Whispers from the Shadows (42 page)

He breathed a laugh and reached halfway for her again before stopping himself. She was too surprised to respond. He must give her a few minutes to believe her eyes and let her move toward him next. “Why would I not? You are my betrothed. I would turn over the earth itself to find you.”

“Betrothed?” Her eyes went wide. “Sir Arthur, I…I am not.”

“But of course you are.” Wishing he had made this trip alone, he edged closer so he could pitch his voice down. There was no hope Gates would not hear, of course, but perhaps the boy behind him would at least not catch it. “I asked you to marry me, and you said yes.”

Gone was the blank look, and he almost wished it back when pity took its place. “I am so sorry. It never occurred to me you would think that after I left as I did. My father—”

“Did not give his blessing. I assumed as much, but that hardly changes the fact that you had accepted.”

“Of course it would.” Her attention shifted, and she snatched at the paper Gates had just taken from her hands. “Uncle!”

“What is this?” He looked over the mangled sheet with little interest. “Rubbish you were throwing out?”

Arthur swore his heart stopped beating. What did she mean, that of course it would change things? She was his betrothed. She was
his
. He had come halfway around the world to find her.

But she paid him no mind at all, reaching instead for the paper again. Gated stepped away and unfolded it, grunting at the bizarre shape upon it. “Where did you get this, Gwyneth dear?”

'Twas as if someone doused her in ice water. She went utterly still and stood up straighter. “I found it amid my things. I haven't any idea what it is.”

“Your father must have slipped it in by mistake. Something we use on occasion, nothing for you to worry yourself over.” He proceeded to rip it once, twice, thrice and again until he had only a pile of pieces that he then tossed into the brisk wind.

Arthur felt himself dangerously close to fracturing as surely, especially when she lurched after those shreds with the excitement she had sorely lacked when he had lurched for her.

Gates caught her round the waist with a laugh. “Darling child, do not fuss so. I realize you would cherish anything from your father, but that was worthless, I assure you. And surely he sent other mementos with you?”

She shook now as she wrenched away from him. “A letter assuring me he loved me and a few drawings I had done for him over the years. That is all, and you just destroyed some of it.”

Gates snapped straight, back to the cool man Arthur had come to know. “Enough, Gwyneth. You will have no shortage of things from your father once we are safely home. Now go pack your things. Quickly, we have no time to lose.”

“No.”

“Pardon?”

“You heard me, Uncle. I am not going anywhere.”

Arthur stepped forward, trying to tell himself that whether she still wanted him or not, her safety was the most important thing, and so they must get her away posthaste. Thinking, really, that if he could just have a few moments with her, now or later, he could tell her how he loved her and convince her that she wanted to honor the bond they had made. That whatever these Americans had filled her mind with, it was wrong. “Gwyneth, please. You are not safe here. We must get you home to England.”

She clutched her middle again, looking as though she might be ill. “Please go. I am sorry you came all this way searching for me because I am not leaving. I am—”

“Playing the fool is what you are.” Gates grabbed one of her wrists and gave her a brisk tug toward the street. “Now come. If you will not go in and get your things like a reasonable child, then you will come away with nothing, but come you will.”

“I will
not
!” She struggled against him, pulling, slapping at his arm, even trying to kick him in the shin. Which, when he sidestepped her, nearly sent her tumbling. Arthur jumped in without having any
plan but to help, whatever that might mean. First to keep her from hitting the ground, but she certainly didn't thank him for catching her. Nay, she elbowed him in the stomach and stomped upon his toes.

Scrubs, blast the boy, just stood there with his hands shoved in his pockets and that stoic look upon his face. “I don't think she wants to go, gents. Not that such a thing ever seems to stop you British.”

Gwyneth kicked at her uncle again, her eyes wild as she tossed her head around. Arthur knew, when she sucked in a breath, that she would scream and likely bring half of Baltimore down upon them.

“Thad!”

The name struck some chord, but Arthur hadn't time to consider why before someone shoved him aside. He caught a blur of blue and white that focused into a man of incredible height bounding past. Somewhere in his mind it crystallized that this must be Thaddeus Lane, whose house they were in front of, even as said man slammed a fist into Gates's face.

For a second, as Arthur righted himself, he had to fight back a smile. Until, that is, Gwyneth wrapped her arms around the man. Not to restrain him, but to bury her face against the crossed straps of his uniform.

Gates staggered back, a curse spilling from his lips. He wobbled a bit, a hand to his face, and then he shook his head and pulled out his sidearm.

The American had his pistol out and leveled at Gates's heart before the elder man had his halfway raised. Arthur could see only his profile, but that was enough to reveal the man's pulsing jaw.

Gates cursed again. “Put your weapon down, man. I am her uncle.”

Mr. Lane didn't relax so much as a degree. “And I am her husband.”

“Her
what
?” Arthur had been reaching for the pistol Ross had lent him, figuring to show the Yank they outnumbered him, but at that he froze. He turned to a block of ice until a long-dormant fire ignited in the pit of his stomach and melted away his control, leaving him pulsing with raw fury. Surely the gaze he turned on Gwyneth shot sparks. “Your
husband
?”

If possible, she moved even closer to the man's side. “Yes.”

“By thunder!” Not since Europe had his vision blurred like this, had he felt each beat of his heart with excruciating clarity. “You mean
to tell me I spent the last four months chasing a faithless—”

“Now see here—”

“Stop, Thad. Please.” Gwyneth rested her hand on the man's chest. “He has a right to his anger. Sir Arthur, it never once occurred to me that you would look for me so long. We were little more than acquaintances.”

The fire burned hotter, and his fingers twitched over the borrowed weapon at his side. “You could not have been here more than three months. What in blazes made you think it wise to marry him?”

Her cheeks flushed, though the glint in her eyes said it was not from embarrassment. “I knew you half that long—”

“And
we
would have enjoyed a lengthy betrothal as we became better acquainted.” Arthur spun away, grasping for the reins of his temper as he tried to focus on the facts, but they all blurred together in a maelstrom of betrayal. He pivoted back to them, shaking his head. “You have disgraced your family and dishonored your father. Did you consider that amid whatever rubbish with which this Yankee has filled your mind? You married an
American
. An American
soldier
. One fighting against the very men your father once commanded!”

Her face remained clear, but her fingers curled around the white strap across Thad's chest. “I married a good man. One I love with all my heart.”

“This is absurd.” Gates stepped forward, his pistol still at the ready. “I am certain that after we have the chance to enjoy a reasonable discussion, you will regret this hasty decision, but we haven't the time to debate it now. We must get you to safety. Surely even Mr. Lane can see the wisdom of that.”

Mr. Lane urged Gwyneth behind him and adjusted his grip on his sidearm. From the glint in his eyes as he glared at Gates, Arthur had to wonder what the man might have done had the lady not been present. “She is not going anywhere with you.”

Gates put on that small, patronizing smile. “I have only her best interest at heart, and I will do whatever it takes to see her safely out of this city and country in that interest.”

Lane glanced from Gates to Arthur to Scrubs as if taking their measure, his narrowed eyes going wide when they landed on the boy. “Will?”

Arthur turned in time to see Scrubs swallow. His hands were
fisted at his side. “How are they?”

Gwyneth must have asked a question of Lane, who said, “Reggie's cousin, the one who was impressed.” Looking again at Scrubs, he said, “We thought never to see you again. Your mother is fine, as are your sisters. Reggie has seen to it.”

Scrubs's nod was barely perceptible. “Thank him for me, Thad. Please.”

On another day, the coincidence might have seemed too much. This other, smaller betrayal might have pierced—that Scrubs had obviously known who Thaddeus Lane was since the first mention of him two days ago in Annapolis but had said nothing. Just now, though, it was no more than a bee sting in the face of a cannonball.

Arthur turned toward his horse before the thunder of blood burning through his veins could consume him anymore. “We are finished here, Gates. Leave her to her fate. Scrubs, come. Now.” He withdrew his pistol to punctuate the command, lest the boy get any ideas of staying. No longer was he in any mood to indulge the lad in dreams of freedom.

He sensed Gates's hesitation, but the man muttered something to his niece—or perhaps her
husband
—and followed, as did Scrubs. Followed him onto their mounts, down the street, and around the corner. But where Arthur would have turned left to head out of the city, Gates signaled him to the right.

Thinking the older man wanted to scout out the town for Ross while they were there, Arthur made no argument. If he opened his mouth now, he might spew fire. Best to clamp his lips shut and trot along, taking note of all he saw.

People were bustling about, nearly all the men in uniform, with scads of women bearing armfuls of food and all headed the same direction. Combined with the fortifications they had noted outside the city when they finally got around all the downed trees across the roads, it painted a picture of people doing all they could to prepare for a coming attack.

Not exactly what Ross had said they could expect. There was no panic, no disheartening from the destruction of their capital. Perhaps, as he heard someone else suggest, they would do better to march next to Annapolis.

When Gates stopped before a large house and dismounted, Arthur realized he had led them away from the businesses and port area into
a section of the city filled only with similar elegant residences, the sign on the post reading
Lexington Street
. “Gates?”

“Keep your mouth shut, Hart. And, Willis, if you so much as fall a step behind between now and when we regain the camp, you will receive a bullet in your retreating back.”

Arthur dismounted, not so much as looking at Scrubs. He merely followed Gates to the door and stood there while he knocked upon it.

A Negro woman answered, and Gates didn't bother with a smile. “Are the Mercers in?”

Mercer. Where had he…? Annapolis. The house he had assumed Gates had chosen by accident. That had belonged to a Mrs. Mercer. Obviously, a family he knew, and well enough to find both their homes with ease.

The woman nodded, stepped aside to let them in, and led them into a receiving room. Arthur looked around, noting the expensive furnishings, all unquestionably imported from Europe. Whoever this Mercer was, he was doing well for himself.

Minutes later footsteps sounded in the hall, and Arthur turned to find a young man probably around his own age standing in the doorway. He wore a finely tailored suit of clothes bordering on dandy and a deep frown.

“Father? What are you doing here? We agreed I would handle—”

“Not now, Nathan. I need you to tell me everything you know about Thaddeus Lane.”

All Arthur could do was sink uninvited into a chair and wonder if anything left in the world was what it seemed.

By the time Thad had slammed the door and led Gwyneth into the drawing room, the shaking had come upon her so badly that he had to scoop her up to get her the last few feet to the couch. “Oh, sweet.” He settled onto the cushions with her in his lap, holding her tight. “He is gone. You are well. Everything is all right.”

She shook her head against him, drawing in a deep breath obviously meant to restore her control. And when that failed, then another. “No. He was here. He was right outside, and I did nothing. I just stood there.”

“'Tisn't what it looked like from where I stood.” He hugged her even tighter and let his eyes close. Let it all flash through his mind again. The empty walk in front of the bank at ten o'clock, that
unshakable feeling he must hurry home to find her, and then seeing her fighting against two grown men. A shudder overtook him too. “The struggle was only over your leaving with them? Gates did not seem to know you knew what he had done?”