Margo Maguire (26 page)

Gavin spoke then. “There was an explosion, Jameson. On the dock. They thought you were in it.”

Lang shook his head, puzzlement shadowing his features. “You mean they found someone who . . . They were wrong about me, but good God . . .” He swallowed thickly. “I left with Brundle to go to his estate and collect the horse. I . . .” He looked at Christina. “I didn’t know.”

“We thought you were dead. We’ve mourned you all these months.”

She wiped her tears with one hand as Gavin took the other and gave it a squeeze.

“Oh God,” Lang said, going pale with a sudden thought. “If Brundle didn’t bring you my letter, he must not have taken my explanation to the commodore, either.”

Chapter 26

J
ameson took his wife from the room, and Gavin observed as Christina gathered her composure and took charge of the situation, giving Mrs. Wilder her instructions.

She’d had a moment’s shock when the bairn had made its presence known, but her backbone was as strong as a steel saber. Not inflexible, but solid and resilient.

“Brundle, then?” he asked, though he felt certain it must be.

Christina’s cheeks flushed with color and her eyes narrowed. “No one forgets to deliver a letter.”

“If Brundle’s estate is near Plymouth, he must have known about the explosion and fire in the town. And he would have known about Lang’s body being identified.”

She clenched her hands into fists. “He had no right to do this to our family.”

“Was he angry when you refused his suit?”

“Not half as angry as I am now.” She crossed her arms and stalked to the fireplace.

Gavin would have smiled at her pluck but for the gravity of the situation. She had her brother back, no thanks to Lord Brundle’s negligence.

Or was it something more than mere negligence?

“Christina.”

She stopped her pacing and looked at him. “He might have been angry at the time,” she said. “But I cannot be sure because I did not see him afterwards.”

“If he was angry enough—”

“He came to call today. Lord Brundle.” Her gorgeous eyes were troubled. “He came while Lord Everhart was still here.”

Gavin felt a growl building deep in his chest. Soon all the damned lords in the kingdom would be swarming around Sunderland House. Christina was a woman of property, and now Windermere’s heiress, and the loveliest woman to be found west of the channel.

But Brundle—he was another puzzle altogether, the pieces of which Gavin had yet to put together.

“I’ve got to go,” he said abruptly.

Christina looked at him with bewilderment, but he did not waver. He exited the room, walking past Hancock and Edgar, who still looked stunned by Lang Jameson’s appearance at the house with a wife and child in tow. Trevor and Maycott remained near the front door, and Gavin told them that naught had changed. They were to keep the house closed up and locked for the night. Chetwood was still afoot, and the danger to Christina had not abated.

And now there was another twist. Lord Brundle. He’d known all along that Lang was not dead. It only remained to be seen whether he was the blackmailer, or if someone else knew, too.

Gavin went for the door, but felt a moment of hesitation. He turned to catch a last, quick glance at Christina before leaving the house. While the taste of her was still on his tongue.

He saw her in profile as she crouched down to comfort Theo, who’d crept down the stairs unnoticed at all the commotion and stood hiding with his thumb in his mouth behind a small table. She gathered him into her arms and offered a few quiet, reassuring words, for the boy looked frightened.

Gavin’s throat went dry, and the loud thrum of his pulse sounded in his ears. One day, she would bear children of her own—magnificent black-haired, green-eyed beauties—and she would be a superb mother.

But the children would not be his.

C
hristina put Theo to bed, then paced outside Lang’s bedroom while the old Scottish physician who’d treated their family for years examined Eva and the child. She heard Lang question the man, and when they came out, the doctor gave instructions to Mrs. Wilder to provide plenty of sherry and beef tea to Mrs. Jameson.

“I’ll send you a wet nurse,” he said, “and you’re to allow the woman free access to feed the bairn if he’s to survive, Lieutenant Jameson. Your wife isna strong enough.”

Lang’s expression was a troubled one, but he gave the man a nod of agreement and returned to his bedchamber while Christina walked Dr. MacRae down to the door. “She’s in quite a precarious state, Lady Fairhaven. The next few days will be crucial to her survival, as well as the bairn’s.”

Christina felt speechless. Lang was found, but the circumstances were shocking. More shocking, even, than the blackmail plot against her. She needed to send a message to her parents, and summon them home as soon as possible.

And then it occurred to her that nothing had changed for Gavin.
He’d said he would deal with her blackmailer, and so he was still going to All Hallows in the morning!
He was going to put himself in danger for no reason.

Gavin thought the blackmailer must be Viscount Brundle. Christina had to admit he was likely right, unless there was someone else who knew where Lang had been, and what his situation was.

But why would he extort money from her? And such outrageous sums! How he must have despised her for declining his proposal.

She felt all at sea. It seemed everything was coming to a frightening climax, a coalescence of divergent events, all of which made her feel more than slightly ill.

There was a tense hush over the house that added to her disquiet. Hancock and Trevor worked quietly to arrange Lang’s bedroom to suit his small family, while Mrs. Wilder went down to the kitchen to prepare a meal for Lang and the beef tea for his wife. Christina sent for Jenny, and asked her to sit with Eva. Then she took her brother’s arm and drew him from the room.

“Lang . . . If I could speak to you in Father’s study . . .”

“Tina, I—”

“Just for a few minutes.” She would not be gainsaid. There were too many unanswered questions.

“What’s all this?” Lang asked when he entered the room and saw the packets of banknotes.

“This?” Christina repeated. She worked to control her anger and frustration and surveyed the desk where Gavin had thoroughly ravished her only a short while earlier. Three of the packages had fallen to the floor, and one had split open.

She picked up the bundles and placed them on the desk. “This is two thousand pounds in banknotes, which I collected in order to pay some anonymous scoundrel to find out whatever had happened to you.”

“What? I don’t understand.”

“I was being blackmailed, Lang.”

“Blackmail?” His expression became one of shock. “As in . . . You’re talking about extortion?”

She felt her composure begin to crumble. She needed Gavin. Wanted him there to bolster her as she confronted her rascal of a brother. “I don’t know if the terms are interchangeable, but yes. Someone claimed to know where you were—
and what you’d done
—and he demanded money from me to keep it quiet.”

“I’ve done nothing.”

She sat down before her knees gave out. Her relief at knowing he was alive was mixed with so many other emotions. “Nothing?”

“Well,” he smoothed back his hair as he always did when upset, “I did not return to my ship as I was supposed to do.”

“So we gathered. But you had good reason, hadn’t you? And you sent word . . . though your letter could not have been delivered, or we’d have heard of it. Tell me what happened, Lang. Eva, of course. I understand that much.”

Lang took the chair across from her, so handsome with his dark, coppery hair and strong Jameson features. His eyes were intensely blue, but their magnificence did not compare to Gavin’s. No one’s did.

“
The Defender
put into port, and Norris and I took a day’s shore leave. There was no time for me to go to Tavistock—Eva’s home—much as I wanted to.” He swallowed thickly. “Norris and I picked up our mail, and Eva’s letter was there . . . She wrote she was with child. I could not just ignore her.”

His features twisted with distress. “We’d planned to marry, but I needed some time to prepare Father, so I delayed. She is the daughter of a tailor. Not exactly . . .” He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

Christina’s heart began to soften. “I understand.” As fair-minded as Lord Sunderland was, Lang’s trepidations were not unfounded. Their parents expected all their children to marry well. A marquess’s daughter for Felton, heiresses for Lang and Colin.

“Eva was disgraced,” Lang continued. “Her father put her out when her pregnancy became too advanced to hide. She had no one. She was forced to rely upon the charity of the parish . . .”

Christina leaned forward and put her hand on Lang’s forearm. “I’m so sorry she had to go through that.”

“What could I do but leave Plymouth? Leave
The
Defender
? I hardly thought twice when Brundle offered me a horse. I left with him and went immediately to go find her in Tavistock.”

“And you married?”

He nodded. “As soon as we could. Geoffrey was born early and the midwife did not think he would live. Eva’s labor was long, and she . . .” He stood abruptly and jammed his fingers through his hair. “I never knew what women went through. If I’d known—”

The thought struck Christina that even now, she might be carrying Gavin’s child. It took her breath away.

“I knew Father would be disappointed,” Lang continued, “but I sent the letter. I wanted him to know about Eva, about what I was going to do. I had a little money. But the pregnancy was difficult. Eva was ill. I spent every last shilling on shelter, food, and the midwife.”

“Oh, Lang.”

Anger colored his tone. “I cannot believe that bastard Brundle did not bother to deliver my letters.”

Which proved she’d had good reason to refuse his proposal. She’d never liked or trusted the man.

“When Father did not come or send help,” Lang continued, “I could only conclude that he was angry. I’d hoped he had not disowned me; that once he met Eva—”

“He did not know, Lang. He’d have come—we all would have come to you immediately.”

“I knew no one in Tavistock—only Eva, and she was entirely without resources.”

Christina despised Lord Brundle more with every word Lang said. “Why didn’t you write again? At least, to me?”

“You had your own problems, Tina. What was I to—”

“
Anything
. You are my brother, Lang. You know I would have helped you, no matter what my circumstances.”

He glanced at the desk. “I see that. I’m sorry to have put you through all that. First, to have thought I died. And now—”

“Now I know you are alive, and there is nothing anyone can say against you. Captain Briggs—”

“You mean the goliath who took me to the floor in the foyer?” He rubbed his elbow, and Christina realized he must have been injured at least slightly during the altercation.

She could not worry about that now. “Captain Briggs was to take this money—the
second
payment of its kind, I might add—and put it in a designated place at All Hallows Church tomorrow.”

“But you needn’t do it now. I’m here, and there is nothing to keep secret. Right?”

But Gavin would want to apprehend the scoundrel who’d already taken a thousand pounds from her, no matter how dangerous a task it would be. He’d want to see the man punished.

She shuddered. “Captain Briggs thinks it’s Lord Brundle.”

“Thank God you didn’t marry the bloody bastard.”

Christina could not believe the man’s brass, visiting her when he’d been the one to put her through such difficulties during recent weeks.

“Eva and I—we had no choice but to come home, even though Eva was really too weak to travel,” Lang said. “The trip took a great deal out of her. But we had to risk it. I could not take care of her in Tavistock.”

“Yes,” Christina replied, hoping to reassure him. “You did the right thing.” It could not have been an easy decision to travel all this way with a sick wife and a weak newborn. But it was done, and they would make the best of it. They could only pray Dr. MacRae’s treatments would produce a happy result.

“Why did Brundle demand money from you, and not Father?” Lang asked.

“They’ve gone to Italy.”

Lang stood. “Dash it all.”

Again, Christina wished Gavin had not left the house. His bravery was deep and true, his prowess unaffected, his judgment sound. He was nothing like the men who’d courted her, nothing at all like her glib and shallow husband.

He was so much more than just a paramour. Christina had come to rely upon him . . . to need him quite desperately. “The whole family went away t-to mourn you. Father doesn’t even know about the blackmail.”

She felt more than a little light-headed at the realization that she wanted more from Gavin Briggs than a short, intense liaison.

He had gotten her safely to London in spite of all their difficulties on the road. She could not imagine him worrying about his father’s ire had the mother of his child been in need.

Christina shook her head to clear it, then looked up at Lang. “I’ll write Father and Mother and tell them what’s happened.”

“No, I’ll write. I owe them nothing less, especially after . . .” He ran a hand across his mouth. “What a bloody mess. How long has it been? Two months?”

“Three.” Christina replied distractedly. She needed to intercept Gavin, wanted to convince him his trip to All Hallows was no longer necessary. She did not care if Lord Brundle was the culprit. She would not have him put himself in danger, now that Lang was safely home.

She went to the door and called for Hancock, who came to her immediately. “Do you know where Captain Briggs went?”

“No, my lady. He did not say.”

Chapter 27

S
eeing Lang
Jameson alive was entirely unexpected. Gavin had been quite certain Christina’s
brother must have been killed—the most obvious culprit being his friend Norris.
It was the only thing that had made any sense whatsoever—the only reason Lang
would not have contacted his family.

But now Gavin knew Viscount Brundle was involved in
the blackmail plot. He was glad to have that information, but would deal with
Brundle in the morning. The greater threat at the moment was Baron Chetwood, and
Gavin rode to the baron’s house, hoping to find Colonel Watkins or Mr. Gell
still there, and some word on Chetwood.

“Captain Briggs,” the magistrate said as he came
down the steps.

“Any news on the baron?” Gavin asked.

“Not yet. I’ve sent men to check at his club and a
few other places he and Brundle are known to frequent.”

“
Brundle?
”

“Aye. You know him?”

“Not exactly,” Gavin replied, his mind racing.
Chetwood and Brundle together?

“I understand the two are thick as thieves. If
they’re together, Brundle will be remembered.”

“For what reason?” Gavin asked.

“He’s a rough-looking character. Tall and thick-set
with heavy black mustaches and owlish brows.”

Aye, Gavin remembered. He had seen a man fitting
this description at the Black Sheep Inn. If only he’d realized then that it was
Brundle, he’d have made the connection so much sooner.

“Oh, and he’s got a sizable mole just under his
eye,” Watkins added. “We’ll find him if he goes anywhere about Town.”

“Damnation,” Gavin muttered.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing, Colonel,” Gavin said. “Will you send word
round to Sunderland House if either one of them is found?”

“Will do, Briggs. You do the same, eh?”

Gavin considered what he ought to do. Perhaps make
the rounds of London’s darker corners himself to try and locate Chetwood and his
lackey. It seemed quite clear that the two of them had conspired together to
make Christina’s life hell.

Disgusted by thoughts of such a dark and devious
scheme, Gavin decided to return to Sunderland House. He bid farewell to the
magistrate and went across to the square where John Mason and Philip Caldwell
were getting set to keep watch in case Chetwood appeared.

He turned to inform the two men of Brundle’s part
in all this when a fancy landau rolled into the square, driving slowly past
Chetwood’s house.

As the landau drove by, Gavin could see the driver
clearly in the lamplight. It was the man Watkins had just described. Viscount
Brundle.

Gavin stayed out of sight until the landau was
gone. Then he quickly mounted his horse. “I’m going to follow him,” he said to
his men. “No need to go to All Hallows in the morning. Make sure the others
know.”

Gavin rode out to Henrietta Street, then loitered a
moment before following the landau to Oxford, keeping some distance between
himself and it. He wondered why Brundle had turned up at Chetwood’s house.
Perhaps the viscount had come to see whether Watkins had posted guards there and
intended to report back to Chetwood.

That was the only thing that made any kind of
sense. Chetwood had been overconfident and hadn’t considered the possibility
that he would be suspected of his wife’s murder. He’d concocted a fiction he
hoped the magistrate would believe, unaware that Gavin and his men had been
watching the house all through the night.

Peer or not, he would hang for the murders.

And Gavin could not think of a more appropriate
fate for the vicious bastard. Christina would never again have to be wary of the
man—which was fortunate. Because Gavin would not be there to protect her.

She would have Lord Everhart, or someone like him,
a peer of the realm, to take care of her. The man Christina wed would be able to
hire as many strong men as he deemed necessary to keep her safe, while keeping
his own hands clean.

Gavin’s were anything but clean. Even now, with
regret for his past years of service to the crown burning in his craw, he would
not hesitate to put a ball of lead between Chetwood’s eyes if he had the
opportunity.

He lost sight of the landau when it turned into
Oxford Street, but when he caught up, there was a second man in the carriage
beside the first. Gavin’s hackles rose. The man had been there all along, but
hiding.

He could not positively identify Brundle’s
companion, but knew it could not be anyone but Chetwood. The baron must have
wanted to gain entry to his house, but the presence of the magistrate’s
policemen prevented it.

And so they’d driven on.

The landau continued down Oxford Street but soon
reached Stratford Place—where Sunderland House was located. When it turned into
Christina’s narrow street, Gavin had a very bad feeling.

He knew he had to act, and quickly.

C
hristina’s household was quiet and dark, but for one sconce burning
near the bedrooms. The wet nurse had come and fed Eva’s child while Mrs. Wilder
made sure Eva herself took some nourishment. Soon afterward, everyone settled
down for the night, with the wet nurse and tiny Geoffrey in a separate bedroom,
giving Lang and Eva the opportunity for some much-needed, uninterrupted sleep.
It was obvious they were exhausted.

Christina made herself ready for bed, but knew she
would not be able to manage a wink, not when Gavin was out, probably looking for
Baron Chetwood. She wished they could leave for Windermere on the morrow. Just
ignore the blackmailer and his demand for payment, and get away from Town before
anyone knew where they’d gone. Her father could deal with Viscount Brundle
personally when he returned from Italy.

She and Gavin did not need to go directly to
Windermere. She was quite sure he had said he would receive his payment whether
or not her grandfather was still alive when he got her there. So there was no
great hurry. They’d delayed more than a week already,
and . . .

Christina wanted a few days alone with him. She
wanted to spend them in a quiet cottage somewhere away from Town, far from
worries of blackmailers and murderers, just the two of them.

But something was different about Gavin. Christina
had felt it when he’d returned to the house earlier, when he’d taken her so hard
and fast in her father’s study. There had been a growling intensity about him
that she had not understood. Almost as though he’d been angry with her.

He’d mentioned Everhart, but Christina had been so
caught up in his fierce seduction, she had not tried to understand.

Until now.

Lord Everhart was not even half the man Gavin was.
And yet he must believe she would choose the earl—

Christina suddenly had a sensation of pure vertigo.
She felt as though she was falling from a great height—from the top of the
house, or perhaps off one of the high fells near her house at Ullswater. The
trust and respect she wanted was there, in Gavin. He might not hold a title, or
possess any great estate, but he was honorable and true.

And she loved him. She loved him quite completely
and perhaps a little desperately.

She sat down on the bed to catch her breath and
regain her bearings. Falling in love was not something she’d planned to do. Not
something she’d wanted. And yet—

There was a quiet tap at her bedroom door and her
heart leaped at the possibility that it was Gavin coming back to her. She rose
to her feet and dashed to the door, but it was Theo.

Concern for the boy trumped her disappointment.
He’d been frightened by the altercation at the door with Lang’s arrival, and
when Christina had gone into his room to say good night, he’d still been
restless.

He’d asked her where Gavin had gone.

For both their sakes, Christina wished she could
have said Gavin had only gone out to the stable for a moment, and that he would
be back momentarily.

She crouched down before him. “What is it?”

“I had a dream,” Theo said in a whisper. He was
trembling again, and Christina knew the evening’s events haunted him even
now.

She put her arms around him. “A bad one?”

He nodded. “I could not sleep.”

“Maybe we ought to go down for some tea. Would you
like that?”

The boy nodded.

“Let’s go to the kitchen and brew some for
ourselves.” She put on a thick wrapper and left the room, keeping his hand in
hers. She wasn’t going to be able to sleep, either. Not until she saw Gavin.

Christina wanted to tell him how she felt, but she
did not even know if he shared her feelings. Just because he had not seemed
pleased with Lord Everhart’s visit did not mean he thought more of her than he
did any other mistress.

The thought of Gavin with another woman shook her,
but not the same way Edward’s betrayal had done. Christina was in love with
Gavin. She wanted to meet his sister, wanted to know all his thoughts and
dreams, and what it meant to be a marksman in Lord Wellington’s service. She
wanted to be a part of him, wanted to be a part of his life when he took
possession of his country home.

Society and a “good” marriage could go hang if it
meant another match like the one she’d made with Edward.

One of the new footmen was in the kitchen keeping
watch near the door, and Christina assumed the other guarded the front door. Her
own three footmen were about, as well.

She ought to have felt secure, but with Gavin away,
she could not relax, and it was not entirely due to the threat from Chetwood or
Brundle. Their interlude in the study had been so hard and fast and desperate
because Gavin intended it to be their last time together. Somehow, Christina
knew he was trying to give her the distance he believed she
needed . . .

And yet he had not been able to stay away.

The stove was still warm, and she put the kettle on
it while Theo took a seat at the table.

“Shall I do that for you, my lady?” the footman
asked.

“No, it’s all right, Turner,” she replied. “Theo
and I do not intend to be any trouble. I see all is well.”

Turner nodded. “Quiet as ever.”

Christina took the pot and cups to the table and
sat down beside Theo. She skimmed his hair back from his forehead. “Do you feel
better now?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Your dream woke you?”

“It was Uncle Samuel’s face. He was . . .
I was scared of him.” He took a deep, shuddering breath, and Christina hugged
him to her.

“Your uncle has no idea where to find you,
Theo.”

Theo nodded. “When will Captain Briggs come
back?”

Christina wished she knew. “We’ll see him in the
morning.”

She tried not to think of what might happen at the
church, and concentrated on Theo. “Soon you’ll—”

A loud rap at the door interrupted what she was
about to say. Turner checked the lock. “Who is it?” he asked without opening
it.

“Lord Everhart,” was the reply.

Turner looked at Christina for instruction.

She did not know what to do. The earl had never
meant her any harm, but it was incredibly odd for him to come calling so late.
“Ask him what he wants.”

Turner did so.

“Just let me in, man. My carriage sprung a wheel.
It’s late, and I’m too far from home to walk the distance.”

“Is he in his cups?” Christina asked Turner. His
words sounded slurred.

She got up from the table, and Theo came with her.
It was bad enough that she was in the kitchen in her nightclothes, but to have
Lord Everhart arrive in this manner was unwelcome as well as unprecedented.

“Most likely he is, my lady. Should I—”

The door suddenly crashed open, and it was not Lord
Everhart who entered, but a dark-haired man with a thick mustache.

“Here now!” Turner protested, but he suddenly
dropped to his knees, clasping his chest. When his hands dropped away, Christina
saw that they were bloody. She stifled a scream as she looked at the intruder
and saw Lord Brundle coming toward her with a knife in hand.

“Theo—”

“Stay where you are, boy,” Brundle snapped. “And be
still. If you rouse the house, someone else will die.”

Theo whimpered and wrapped his arms around
Christina, who held his trembling body close. She looked past Brundle at Turner,
who lay supine on the floor, but still breathing. Perhaps if Dr. MacRae saw to
him right away—

Brundle grabbed Christina’s arm, shoving Theo
aside. “Stay there,” he ordered him.

“No! Let him—”

“He’s no concern of yours.”

“What do you want?” Christina cried. He yanked her
against him and held the knife to her neck, so there was no possible way to
escape him.

“I’ve only wanted one thing, but you would deny me
now, just as you did two years ago.”

Christina felt tears burning down her cheeks. “Lord
Brundle, we . . .” She took a tremulous breath, at a loss for what she
could possibly say to him. “You know we did not suit,” she said weakly.

Brundle’s mustache brushed against her ear. “It no
longer matters. You are naught but a barrister’s daughter.”

“H-how do you know that?”

He started pulling her to the door. “My good friend
Chetwood knows everything. And he’s going to get his due, no matter what
Windermere does with his will.”

“His due?”

“Aye. You’ve been a good little pigeon, paying him
whatever he demanded.”

“What
he
demanded? I
never paid—” The air whooshed out of her. “
Chetwood
was the blackmailer? But you! You tricked Lang!”

She raised her hand to slap him, but he caught her
wrist and she felt a burning pain at her neck. She cried out, bracing herself
for him to slice her throat, just as someone had done to Lady Chetwood.

“Enough talk. We’re going for a little ride with
your cousin.” He shoved her outside.

“Cousin?” She felt terrified as well as
confused.