A Gentleman's Honor (14 page)

With a creak, the carriage turned into Waverton Street. Adriana stirred, stretched. Alicia straightened, and gathered her shawl and reticule. The carriage halted; looking out, she saw the light burning above their door.

Thought of her brothers innocently asleep in their beds.

Resist Torrington
. The problem with that strategy was that in order to implement it, she’d have to fight not only him, an experienced campaigner, but her own, largely unknown, desires.

She let the footman hand her down, then led the way up the steps. Their reckless but straightforward plan had developed serious complications.

The next morning, Tony headed for the Bastion Club. On foot. He needed the exercise.

Needed the physical activity to ease the building frustration of a type he’d rarely had to endure. Indeed, he couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman so much, and not having her. Worse, in this instance, he recognized the need to go slowly, carefully; his relationship with Alicia was forever, not for a few weeks or a few months. It would be the most important relationship of his life; it demanded and deserved a degree of care, of respect, of attention.

He’d noticed her occasional hesitations, the sudden tensing, almost a skittishness that sometimes gripped her. He’d always succeeded in soothing it, in getting her to set it aside and relax, to trust him. To open her eyes, see and accept all that could be and would be between them.

Although he hadn’t foreseen it, her reserve didn’t surprise him; she might be a widow, but that wouldn’t change the underlying truth of her nature—she was a virtuous lady, and as such would not easily be seduced. And in her case, there was yet more—a complicating factor. She was responsible for her family, and she took that responsibility seriously.

He hadn’t imagined that in gaining his bride, he’d have to compete with her family for her attention. While the fact was a difficulty, and clearly would continue to raise hurdles, he didn’t, as it happened, disapprove.

He enjoyed her family—enjoyed spending time with her brothers, even enjoyed watching Adriana make her choice, especially given Geoffrey was involved. But more, he found the circumstance of her family reassuring.

As an only child, he’d never experienced the relationships Alicia and her siblings took for granted. The warmth, the closeness that was simply there, the support it never occurred to them to question… all that was not only attractive, but spoke strongly of Alicia’s ability to create for him, with him, the sort of home and family he wanted. And needed. How much he hadn’t realized until he’d met her and her brood.

Regardless of his frustration, he wouldn’t have her change, didn’t wish she was otherwise. He valued her for what she was, as she was, and was fully prepared to accommodate that, to woo her as she needed to be wooed.

And pray he didn’t do himself an injury in the meantime.

With a wrench, he hauled his mind away from that moment in the Cranbournes’ front hall. Just thinking of that made him ache. Determinedly, he focused on the meeting he was heading for, with Gervase Tregarth and Jack Warnefleet.

They were waiting in the club’s meeting room, comfortably slouched about the mahogany table. Christian Allardyce was also there; when he raised his brows, Tony waved him to stay. “You’ve already heard part of this affair—the more help the better.”

Christian grinned. “And Dalziel is involved.”

“Indeed.” Tony sat and quickly, concisely, told them all he’d learned of Ruskin, his death, and his dealings with A. C. “This is a list of the ships mentioned in Ruskin’s notes, and the associated dates, and these”—he handed over a second sheet—“are the dates on which Ruskin received large cash donations to his gambling fund.”

Gervase studied the list of ships and dates, then compared them with the dates of the payments. Shifting to sit beside him, Jack perused the lists, too.

Christian, beside Tony, looked across the table at them. “I take it the payments in some way coincide with the shipping dates?”

Checking back and forth, Gervase nodded. “About a week in between, but not for every ship listed.”

Tony sat back. “It appears Ruskin provided the information, it was used or in some way confirmed, and then he received payment.”

“Whoever A. C. is, he ran a tight operation. No payment unless…”Jack stopped, looked up.

Grimly, Tony nodded. “Presumably no payment unless the information was useful.”

“Which,” Christian murmured, “suggests it was used for something.”

“And if it was,” Gervase was still studying the lists, “it wasn’t for anything good.”

“That,” Tony agreed, “is the inescapable conclusion. What we need to determine is exactly how it was used.”

Gervase nodded. “And trace it back to whoever that use benefited.”

“Precisely.” Tony paused, then asked, “Can you help?”

Gervase looked up, grinned. “I was intending to slip home for a few days. I can easily ask around in Plymouth, and along the coast there.” He met Tony’s gaze. “But you’ve more extensive contacts in the Isles and on the French side, and to the southeast on this side, I’d imagine.”

“Yes, but my problem—our problem at present—is that that information”—Tony nodded at the lists in Gervase’s hands—“is all we have. I compiled the list of ships from scattered jottings, more like reminders. Presumably the information Ruskin passed contained more detail.”

“But what detail we don’t know?” Jack asked.

“Exactly. Via the Revenue and Admiralty dispatches that passed through his hands, Ruskin had what amounted to each ship’s sailing orders, at least for their approach to our shores.” Tony looked at Gervase. “If you can find any hint of what was going on—how the information was used—I can put out feelers more widely. But given the nature of my contacts, if I ask general questions, rather than specific ones, I won’t get any answers. Worse, I might alert whoever it is that’s behind this.”

They all understood how the informant system worked; he didn’t need to explain further.

“Can I keep these?” Gervase held up the lists.

Tony nodded. “Those are copies.”

Folding the lists, Gervase slipped them into his pocket.

“I’ll ask around and see if I can find any whisper of any action involving these ships on or about those dates. If I find anything, I’ll bring it back immediately.”

“Once we have a clue what we’re dealing with, I’ll follow up more widely.”

Jack frowned. “Have you thought of inquiring via the shipping lines? If these ships are merchantmen…”

“I’ve a friend who’ll be in town in a day or so—he has a similar background to ours. He’s been out of the service for some years, but knows the game well. He also owns Hendon Shipping, one of the largest of the local lines. He has the contacts and will know how to make such inquiries without raising a dust.”

Jack nodded. “So—what did you want me to pursue?”

“Ruskin himself, and how A. C. knew him. Ruskin lived at Bledington when he was in the country. Not often, admittedly, but it’s an area we shouldn’t overlook. Given you’re the closest of us countywise, your inquisitive presence is least likely to attract attention. Our ultimate aim is to identify A. C. It’s possible he’s someone who lives out that way, and that’s how he knew Ruskin, and most importantly where Ruskin worked.”

“Right.” Jack’s gaze had grown distant. “I’ll check into Ruskin’s background and see if I can turn up anyone with the initials A. C. connected in however vague a fashion with our boy.”

“While you’re up there…” Tony hesitated, then went on, “You might check on a Mrs. Carrington and her family, the Pevenseys. Their connection with Ruskin appears to be via Chipping Norton. It seems Mrs. Carrington and the Pevenseys didn’t know Ruskin, but he knew them.”

“Carrington.” Christian murmured. “That’s a C.”

“Indeed. More confusing, she’s Alicia Carrington, so she is A. C., but she married Carrington about two years ago, so wasn’t A. C. four years ago, when Ruskin first started receiving large sums from A. C. More to the point, her husband, deceased for two years, was Alfred Carrington. Although he can’t be the A. C. involved either, given the way names run in families there may be a connection with Ruskin of which Mrs. Carrington is unaware.”

“Oh, yes.” Jack nodded; for one instant, the dangerous man behind his hail-fellow-well-met cheerily handsome facade showed through. “Second cousin, third cousin, whatever. I’ll check.”

They all exchanged glances, then, as one, pushed back their chairs. They stood, stretched, resettled their coats; as they turned to the door, Christian murmured, “That shipping business sounds decidedly nasty.” He caught Tony’s eye, then glanced at the others. They were all thinking the same thing—that someone had been using the war for their own ends.

“We definitely need to learn what the information was used for, and how,” Gervase said.

“And, most importantly”—Tony followed Christian from the room—“by whom.” That, indeed, was their primary interest.

Tony returned to Upper Brook Street and spent the next few hours attending to numerous matters of business. Under his father’s hand, the Blake estates had grown considerably; he was determined that during his tenure, the family’s fortunes would continue to expand.

The activity naturally brought to mind the family—the people—that fortune was intended to support. When the clock struck two, he set aside his papers and strolled around to Green Park.

David, Harry, and Matthew were delighted to see him. Alicia was rather more circumspect; she greeted him with a polite smile and suspicious eyes. The wind was brisk, perfect for kites; together with the boys, he spent a thoroughly satisfactory hour making theirs soar higher than anyone else’s.

“It’ll get trapped in the trees,” Alicia grimly prophesied.

“Nonsense.” Halting before her, he looked into her eyes. Fought down the urge to see how she would respond if he kissed her there, in the middle of the park with all the nursemaids and Maggs looking on. He forced himself to turn and look at the boys. All three were hanging on to the kite strings, shrieking and whooping as the kite, courtesy of his maneuvering now high above the treetops, swooped and tugged in the wind. “I assure you I manage the reins better than that.”

An instant’s pause ensued, then she replied, “You might. They won’t.”

She was right, but before the kite could come to grief in the leafless branches, he stepped in and took control again, and gradually brought the flapping creation with its long tail safely back to earth.

The boys were ecstatic, their eyes shining, cheeks rosy, glowing with happiness. Walking to join the group, Alicia studied the man about whom her brothers danced; no matter her suspicions, she could not doubt that he, too, had enjoyed the play. His black eyes gleamed as he shared the moment with her brothers; his lips were curved, the normally austere lines of his face relaxed.

As usual, he was dressed with consummate elegance in a perfectly cut dark blue coat over a white shirt, his long legs encased in tight buckskin breeches that disappeared into glossy black Hessians. The wind ruffled the black locks of his hair as he helped her brothers gather the long tail of the kite.

He was sophisticated, worldly, a gentleman of the ton, yet at moments like this she could almost believe she could see the boy he must have been, the boyishly open soul still lurking behind his adult glamor.

When she stopped beside the group, he looked up and grinned, still very much the boy. She smiled spontaneously in return. “Tea?”

The boys instantly raised a chorus of entreaty, but he didn’t take his gaze from her; his grin eased into a smile of quite devastating charm. “Thank you. I’d like that.”

With the boys about them and Maggs following with the kite in his arms, they headed back to Waverton Street.

Teatime was the usual relaxed and comfortable interlude. Maggs brought in the tray. The boys peppered Tony with questions on their latest interest—horses, curricles, and phaetons, and racing the same, while devouring their usual quota of crumpets and jam.

Alicia exchanged a smiling glance with Adriana and sat back, content to let Tony—Torrington!—manage as he would; although his knowledge of such male subjects was patently wide, she now trusted him to know what was appropriate to tell her brothers, and what was not.

It wasn’t them he was intent on seducing; he was more than wise enough to know he’d have more chance with her—

She broke off that thought and looked at Adriana. Busy as usual with sketches of gowns, hats, and accessories, her sister seemed quieter than usual. She seemed to be thinking, mulling—over what Alicia could easily guess.

She leaned closer; under cover of a rowdy conversation about swan-necked phaetons and their propensity to overturn, she murmured, “Mr. King sent a reply. He’ll gather his information and dine with us the day after tomorrow.”

Adriana looked up, held her gaze for a moment, then, lips firming, nodded. “Good.” After a moment, she added, “If there’s any difficulty…I need to know now.”

Alicia patted her hand, then drew back.

Although courtesy of her brothers’ eager opinions Tony hadn’t heard what was said, he noted the sisters’ exchange and made a mental note to ascertain just how serious Geoffrey was. The last thing he wanted was for Alicia to become anxious over her sister’s budding romance. He wanted her attention, as much of it as he could get, for himself.

Maggs reappeared to remove the tea tray, bending a glance on Tony that he read with ease: nothing to report. At Alicia’s command, the boys stood and took their leave, resigned to returning to their lessons. As they trooped to the door, Tony looked at Adriana.

She met his gaze, then fleetingly, conspiratorially smiled. Gathering her papers and sketchbook, she stood; directing an airy, “I’ll be in my room if you need me,” to Alicia, she followed her brothers out of the door, shutting it behind her.

The instant the door closed, Tony rose and sank onto the chaise where Adriana had been. Alongside Alicia.

She directed a wide-eyed look his way. “Ah—have you learned anything more about Ruskin, about what he was up to?”