After the Abduction (3 page)

But he continued to gaze steadily at Griff. “Knighton, is it? Of Knighton Trading in London?”

“Yes, that’s my business concern,” Griff responded. “We traveled all this way hoping to speak with your war—…your brother.”

The older gentleman in puce snorted. “Speak with? You have a peculiar way of starting conversations, young man.”

Griff flushed a dark red, and Juliet felt not a jot of pity to see him tug nervously at his cravat. “I’m afraid that ours is also a…complicated tale, Mr.…er…”

“Allow me to introduce you,” Lord Templemore put in civilly. “Mr. Knighton, this is my mother’s brother: Mr. Pryce.”

The familiar name made them all look to the older man. He quickly added, “Mr.
Llewelyn
Pryce, mind you, so don’t be aiming any fists at me.”

Rosalind gripped Griff’s elbow. “My husband won’t be aiming fists at anyone else today, I assure you. I’ll see to that.”

For once, Griff had the good sense to suffer the rebuke in silence, though not without frowning.

Juliet thought it politic to step in, especially since she couldn’t catch Lord Templemore’s eye. “But we do need to speak to your lordship about a matter concerning Morgan Pryce. If you wouldn’t mind, we’d appreciate it if you’d hear us out.”

Lord Templemore refused to acknowledge her in any way. Instead, he cast Rosalind and Griff a considering glance. “Very well. Though I believe this conversation should take place in more…ah…private surroundings.”

“Yes,” Griff agreed at once.

“If you’ll follow me…” Lord Templemore said and gestured toward the house.

They all trooped off toward Charnwood Hall. Seething with indignation at how blatantly his lordship ignored her, Juliet fell back to observe him from behind. His attire was as sober as Morgan’s had been: a suit of drab and a plain silk waistcoat with a cravat tied in a simple knot. He walked with Morgan’s self-assured gait. And when his uncle spoke, he cocked his head to listen exactly as Morgan had done with her a dozen times or more. But perhaps identical twins would share such mannerisms. She didn’t know.

Once they reached the side door leading into the house, he stood by to let them all enter first. She passed close enough to smell him. Lord help her if he didn’t smell exactly like Morgan—of saltpeter blended with iron and smoke, the smell of Hephaestus, the God of Fire.

Then they passed into a great hall, and she dragged in a sharp breath.

The God of Fire had a substantial arsenal, didn’t he? Hung in menacing row after row on one long wall were swords, daggers, halberds, and a variety of firearms—muskets and blunderbusses and wicked-looking dueling pistols. The servants must be in a perpetual terror whenever they dusted them. She certainly would be.

Had he designed all those pistols? It wouldn’t surprise her—she could see him as Hephaestus, laboring over his implements of fire in a hidden forge beneath the earth. No wonder he—or his twin, if he was to be believed—had thought it amusing to associate with smugglers. “Planning to start a war soon, Lord Templemore?” she asked as he led them down the gauntlet.

He stared straight ahead. “They
are
daunting, aren’t they? They’re not all mine, however. My grandfather acquired the bulk of them years ago. He collected weapons—they were his passion.”

“And pistols in particular are yours,” Griff remarked.

Lord Templemore cast him a cryptic look. “I take it you’ve heard of my hobby.”

“More than a hobby, from what I understand.”

He shrugged. “My grandfather piqued my interest in guns when I was young. Then my father gave me a Manton flintlock when I came of age, which cemented my lifelong fascination.”

“Manton, eh?” Griff said. “I’ve been going to his former employee, James Purdey. Purdey has invented a new vent plug—”

“Yes, I’ve heard of it,” Lord Templemore broke in. “Forsyth says…”

When they went on to discuss firearms and their relative merits, Juliet’s mind remained caught by two words.
Manton flintlock.
Two years ago, Morgan had commented on someone’s having “two Manton flintlocks” when he was helping her escape the smugglers. How many men would note the make of a weapon when surrounded by danger? And would both twins know so much about guns?

Rosalind fell back to walk alongside her. “Men are such boys—prattling on about their favorite pistols and gunsmiths as if they spend their days fighting battles in the
streets. Griff rarely shoots a gun, and then only at partridges. Yet from all his talk you’d think he was a soldier.”

When Juliet said nothing, Rosalind shot her a concerned glance. “What’s wrong, dear heart? Are you disappointed we haven’t yet found Morgan?”

“I think we
have
found him.” Juliet fixed her eyes on his lordship’s broad back.

Rosalind’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Surely you can’t still believe…” She trailed off as Lord Templemore stopped outside a room and turned to address them.

“We’ll have our discussion in my study. Uncle Lew, why don’t you go see that the servant brings us some tea?”

His uncle looked at him askance. “Oh no, my boy, you’re mad if you think I shall miss
this
entertaining discussion. Why not just ring for tea?”

Lord Templemore arched an eyebrow and said sarcastically, “An excellent idea. I wonder why I didn’t think of it.” Then he ushered them into his study.

It was as sumptuous as the rest of his house, of course. And rampantly masculine, too, all glossy dark woods and brass fittings and solid furniture. Sober austerity seemed the order of the day, with one exception—a tall painting of Bacchus leading his revelries that graced one wall. But poor Bacchus faced a wall bearing half a king’s library adorned in gilt and leather. How fitting that a man who showed two faces to the world should have a study that did the same.

Rosalind was admiring the expensive damask curtains and Griff—a wealthy man in his own right—was appraising the massive mahogany desk, but all Juliet felt was despair. They’d come to snare the black sheep of a noble family, not the scion. So why was it the scion she suspected?

He’d undoubtedly shown them in here on purpose. The man was no fool—how better to intimidate his visitors
than to flex the muscles of his wealth and power before them? First the guns and now this.

Well, she wouldn’t be swayed this time. She’d hold true to the facts, and those said that Morgan was a scoundrel, no matter how pretty his estate. And she
knew
Lord Templemore was Morgan, despite his claims about an identical twin. Let him shove his money and influence in their faces all he wanted—it wouldn’t prevent her from unmasking the wretch and stopping his attempts to ruin her future.

She and Rosalind took seats on the two chairs near the desk that Lord Templemore sat down behind. Griff stood beside them while the uncle leaned against a bookcase.

“I’m surprised we’ve never met in London,” Griff told Lord Templemore. “I heard you aren’t often in society, but—”

“Not in society at all, you mean,” Mr. Pryce interjected. “My nephew has an aversion to the entertainments of town. He always has.”

“With good reason,” Lord Templemore retorted. He met Griff’s curious gaze, and his expression turned bland. “As you undoubtedly know, my father partook more freely of society than was good for the family name. I didn’t think it wise to have
two
Blakelys wreaking havoc in London. And since I’ve ascended to the title, I’ve had little time to waste in frivolous town pursuits.”

Either that…or he wanted to avoid being recognized by people who knew of his involvement in less “frivolous” pursuits. Juliet’s eyes narrowed. “You were in London only a few months after your ascendance to the title, as I recall.”

At long last he looked at her, and fire flickered in the shadowy depths of his black gaze. Dear me, she felt distinctly like a virgin who’d poked a sleeping, smoking dragon.

“I was indeed in London,” he said. “Since you attach
significance to that fact, you’d best tell me why. And while you’re at it, you might explain the purpose of your search for my brother, Lady…” He paused. “Juliet, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Drat him, he knew very well what her name was. And she’d make him reveal his real self if it killed her. “With all due respect, unless you’re Morgan Pryce, our search is none of your concern. Just tell us where to find him, and we’ll leave.”

Griff and Rosalind were agape at her forthright demand, but Lord Templemore’s gaze remained locked with hers, flinty, unwavering. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“You needn’t worry that there will be a repetition of today’s—”

“Juliet,” Griff interrupted, “we’d planned from the first to divulge the entire story to his lordship, so that he’d see we had cause for our pursuit.”

“Yes, but why lay out our private affairs to a stranger? His lordship has already deduced that a lady is involved. All that’s left is for him to be a gentleman and tell us where Morgan is.”

“I’d gladly tell you if I knew,” Lord Templemore said tightly, “but I don’t. Not precisely. However, I’ve been led to believe he lies at the bottom of the Atlantic.”

Her heart gave a horrible lurch. “Wh-what do you mean?”

He kept his gaze steady on her. “Morgan was serving aboard a merchant ship when it was wrecked off the coast of Haiti. We believe him to be dead.”

Chapter 2

She is wondrously like the immortal goddesses to look upon.

Homer’s
Iliad,
embroidered on a pillowcase by Juliet Laverick

“T
hat’s impossible!”

Sebastian barely restrained his groan at hearing Juliet’s adamant disbelief. Bad enough that Knighton had come, but to have brought
her
…

“Why impossible, Lady Juliet?” his uncle drawled.

Sebastian shot him a warning glance. Uncle Lew must go along with Sebastian’s claims or all was lost. Surely the man would have the presence of mind to hold his tongue and let Sebastian deal with this in his own way.

“Morgan can’t be dead,” Juliet said simply. Her gaze settled on Sebastian, suspicious, apprehensive…worried. “He…I just can’t believe it.”

By thunder, she had to believe it! He and Morgan were
enmeshed in a dangerous net, and only Sebastian could cut them out. He had to shake off Juliet and her relations to gain breathing room until this insanity was resolved.

“That doesn’t make it any less true.” Sebastian wondered at the calmness of his own voice, when inside he was anything but calm.

Devil take it, why were they here? In the beginning, he’d expected Knighton to hunt him down, but when no one had come after two years, he’d thought himself safe.

Safe! He must have been mad. But he’d never expected that
she
would come with them. Pretty Juliet, with her soft, accusing eyes and lush, tempting mouth…

He stifled a curse. Why had they brought her? It wasn’t as if they needed her to identify him—Daniel Brennan or Lady Helena could have done it, since both of them had been present at the final confrontation with Jolly Roger Crouch, King of the Smugglers. Her family should have kept Juliet at home where she belonged. She was too delicate for the maneuverings of men like himself and Knighton.

“By any chance,” Knighton asked, “was the ship that Morgan Pryce went down on named the
Oceana
?”

Ah, so Juliet had apparently told them everything. How “Morgan” had refused to hand her over to Crouch unless the smuggler first revealed the name of a ship and a particular date—the
Oceana
and July 17. Fortunately, the reason “Morgan” had wanted the information hadn’t come out. That would make it easier to hide the truth—that Sebastian himself had been acting as Morgan at the time. “How did you know the name of the ship?”

“Your brother asked about it. And when did Morgan board the
Oceana?
”

Those dates, those sticky dates. “November 1815, from what I was given to understand later.”

“How peculiar. I thought it would have been some months later, in July of 1816.” When Sebastian looked de
liberately obtuse, Knighton added, “July 17 seemed to be important to your brother, as well.”

“Did it indeed?” Uncle Lew put in dryly. “I wonder why.”

Sebastian scowled at his uncle. Blast him, he knew very well why. Uncle Lew would plague him endlessly over this; he’d always claimed that no good would come of Sebastian’s masquerade as Morgan among the smugglers.

He flashed Uncle Lew a steely smile meant to head off any blundering. “I don’t know why July 17 was significant. All I know is that Morgan left here sometime in the spring of 1815. Our investigator said he boarded that ship in November.”

“That does fit with what I’ve learned of his activities,” Knighton interjected.

Knighton had taken the bait. Good. Sebastian was stretching the truth only a little, after all. Morgan
had
left in spring to join the smugglers, but they’d forced him aboard the
Oceana
in July. That was why Sebastian had ended up dealing with them in October.

Now it was time to play the grieving brother. “See here, if you know how Morgan ended up on the
Oceana,
do tell me. I’ve tried to find out for two years without any luck.”

“That’s all I know,” Knighton admitted. “Why do you think we came here?”

“Actually, you haven’t yet said why you came here,” Uncle Lew commented in seeming innocence, the smug devil. “I confess to being curious about your connection to my nephew. Sebastian seems convinced that Morgan is dead, but
I
haven’t relinquished hope that he’ll one day return home, having survived that ghastly shipwreck.”

Of course Uncle Lew hadn’t relinquished hope. He knew very well Morgan was alive. Now if only he’d keep his wits about him and realize that it was better if the Knightons believed otherwise.

Knighton glanced at Juliet. “I’m sorry, my dear, but I
do think we have to tell them our story.” He set his shoulders, then began, “You see—”

“No,” she interrupted, “it is
my
affair, and I will tell it.”