more remote since they’d arrived in London. And she wasn’t remote only with him—her sisters had noticed it, too. She and Serena were always polite and kind to each other, but he’d seen them together eight years ago. He’d borne witness to their closeness, their understanding of every subtle nuance of each other, their way of communicating without speaking a word. That all seemed to be gone now—crumbled beneath the heavy weight of all that had happened to both of them.

The permanent bleakness that had overtaken Meg’s expression made his gut twist. He wanted her safe. He wanted her happy. Most of the time, both of those seemed unattainable goals.

He pushed back from the table, the chair legs scraping
over the wooden floor. God, he was tied in knots. He wanted the old Meg back; he wanted to once more be the recipient of that smiling splash of sunshine that had been her personality.

She would hate it if he told her that.

Perhaps he was still pining for a ghost. With a sigh, he rose. His presence was required in his offices this morning. And even though he really needed to be there all day, he knew he’d end up leaving in the early afternoon to go to Stratford’s, just like he had every other day for the past fortnight.

He met his servant at the threshold of the breakfast room door as the man was raising his hand to knock.

“What is it, Dunn?”

“Mr. Briggs is at the door for you, sir.”

Concern froze him in place, his hand still on his chair. “Show him in.”

In a few moments, Briggs entered, and after Will offered him coffee and they were both seated at the table, Will frowned at him. “Where is the
Freedom
?”

“She’s in Plymouth, safe. MacInerny is sailing her to London as we speak, and she should arrive at St. Katharine’s Docks in a few days’ time.”

Briggs had well-honed intuition when it came to his captain’s preferences—one of the many attributes that made him an excellent first officer. He’d known that Will would want the
Freedom
close. Will blew out a breath. “Good.”

“We anchored in Plymouth Harbour day before yesterday,” Briggs continued. “I didn’t want to wait the length of time it would take for the
Freedom
to sail to London, so I took the mail coach.”

Will narrowed his eyes at his friend. “Why the hurry?”

Briggs shook his head. “Don’t worry, Captain. Nothing awful has happened. In fact, I received word that our pirate has left the area. And I did learn something else of importance: his name.”

“What is it?” Will asked.

“Caversham.”

“Caversham,” Will repeated slowly, testing it on his tongue for the first time. The name wasn’t familiar to him. “And how did you come by this information?”

“We encountered a fisherman—a Mr. Retallack—at Penzance, who’s had dealings with him and his crew. Doesn’t like the man, says the bastard’s black-hearted as they come, so he agreed to give us information in return for our assurance that he won’t be implicated in any wrongdoing.”

Will nodded. He would have made the same deal with the fisherman. The Cornish people had been so tight-lipped about their villain—out of fear of both sides, he’d wager—that he’d been growing desperate. “Did you learn Caversham’s given name? What he looks like?”

“He’s dark haired and of average build. Retallack could tell us little more than that, and we already knew that much, in any case.” Gripping his coffee cup in both hands, Briggs leaned close. “However, he did tell us that Caversham anchored in a cove near Penzance a week and a half ago. He dropped the remainder of his promised shipment there, rather than spreading the contraband along the coast, which Retallack confirmed is what he’s been doing. Caversham was in a hurry. He was searching for someone—one of the crew told the fisherman they were looking for ‘a kidnapper’ and were heading straightaway
to Ireland. Seems he is Miss Donovan’s captor, and he’s looking for her.”

“And he’s Jake’s father,” Will murmured.

“Aye.”

Will sat still, allowing the information to sink in.

“The
Freedom
arrived in Penzance two days after Caversham pulled anchor and sailed north,” Briggs said. “We just missed them.”

“He’s looking for Meg.” Will rested his elbows on the table and bent his head into his hands, rubbing his forehead. “He’ll find her family in Ireland and learn she hasn’t appeared. He’ll either think she and the boy drowned in the storm or that she changed her mind and headed to England. You say he was in Penzance ten days ago?”

“Aye.”

“He’ll be in Ireland by now.”

“He’ll want his ship hidden, so he’ll choose to anchor it in some obscure place where nobody’s looking for him. Or somewhere busy where the vessel will be overlooked, like the port at Dublin.”

“So that gives us some time,” Will said. “How long before he comes sniffing for her in London?”

“I’d say it’ll be another fortnight, at least.”

Will nodded, then frowned. “But how did Caversham know she was headed for Ireland to begin with?”

“Good question,” Briggs said, then he gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Maybe she told him?”

Will looked at Briggs in disbelief. “That wouldn’t make any sense whatsoever. Good God, David, don’t tell me you are still suspicious of her.”

“It just seems odd to me that she’d run off with the man’s child.”

“She cares for the boy. She is trying to protect him, that is all. I don’t think anyone will disagree that Caversham is the bigger villain here.”

“And yet, she could be prosecuted as a kidnapper,” Briggs said. “That’s a hanging offense.”

Will ground his teeth. “I am aware of that. It is why I intend to protect her—and the boy—to the best of my ability until the man has been brought to justice.”

Briggs met his eyes evenly. “Are you certain she isn’t in league with him?”

Will nearly choked on his coffee. “What?”

“Think about it. She was with the man for eight years and didn’t try to escape—”

“She did try to escape.”

“That is what she claims.”

Will stared at Briggs, narrow eyed.

Briggs held out his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “All I am saying is that something doesn’t quite fit. Her story could be a tool by which to manipulate you.”

Will rose from his chair. His voice was colder than he’d ever heard it when he said, “Watch yourself. I’ll not have you speaking ill of her.”

Briggs returned his gaze evenly. Slowly, he rose, too, until they were facing each other across the table. “I’m not speaking ill of anyone, Captain. I am doing what I can to look out for you. The woman has kept crucial information from you, information that you could have used to help her. For God’s sake, she wouldn’t even tell you the man’s name. I don’t believe you are looking at this objectively.”

“Of course I’m not looking at it objectively!”

“Look at you,” Briggs said softly. “You’re not yourself. The woman has you tied up in knots.”

Will gave him an icy stare.

“The Captain Langley I know is the epitome of calm. Even in life-or-death situations, like that storm the night before we found her. You never raise your voice. You always think with calm rationality on everything before you make a decision. You’re the most patient man I know.”

Will shook his head. “Clearly you don’t know me very well, then.”

“That’s not true,” Briggs said, “and you know it. Why are you like this, Captain? What has she done to you?”

Will turned away. It was no use trying to explain something he couldn’t fully understand himself.

He stalked over to the window and put his hands on the sill. It was a beautiful, clear, warm day. The daffodils planted in the corners of his courtyard had begun to bloom in bright yellow clusters.

He trusted Meg. He believed everything she’d told him.

Because the thought of not trusting her made him sick.

“Her reappearance is a miracle—no one will question that,” Briggs said, his voice gentler now. “But just because she’s returned from the grave, it doesn’t mean she’s the same woman you knew long ago. She might have changed. Become someone else. In fact, it seems to me that anyone whose life altered in the way she has described to you would change irrevocably, especially when the change lasted for so many years.”