How Miss Rutherford Got Her Groove Back (31 page)

C
HAPTER
O
NE

London, 15 May 1815

P
ercy took a slow sip of his single malt whiskey, savoring the rich flavor as it warmed his chest, and sat down in one of the deep leather armchairs that stood in his office at Whitehall. Lazily swirling the caramel-colored liquid, letting it lap against the edges of his glass, he regarded his friend with caution. “I’m sorry that it had to come to this, old chap,” he told him quietly.

Bryce nodded, his forehead furrowed in a thoughtful frown. “Do you see now why I didn’t want Alex to get involved?” He shook his head in disbelief.

William had joined the Foreign Office four years ago when he was twenty-three years old. He’d had a number of successful missions during that time and had been personally thanked by the Prince Regent for uncovering a Russian spy who’d managed to infiltrate parliament. Bryce was having a difficult time now believing that William was handing over valuable information to the French.

He’d gone to Paris in late March, as soon as news of Napoleon’s escape from Elba had reached the British shores. Accompanying him on his mission was his longtime friend, Andrew Finch, who’d joined the Foreign Office a couple of years earlier based on William’s recommendation.

Percy picked up the most recent letter that Andrew had managed to send out of the country. “It seems that Mr. Finch was completely caught off guard by William’s behavior, judging from the tone of this.” He waved the piece of paper with a casual flick of his wrist.

Bryce snorted before taking a swig of his scotch. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before setting his glass down on the table. “I’m just not buying it,” he muttered, his eyebrows knit closely together above brooding eyes. His mouth was drawn in a grim line.

“Is that an objective statement or one based on the fact that William’s your son?”

“Bloody hell, Percy!” Bryce glared at his friend. “Do you seriously believe that William has betrayed us—that he’s a traitor?”

Percy let out a deep sigh as he leaned forward in his seat, his elbows resting in his lap as he studied the glass of scotch that he held between his hands. “I have to accept all possibilities.” His eyes settled on Bryce’s in a deadpan stare. “My position decrees it.”

“Who are you sending, Percy?”

Percy paused for a moment. The only reason he’d sent for Bryce in the first place was because he considered him a close friend. He’d already shared the details regarding William’s mission with him and was beginning to wonder how much more he ought to divulge. “I’ve settled on Michael Ashford,” he said.

“Thomas’s boy?”

Percy nodded at that, not at all surprised that Bryce was familiar with the Duke of Devonshire.

“Thomas is a man of great integrity. Hopefully the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree.”

“Would you like to meet him?”

“What’s your plan, Percy?” Bryce asked, ignoring his question. “Are you sending this Ashford fellow to kill my son?”

Percy sighed. “My hands are tied, old chap. You know that treason is an unacceptable offense, but I’m not sending Michael to assassinate your son, Bryce. I’m sending him to bring William back home so that he may face the charges against him in a court of law.”

“And if he resists?”

“Let’s hope that he doesn’t.” Percy gave Bryce a meaningful look.

“Michael will assume that he is guilty of all charges and do what must be done by all means necessary. Is that it?”

Percy nodded reluctantly. “Yes,” he said, in little more than a whisper.

“Then by all means, show Lord Ashford in so that I may meet the man.”

It was a delicate situation—one that Percy wished to have no part of, but what could he do other than hope that it would soon be over?

He was inclined to agree with Bryce when it came to judging William’s integrity. William had always been an honorable man. It seemed unthinkable that he might have turned traitor. Then again, Percy had seen it happen before. As he went to the door and called for Michael to enter, he sent a silent prayer that he would somehow manage to bring William home in one piece.

Michael strode into the room with a confidence that immediately told Bryce that this was no greenling he was being introduced to. Before him stood a tall figure of a man—well over six feet, with broad shoulders, a powerful chest, and strong arms. In short, he looked like he could slay a dragon with one hand whilst protecting a damsel in distress with the other. His hair was dark and ruffled, his eyes sparkling with boyish anticipation.

“Gentlemen.” Michael followed his greeting with a polite nod of his head in first Percy’s, then Bryce’s direction.

“Ashford, let me introduce you to a close friend of mine—Lord Bryce Summersby, the Earl of Moorland.”

Bryce rose to his feet and grasped Michael’s outstretched hand in a firm shake.

“I’ve heard much about you Lord Summersby—from my father, in particular. He’s a great admirer of your military endeavors—says you’re quite the strategist.” He released Bryce’s hand with a wry twist of his lips. “He also says he’s never managed to beat you at chess.”

Bryce chuckled. It had been a while since he’d last seen Thomas, but he had fond memories of the poor man’s numerous attempts at beating him at his favorite game. “How is your father?”

Michael shrugged as he reached for one of the decanters on the side table. “Do you mind?” he asked Percy.

“Not at all—help yourself.”

Pouring a glass of port, Michael glanced over at Bryce. “Still going strong,” he said. “He’ll be sixty-two in another couple of months, but he’s still running around like a young lad. Trouble is his limbs are stiffer than they used to be. I can’t help but worry that he might hurt himself—you see, in his mind he’s no more than twenty years of age.”

“Just wait until you’re our age,” Bryce told him with a grin. “You won’t believe your eyes when you happen to catch yourself in a mirror. You’ll most likely draw your sword wondering who the devil that stranger is staring back at you.” He raised his glass to Michael. “Enjoy your youth while you’ve got it, Ashford. Lord knows it’ll be gone before you know it.”

Michael grimaced. He had some inkling of how fast life was passing by—he couldn’t quite believe that it was already ten years since he’d joined the Foreign Office.

“I briefed Ashford on his mission this morning,” Percy said, deciding that it was time to get on with the business at hand. The sooner it was taken care of, the happier he’d be. Nothing was nastier than having to decide the fate of somebody’s child—especially not when that child was like family. Responsibility weighed heavily on Percy’s shoulders—but so did disappointment—and as he sat in his dark brown leather chair, he desperately hoped that Finch was somehow mistaken about William’s actions. “He’s ready to leave in the morning.”

Bryce moved to the side table to refill his glass. “How long have you and William known each other?” he asked Michael.

“Well, err . . . actually, I . . .”

“Ashford has never met your son, Bryce—you know that we don’t allow our agents to meet unless they’re working on the same assignment. It helps protect their identities when they’re in the field.”

“Well, I certainly don’t mean to point out the obvious,” Bryce remarked, his voice laced with annoyance. “But how the devil is he supposed to find William when he doesn’t even know what he looks like?”

“There are ways.”

Bryce scoffed at that. “We both know that William is skilled at deception. He works well undercover—hence the reason you gave him such an important assignment in the first place.” He looked at Michael as if to highlight the fact that
he
had not been selected, but Michael simply stared back at him with a bland expression. Bryce took a large gulp of his whiskey, savoring the potent flavor that filled his mouth. “I want Ryan and Alex to accompany him.”

Percy’s mouth dropped open like a flytrap. “But you always said that . . .”

“That was then and this is now. They’ll be able to identify William.”

“And you’re certain that you want Alex to go as well?”

Bryce had no desire to let his daughter get muddled up in this mess, but on the other hand, she was a better horseman, a better swordsman, and a better shot than Ryan had ever been. In fact, the only reason he was sending Ryan at all was to act as her chaperone. “Quite certain,” he said.

Both men turned to Michael. His expression was impossible for either of them to read as he quietly pondered the thought of Bryce’s children tagging along. “It will be a perilous journey,” he stated. “They’ll have to hold their own—I’ve no desire to babysit anyone.”

“You won’t have to,” Bryce grumbled. “Alexa . . .”

“Is the best swordsman you’re ever likely to come across.” Percy said as he cut off his friend. It would be a cold day in hell before Michael would ever agree to bring a woman along, no matter how much Percy might vouch for her. He’d likely quit first, but that wasn’t a risk that Percy was willing to take.

“And if William is guilty of treason . . . if he fights back? What then? I won’t have his siblings standing in my way if I’m forced to take action.” He paused. “Do you think they’ll be willing to stand by as they watch me kill their brother, or will they turn on me in a foolhardy attempt to save him?”

Bryce’s blood ran cold at Michael’s tone. He didn’t doubt for a second that the man before him was prepared to carry out his orders to exaction. Would Alex and Ryan let him kill their brother, even if he was a traitor? Absolutely not, but they gave him hope that he might see William again, and for that reason alone, he was prepared to say anything to ensure that they’d be in a position to help their brother. “If they were to discover that he’s been consorting with the French, then I believe they would.”

“Very well, then,” Michael acquiesced. “We leave at dawn. Will they be ready by then?”

Bryce nodded. “I’ve already told them to prepare themselves in the event that they would be joining you.”

Michael nodded. “There’s a tavern on the outskirts of town—The Royal Oak. Are you familiar with the place?”

“I am.”

“Good. Tell your sons to meet me there at five. I don’t plan to wait for them, so if they’re late . . .”

“They’ll be there,” Bryce told him sharply. And you’ll be in for one hell of a surprise when you discover that one of my sons is a daughter, he thought smugly as his eyes met Percy’s. “You have my word,” he added, reaching out to shake Michael’s hand.

“And you have my word as a gentleman that I shall act fairly,” Michael told him. “Percy tells me that both of you find it unlikely that William is a turncoat. I will discover the truth of the matter, and I hope that you will trust me when I say that I would never dream of harming an innocent man. Furthermore, my prerogative is to bring him back alive, so if all goes well, you’ll see your son soon enough, Lord Summersby.”

“Thank you,” Bryce told him sincerely. “I shall await your return. Godspeed,” he added as he raised his glass in a final salute before gathering up his coat and heading for the door. “You’ll keep me informed?” he asked as he looked back over his shoulder at Percy, his hand already on the door handle.

“You’ll hear from me as soon as I have any news.”

With a heavy sigh and a thoughtful nod, Bryce left Percy’s office with growing trepidation. He wasn’t a gambling man, yet here he was, willing to risk everything dear to him in order to save his first-born child. Though he had faith in both Alexandra and Ryan, he hated having to sit idly by in anticipation. If only he could go in their stead, but that was of course an impossible notion. He’d grown too old to be gallivanting about on rescue missions, particularly with his left leg paining him whenever he walked for more than five minutes. No, he had no choice but to send his children in his stead, and in spite of himself, he suddenly smiled. This was exactly the sort of thing that Alexandra had been dreaming about for years. Now he was finally ready to indulge her.

A
BOUT THE
A
UTHOR

Born in Denmark, SOPHIE BARNES spent her youth traveling with her parents to wonderful places all around the world. She’s lived in five different countries, on three different continents, and speaks Danish, English, French, Spanish, and Romanian.

She has studied design in Paris and New York and has a bachelor’s degree from Parson’s School of design, but most impressive of all: She’s been married to the same man three times, in three different countries, and in three different dresses.

While living in Africa, Sophie turned to her lifelong passion—writing.

When she’s not busy dreaming up her next romance novel, Sophie enjoys spending time with her family, swimming, cooking, gardening, watching romantic comedies and, of course, reading. She currently lives on the East Coast.

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