The Falcon and the Sparrow (27 page)

“I am sorry, Larena.” Dominique took the chambermaid’s hand in hers. “We have the loss of our mothers in common, at least.”

“Aye, that we do, miss.”

“But not everyone will disappoint you.” Dominique swallowed as she said a silent prayer. “There is someone you can depend on who will never let you down.”

“And who might that be?” Larena cocked a disbelieving brow.

“God, of course.”

Larena withdrew her hand and snorted. “Begging your pardon, miss, but how can you say that after what has happened to you?”

Dominique stood and moved to the grate, holding her hands up to the heat that now flowed from it. “I don’t understand the tragedies that have befallen me. But somehow deep inside, I do know God is with me, and He will never leave me.”

She heard Larena sigh as her slippers scuffled over the floor. “I have emptied your chamber pot and brought you up some fresh water.”

“Thank you, Larena.” Dominique’s stomach rumbled as she turned to see the chambermaid approaching the door. “I hope I haven’t missed breakfast.”

“Oh no, miss, there are biscuits and tea in the morning room.” Larena opened the door and smiled.

“Is the admiral about?” Dominique dreaded running into him—especially after last night. She would not blame him for dismissing her at once after she’d nearly run him through with his own sword.

“Nay, he left before dawn, miss.”

Mrs. Hensworth appeared at the door. “Mr. Percy Atherton is downstairs, miss, requesting that he escort you and William to the park.”

Dominique strolled down Rotten Row, one hand squeezing William’s slender one and the other laid discreetly upon Mr. Atherton’s arm. “A lovely day.”

“Yes, with a promise of sunshine, I do believe.” Mr. Atherton gazed up into the gray mist that swirled above them.

“I do appreciate your escort, Mr. Atherton, but ’twas not necessary. My chambermaid or one of the footmen would surely have accompanied us.” Yet she really did not mind Mr. Atherton’s company. For some reason, she did not fear the reputable rogue, but after what had happened last night, she had no desire to upset the admiral, nor did she want any part of Mr. Atherton’s silly charade of jealousy.

“But what better way to get more acquainted, my dear?” Mr. Atherton tossed his shock of sandy hair behind him as a lady, who passed on their right, batted thick lashes at him from above a fan spread across her cheek.

“Acquaintance of yours?” Dominique grinned.

Mr. Atherton raised his brows. “She seems familiar, but I cannot recall her name.” He glanced at her over his shoulder then faced forward with a shrug. “Who can keep track?”

“Mr. Atherton”—Dominique sighed—“I had hoped you would have given our conversation the other night some deep consideration.”

“Our game with the admiral?”

“Nay. I would like to discuss that with you forthwith, but I was referring to our discussion on a higher purpose for your life.”

“Ah.” Mr. Atherton yanked on his cravat as if it choked him. “God and all that. Yes, I believe I have given it a
moment’s
thought.” His lips curved beneath his slick mustache.

“You are a rogue, indeed, Mr. Atherton.” Dominique giggled.

“At your service.” He nodded. “But pray tell, since you preach this grand purpose with such fervency, do favor me with a description of the task God has give you.”

Dominique could tell by the twist of his lips that he intended to trap her with his question. “You are not here by accident, Mr. Atherton. When you submit to God, you become a part of His kingdom, and He leads you daily down the path He has preordained for you to follow.”

“I already serve a king, and I daresay he is quite a buffoon.”

“I do not speak of His Majesty, George III; I speak of the King of kings, the all-wise and all-powerful Creator of the world. I assure you, you will not find Him a buffoon.” Dominique paused, expecting a retort, but he simply strode along, gazing into the distance.

“He cares more for your character than your image,” she continued. “He cares more for your inner strength, your goodness, your patience, your self-control than He does your wealth, title, or outward appearance. His plan encompasses all of eternity, not just our time on this earth.”

Mr. Atherton remained quiet.

“Miss Dawson, Miss Dawson.” William tugged on her arm. “When can we stop and have our picnic?”

“Soon, William; we are almost there.” She gave his hand a squeeze and smiled at the youthful glow on his face. It had been a wonderful idea of Mrs. Hensworth’s to take a small basket of biscuits, apples, and cheese down to serpentine Lake at Hyde Park. Dominique couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed an outing at the park. Years ago—a lifetime ago when the world had been different and Marcel hadn’t been much older than William.

Her nightmare surged to the forefront of her mind, sending a chill over her. She tightened her shawl around her shoulders, her heart collapsing at the thought that her dear brother might already be dead.
No. Lord, please do not let it be so.
she had to believe her plan had worked. She had to believe they wanted the information she possessed more than they wanted her brother dead. If her hunch was correct, then no doubt the slimy Frenchman would make himself known to her soon in order to confirm their upcoming meeting. She must be on the alert for him whenever she was about in public.

“Are you quite well, Miss Dawson?” Mr. Atherton asked. “You are trembling.”

“Just a bit cold.” Dominique gazed over the long walkway beside the park. Pink and white cherry blossoms budded on trees lining the row, emitting a sweet scent that attempted to mask the smell of horse manure saturating the air.

Despite the early hour, several of London’s high society strolled about in their finest morning attire. Out on the main thoroughfare, horses pranced by, gentlemen perched atop them like kings gazing down upon their subjects. A gentleman with a lady on each arm eased by them on their left, his eyes grazing over Dominique. Two ladies in muslin carriage gowns giggled up ahead, flashing their fans over their lips as they flirted with a man on horseback who had slowed to smile in their direction.

“ ’Tis Father,” William announced, pointing in the distance.

Dominique gazed up to see the admiral astride a silky black
steed trotting toward them, his imperious gaze locked upon her. Her stomach constricted into a tight ball as he reined in the high-spirited horse beside them. Muscular thighs filled out a pair of tawny pantaloons that were tucked within his black Hessian boots. He adjusted his brown riding coat and pierced her with his gaze yet said nothing. A sudden heat swept over her, and she loosened her shawl and lowered her eyes, wondering where his thoughts took him—to their kiss or to the blade she’d pointed at his chest?

Mr. Atherton leaned toward her ear. “Now we shall have him.”

Have him? Dominique cringed. Did she wish to have him? Certainly not in the way Mr. Atherton referred to. Her face heated. What was she thinking? she didn’t wish to have the admiral at all.

“Father.” William released Dominique’s hand and barreled toward the admiral, stopping to clutch the stirrup. “Can I ride with you, Father?”

The admiral’s stern gaze shot over Mr. Atherton, then Dominique, like a carronade taking aim, and finally landed on his son. “Nay, William. Not now. I must be off to the Admiralty.”

He leaned on the pommel and tightened one corner of his mouth. “I was not aware you were escorting Miss Dawson this morning, Percy.”

“We are having a picnic, Father, by the serpentine,” William announced with exuberance. He tugged on the stirrup, sending the horse clomping to the side. “Can you join us?”

“Blast it all, William. Step back,” the admiral barked as he settled down the agitated animal. “As I have told you, I have business to attend to.”

William lowered his sun-flecked lashes and kicked the dirt before scampering back to Dominique. She pulled him into an embrace and felt a shudder run through him that sped straight to her heart. Fighting back her embarrassment at seeing the admiral again, she leveled a harsh stare upon him. Why did he have to be so insensitive with the boy?

The admiral’s face softened. “Another day, I promise, William.”

The boy peeked past Dominique’s skirts and nodded at his father.

“I trust you have no objection to my becoming better acquainted with Miss Dawson?” Mr. Atherton gave her a feigned look of adoration and placed her gloved hand back in the crook of his elbow.

The steed snorted, although Dominique couldn’t be sure the grotesque sound hadn’t come from the admiral. His normally handsome face twisted into a purple mass.

“Upon my word, Percy, do as you please.” He glanced down the lane as if bored with the conversation then shifted in his saddle. “I would caution you, however, not to kiss the lady when your sword is within reach.” His dark eyes traveled to Dominique, a roguish grin lifting his lips.

Dominique’s breath quickened. She smiled down at William then gazed over the cherry trees and brushed a hand across her muslin gown—anything to avoid looking at the admiral.

Mr. Atherton’s brow wrinkled as he glanced between them. “Indeed, I shall keep that in mind. However, there’s a play at the Drury this weekend. I’d like to take Miss Dawson. Why don’t you escort your sister and Lady Irene, and we can make an evening out of it?”

Dominique nudged Mr. Atherton with her elbow. Certainly the last thing she needed was for him to further infuriate the admiral.

The admiral’s face swelled and reddened again. He turned aside and coughed.

“Unless you prefer I take Miss Dawson alone?” Mr. Atherton faced Dominique. “Yes, perhaps that would be best, my love. Then we shall become even better acquainted.”

“I would be delighted,” the admiral shouted in a tone that bore no resemblance to delight. “Now if you will excuse me.” Without so much as a nod or a good-bye, he kicked the stallion’s sides and charged down the road.

Chase stomped into the boardroom at the Admiralty, unable to focus on anything save the vision of Miss Dawson’s hand upon Percy’s arm as they strolled down Rotten Row with his son. How
dare she kiss Chase with such passion the night before and then be so familiar with another man the very next day?
Women.
As fickle and unpredictable as the sea—but unlike the sea, they used trickery and deceit to gain control over men. The sea might someday take his life beneath its violent waves, but he would be a bird-witted sop before he would allow another woman to sink his heart beneath waves of despair. Did he fault Melody for dying? Perhaps he did, along with God and the rest of the world for taking her so quickly from him.

Yes, he must get back to sea.

He examined the faces of the Admiralty Board—staunch, aged faces circling the table, all eyes leveled upon him.

Late again.

“Nice of you to join us, Admiral Randal.” Lord Elliot snickered.

Chase plunged into his chair.

“And in a far worse humor than usual, I might add.” Mr. Garthshore chortled from his right.

Chase sighed and examined the pompous admirals and politicians all decked in their finest. The First Lord of the Admiralty, Admiral Jervis, sat hunched over some documents.

“What news of Troubridge?” Chase asked. “Has he recovered yet?”

“Anxious to leave us so soon?” Admiral Markham leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands together in front of him.

“You know I prefer the sea,” Chase mumbled.

“I fear you shan’t be leaving us anytime soon, Admiral Randal.” Old Jarvie raised his face from the parchment before him. “Not until you uncover the spy in your midst.” He tossed down his pen and stood. “It is preposterous to think a French spy could make his way into your home. This does not bode well for your future in His Majesty’s Navy.”

Chase grimaced and gulped down a burst of angry fear. “I have yet to determine if there even is a spy in my home, sir. Perhaps your informant was misled.”

“Yet you told us some of the Admiralty documents are missing, did you not?”

“Yes.” They had gone missing. That much was true, but he still found it difficult to believe he had not seen through sebastian’s or any of his staff’s betrayal. Memories of another betrayal shoved to the forefront of his thoughts—a betrayal long ago when Chase, as a new post captain, had assumed command of the HMS
Indomitable
. Young and naive, he had not expected his best friend and first lieutenant to attempt a mutiny against him. The scar on Chase’s cheek began to burn, and he rubbed it. Since then, he had vowed never to trust anyone again. Now this—under his own roof. What was wrong with him? Had he grown lax since Melody’s death? Perhaps it was that flighty little governess who had muddled his brain.