On a Long Ago Night (41 page)

awakens to pray with him. In the meantime," he went on, voice and

gaze insistent, "I beg of you, my lady, to come to St. Ambrose's

with me. I wish to hold a proper prayer service in Captain Russell's

name. Also," he said, with a brief glance toward James, "to pray in

thanksgiving for your beloved husband's safe deliverance from

danger. And perhaps to bless your marriage one more time," he

added with a kind smile, glancing over the silvery gray gown she

wore.

Honoria looked at James with open love. "I prayed for your

safety all the way from Lacey House," she told him.

He touched her cheek. "Then there's no need for another

prayer right now, is there?"

Before she could answer, Edward Marbury stepped in. "I

think that is a splendid idea, Reverend Menzies," he said solemnly,

and ran a serious gaze over her and James. "Don't you agree?" The

tone was not so much a question as it was an order. "Your cause

was just, son, but prayer and forgiveness for those who have

wronged us is good for all our souls," he told James. "And it would

not hurt you to reflect on your life and future in a house of God."

"And this will be an opportunity for you to acquaint yourself

with my charity work, Lady Alexandra," Reverend Menzies

chimed in. "You did promise to take a personal interest in my

young ladies."

Honoria did not recall making any such promise, but

supposed it would be the right thing to do. He had said that there

was one particular young woman he wanted to talk to her about.

She and James exchanged glances while the minister and James's

father looked on expectantly. They were trapped by these two good

men. They were going to church.

James leaned close and whispered in her ear. "One hour and

one prayer, that's enough. I want to take you to bed."

Honoria didn't even have the grace to blush. "Agreed," she

stated firmly. "Definitely."

James turned a concerned look on Honoria after looking out the

carriage's window. He dropped the velvet curtain back in place.

"We're heading deeper into the slums," he told his wife. "Where is

this church?"

"Somewhere near the Tower docks, I'm told. St. Ambrose's is

quite a poor parish." Honoria sighed. "I normally don't mind

helping the poor, but I do object to Reverend Menzies's timing."

"It will be over with soon." James settled his arm more

comfortably around her, and his heart swelled with love when she

put her head trustingly on his shoulder. He gently stroked her

shirring hair. "My father's right, I suppose." Though he resented the

interference in their lives. Their lives. He smiled at the thought of

them going through life as a couple. He couldn't think of anything

better. Still… "Speaking of fathers, yours will be pleased that I

didn't spoil your chance to become a lady-in-waiting to the queen."

Honoria lifted her head as she said, "I don't want to be a lady-

in-waiting to the queen."

The rebellious expression on her face mirrored the rebellion

stirring in him. He stroked her cheek, and straightened the

spectacles perched on her nose. "Tell me," he said at last. "What do

you want? What do
we
want?" he added as she went still and

thoughtful. "What do we want to do with our lives?"

They stared at each other while the carriage rolled on through

the bumpy, narrow cobbled streets. The smell rising off the river

began to permeate the air, thick and sour with sewage and fish.

James barely noticed it. He was more interested in the new notion

that was forming in his head. He took his wife's hands. "What if,"

he began, "we do what we want to do rather than what our fathers

want us to do?"

"But what?" Honoria asked. "What do you want to do with

your life, James?"

The carriage came to a halt. "The important thing is that we

do something that makes us happy." As James helped Honoria out

of the coach in front of the tumbledown church, he said, "Let's get

this over with then settle in for a long talk—inside the privacy of

that lovely curtained bed of yours."

"Of ours," she corrected with a saucy toss of her head. There

was a sauciness to her walk, as well, as she proceeded him toward

where the Reverend Menzies stood waiting for them by the church

door.

James lingered a few steps behind her, enticed by her

swaying hips even though she was modestly covered with her dark

cape. He smiled, reminded of the allure of veiled women in the

bazaars of Algiers.

"Welcome, welcome," Menzies greeted them at the church

door. He stepped away from it and gestured them through a

churchyard dotted with untended, leaning headstones. "Let us go to

the vicarage," he told them as he led the way. "There is something I

want to show you."

The man sounded nervous. Honoria exchanged a glance with

James, then they followed the vicar's thin form.

Joshua Menzies didn't know where the ruffians he'd hired to

do the dirty work had gotten to, but he had hopes the three men

would show up at any moment. Why couldn't Marbury and the

blasted woman have arrived late? Aristos were never supposed to

be punctual. They were supposed to keep their inferiors waiting.

Instead here they were, and he was without the assistance he'd

counted on to get the job done. The woman he could deal with, but

Marbury was
huge
—the man's shoulders alone nearly filled

Menzies's small study.

Inside, Menzies's mind raced. This was a mistake. He should

have taken them into the church and said some prayers over them

first. What had he been thinking? This wasn't like him. He did not

panic. He took a deep breath and forced himself to be calm—his

helpers would be here at any moment. He walked toward his desk,

confident that he could control the situation until help arrived.

Besides, if worse came to worst, he had everything he needed

secreted in the desk drawer.

"Please be seated," he said as his guests looked with distaste

at the filthy room. "Yes," he agreed with their silent disapproval. "It

is in quite a filthy state. My housekeeper…" He shrugged. "Well,

the slattern ran off with a sailor last week. She'll wander back

eventually. She always does." He was tempted to be even blunter,

just to watch the shock on their features deepen. He noticed how

they sat close together in the chairs before his desk, their hands

clasped across the short distance. She'd thrown off her cape, and

the shimmering dress spread like a rich ocean around her. That she

wore a ball gown in the middle of the day was most

unconventional—but then, everything about the woman seemed to

be.

"How many languages do you read, Lady Alexandra?"

Menzies asked.

She looked surprised, but answered readily, "Eight."

"I am fluent in eleven," he told her. He sat behind the desk

and slowly opened the drawer. He gestured toward the blue bottle

on the edge of the desk. "Would you care for a drink? Have you

ever tasted gin, Lady Alexandra?"

She lifted her head proudly. "Gin?"

Her reaction to his effrontery made him smile. "It is all I have

to offer, my dear," he responded, sounding almost like the humble

clergyman he'd been trained to be. "Have I mentioned my father to

either of you?" He glanced between the pair. Marbury looked half

ready to throttle him. "You're annoyed, my lord." Menzies held up

a hand and continued to speak in his vicar's voice. "Please bear

with me. There is a purpose to what I have to say." Where the devil

were those men?

"Purpose?" Marbury asked, eyes narrowed dangerously.

Menzies saw him looking around warily, alert to any peril.

"You said there was something you wished to show us?" the

woman added.

Menzies took out the letter and put it on the table. "This took

over a year to reach me," he told them. "It is from my father." He

shook his head sadly. "He has fallen on hard times, I'm afraid." He

sighed, and looked directly at James Marbury. "My father is named

Abraham."

"Really," Marbury responded without interest.

Menzies nodded. "We are an old Devonshire family, though

our roots are in Scotland. Devonshire men are the finest sailors in

Britain, you know. My father went to sea to make his fortune, and

made it he did. Lost it, as well. Now it is up to me to restore what

was ours." He picked up the letter. "My father has told me how."

He looked at the woman. "I need your help, Honoria." Damning the

missing henchmen, he lifted a pistol from inside the drawer.

Marbury was on his feet, knocking over his chair in his haste.

Honoria was up an instant later. Marbury's eyes were on the gun,

hers were on Marbury. Menzies found her devotion charming.

Perhaps threatening her husband was the incentive to getting her

cooperation. Besides, shooting her husband would be fun.

"Abraham?" Honoria said to Marbury. "Ibrahim? It's the

same name in Arabic."

James carefully did not look at his wife. If he was going to

get her safely out of this situation, he had to focus all his attention

on Menzies. "Of course—Ibrahim Rais. I always knew he was

European, but I didn't know he was English. I didn't know anything

about his family."

"So you are the Spaniard he spoke of." Menzies brought up a

second pistol.

Two guns, one man. This gave James an idea, and he moved

fractionally away from Honoria.

Menzies sneered at him. "You know my father better than I

do. He even says he loved you like a son."

"Oh, he did," James responded to the hysteria underlying the

man's hatred. "And I wouldn't wish a father like that on any man."

"He has the scars to prove it," Honoria chimed in, and moved

a half step from him.

James hid a smile as he realized she'd read his mind. Of

course she had: they were of one mind, and spirit. He silently

damned Menzies, and Ibrahim Rais, terrified he would lose the

woman he loved, now that he had finally found her once more.

"He's a good father!" Menzies's voice was shrill. The man

didn't seem to notice that his hands were widening as they slowly

separated. "And I'm a good son. He wants his treasure, it's my

legacy. I'm going to do what he wants."

"Why?" James asked reasonably. He shrugged, the movement

masking another step. He was getting closer to the gin bottle on the

edge of the desk. Another step. Two.

"How?" Honoria countered, bringing Menzies's attention to

her.

"You, Honoria," Menzies informed her. "Father says you are

the key. That you translated his coded letter to me." He swung his

gaze back to James. "The letter that you stole!"

"I did steal it," James admitted.

"I didn't translate it, however," Honoria said.

Menzies focused on her. "What?"

"I never got a chance to read it."

"What?" he demanded, insane fury boiling from him. He was

quivering with rage and nerves.

Honoria appeared quite calm as she answered, "
I
saw it, but

then your father tried to kill us and the French attacked." She

shrugged and reached behind her for her cloak. "What with one

thing and another, I never got around to reading the letter. Sorry…

now, James?"

"Now!"

Honoria swung her cape at Menzies, and James snatched up

the gin bottle and threw it. The cape swept one pistol from his

hand; the bottle smashed into his other wrist. James was on

Menzies before the pistols hit the floor. One gun fired as it landed,

filling the room with a thunderous roar and the stink of gun smoke.

Honoria snatched up the still loaded pistol and held it while James

knocked Menzies unconscious.

When he stood up, James took the gun from her.

"Good." She breathed a sigh of relief as his arm went around

her shoulders. "I haven't the faintest notion how to use that thing. I

suppose I could have hit him over the head with it if he'd

overpowered you."

James looked down at the slender man on the floor, then

indignantly at his wife. "Please!" Then he saw that she was joking

to cover a bad set of nerves. "Come along," he said, and hustled her

outside.

There he called for the coachman and footmen who had

accompanied them, and gave instructions on guarding Menzies and

fetching constables. A crowd slowly began to gather; he supposed

the sound of a gunshot had attracted them.