Valiant Soldier, Beautiful Enemy (14 page)

He put his hand over hers. “Do not fear,” he murmured. “He cannot hurt you.”

She looked up into his eyes and he could almost think that the connection he’d believed they had in Brussels had returned and was real.

He led her through the hallways to the rooms housing the Home Office. She shrank back as he opened the door.

A clerk sat behind a desk, looking very much like the clerk who sat behind the desk in the War Office. The man raised his eyes. “Yes?”

Emmaline stood behind Gabe. He could feel the stiffening of her muscles. She was bracing herself to see Edwin again.

Gabe inclined his head. “Edwin Tranville, please.”

The clerk glanced down again. “Edwin Tranville is not here.”

“When might we expect him?” Gabe asked.

“Never,” the clerk said. “He will not be back.”

Emmaline moved forwards. “Did something happen to him?”

“No.” The man regarded her with a puzzled but admiring expression. He glanced down again and restacked the papers in front of him. “Lord Sidmouth gave him the sack.”

Emmaline looked at Gabe. “What does this mean, ‘gave him the sack’?”

“Terminated his employment,” the clerk answered. “Mr Tranville failed to fulfil his responsibilities.”

Somehow this was not a surprise. It was more bewildering that Sidmouth had hired Edwin in the first place.

“Is Mr Landon here, then?” Perhaps Allan would know where to find Edwin.

The clerk laughed drily. “Not since he married an heiress and no longer needs to work.”

Allan married? And to an heiress? Lucky woman. He was the best of men and would make the best of husbands.

“Do you know where I might find Tranville?” Gabe asked. “Does he reside with his father, Lord Tranville?”

The man shrugged. “He lives at the Albany.”

“Thank you.” Gabe nodded to the man.

When they walked out the door, Emmaline seized his arm. “Gabriel, is Edwin Tranville’s father a lord?”

“He is.”

She whispered, “This makes it worse for Claude.”

Always Claude. Anger twisted inside Gabe and he hated feeling it. He did not wish to feel a rivalry with her son.

“Will we go to this Albany?” she asked.

He shrugged. “It is a logical next step.” And not too much more exertion on Gabe’s part, before he could end this charade.

Their walk to the Albany on Piccadilly reminded Gabe of their strolls through Brussels’ streets, but only in contrast. Gone was the ease between them, the pleasure of merely walking at her side. Still, he was struck with the odd feeling of how right it seemed that they walked together again.

He must take care. It was startling how easily his fantasies about her grew. He must not forget that her sole purpose was to save her son and she would do anything to rescue him from his folly.

Even marry.

Gabe tried to keep that thought in his head. It helped ward off fanciful musings.

The Albany was a popular bachelor residence for the aristocracy, so it stood to reason top-lofty Edwin would live there.

When they reached Piccadilly, Emmaline remarked, “There are many shops here.”

Gabe made a sarcastic smile. “Did not your Napoleon call England a nation of shopkeepers?”

“He is not my Napoleon,” she snapped. Her voice turned low. “Never
my
Napoleon.”

The Albany was set back from the street, a three-storey house flanked on two sides of a courtyard by wings two storeys high. They crossed the courtyard, Emmaline receiving curious and appreciative glances from the young gentlemen they passed. Gabe disliked their open admiration.

He led her through the main doorway and found a servant attending the hall.

“Is Edwin Tranville here?” Gabe asked the man.

“Cannot say,” he answered. “I do not know of all the comings and goings. Shall I send someone to his room?”

“Please,” Gabe answered.

The man made a vague gesture towards the wall. “You may wait here.”

Gabe endured Emmaline receiving more leering glances by men who passed by. She nervously fingered the front of her dress, which did nothing to keep him from thinking about how pleasurable it had once been to undress her.

“I do not wish to see him,” she murmured.

Gabe’s compassion was sparked again. “If you like, I can escort you back to your hotel and return here later.”

She shook her head. “I do not wish to delay.”

Two men crossed the hall and this time their glances at Emmaline were plainly lascivious. Gabe nearly stepped forwards to defend her.

He controlled the impulse. It would help nothing to engage impertinent young men in fisticuffs.

Finally the servant returned, another man accompanying him.

This man approached them. “You asked for Mr Tranville?”

Gabe nodded. “We did.”

“Mr Tranville is not here. I am his man. May I ask the reason you are calling upon him?”

Gabe responded, “I served with him in the Royal Scots.”

The valet looked at Emmaline and raised his brows.

Good God. Even a valet was being insulting. Gabe glared at him. “My betrothed accompanies me at my request. Do you have some objection?”

The valet’s cheeks turned bright red. “I beg your pardon, Captain.”

“When will Mr Tranville return?” Gabe demanded.

The valet pulled on his collar. “I do not know precisely. He has travelled out of town. I am awaiting instructions from him whether he wishes me to follow him.”

Gabe frowned. He should have known Edwin would make this complicated. “Where is he?”

“I do not know precisely,” the valet answered. “I am awaiting his direction.”

“Non!”
Emmaline exclaimed.

Gabe spoke quickly. “Someone must know where Tranville went. Is there anyone here who might know?”

The valet shook his head. “I do not know if he is acquainted with anyone here.”

“But we must find him!” cried Emmaline.

Gabe put a stilling hand on her arm. “Is his father in London at present?”

“I do not believe so,” the valet answered. “I believe he is at his estate.”

Gabe turned to Emmaline. “It is no use.”

She looked stricken, but there was nothing more they could do here now. She held back, but finally nodded. She took his arm and they started to walk towards the door.

The valet called after them, “Mr Tranville’s cousin resides in London. Perhaps she knows where he is.”

Emmaline’s fingers squeezed Gabe’s arm. Her expression turned hopeful.

“Where may we find her?”

The valet gave them her direction on Bryanston Street. “Her name is Miss Pallant.”

Gabe and Emmaline walked out of the Albany and back to Piccadilly Street.

“May we call upon this Miss Pallant?” Emmaline asked him.

He felt as if in a snare, but one he’d chosen to walk into. “We may go there as soon as you wish.”

“Now, Gabriel?” Her eyes pleaded.

“Now, Emmaline.”

Chapter Nine

E
mmaline leaned back against the worn leather of the hackney coach, grateful to Gabriel for hiring it. Her feet hurt from trying to keep pace with him when they walked. When they’d strolled through Brussels he’d never walked so fast.

She supposed she ought not to repine too much about Brussels and how rapturous her time with him had been. Matters were so altered between them now.

His reaction to her bargain to become his wife had not been at all what she had expected. She thought she was offering him what he desired, but it only seemed to make him angrier at her. Did he not know that if it were not for Claude, she would have married him long ago?

She touched the ring she wore beneath her dress, the one that reminded her daily of how important to her he had been.

And still was.

Sitting next to him in the carriage was difficult. She could feel the heat of his body, inhale his scent, feel every breath he took, every flexing of muscle. Being so close reminded her of tangled sheets and naked skin and the glorious nights she’d spent enfolded in his arms.

Now he avoided touching her and the space between them on the carriage seat seemed to crackle with unpleasant emotions.

The coach stopped and he glanced out the window. “We are here.”

He opened the door and climbed out, turning to offer her his hand. She felt a shock of awareness when his glove touched hers. Her senses came alive to him and she wished they were still in Brussels, closing the lace shop, crossing the yard to her little house and climbing the steps to her bed chamber.

Instead, he led her to the door of a townhouse, the residence of this Miss Pallant who was Edwin Tranville’s
cousine.
The town house was built of dark-grey brick with a red-brick fan design above windows with white sashes. What would an English house look like inside? What would the mistress of such a house think of a Frenchwoman whose son planned to kill her cousin?

She shuddered.

Gabriel sounded the knocker and after a few minutes it was opened by a large man who looked more like a soldier than a servant.

Before the man could speak Gabriel cried, “Good God. Reilly?”

A wide smile lit the man’s face. “Captain Deane!”

The two men shook hands like long-lost brothers.

“Come in. Come in.” Reilly stepped aside. “It is a pleasure to see you, sir.”

“What the devil are you doing here?” Gabriel ushered her inside.

Reilly laughed. “I’m the butler here, if you can believe that.”

“The butler?” Gabriel shook his head.

“My lady found me when I was as low as a man can get. No job. No food. Thinking of turning to thievery, I was.” He paused. “But never mind that. I expect you are here to see—”

At that moment another man, more finely dressed, entered the hall. “Who’s come, Reilly? I heard voices.”

“Allan?” Gabriel sounded shocked.

“Gabe!” This man rushed forwards and embraced Gabriel. “Thought I’d lost track of you. But you found me. I’m so pleased.”

“Indeed.”

This appeared to be a joyful reunion, so Emmaline was happy for Gabriel. She just hoped it would also mean they would find the cousin who could lead them to Edwin Tranville.

Gabriel’s friend glanced at her with a curious expression and Gabriel seemed to belatedly remember her presence.

He took her arm and presented her. “Allan, this is Madame Mableau.”

Allan looked even more curious.
“Madame.”
He bowed.

“Do you not recognise her?” Gabriel asked.

Emmaline’s brows rose. Was she supposed to know this man?

Allan shook his head.

Gabriel darted a glance towards the butler before turning back to his friend and speaking in a low voice. “She is the woman from Badajoz.” He turned to her. “Emmaline, this is Captain Allan Landon. He was there.”

She gasped. In Badajoz. He must have been the one who carried Edwin Tranville away. “Captain Landon.”

The Captain’s eyes widened. “
Madame!
My God. I hope you are well—” He examined her again. “But you must be well. You look so lovely. Why are you here?”

“I fear we are in the wrong house.” She wanted to find Edwin Tranville’s cousin, but Gabriel was so happy to see his friend. If she knew the correct house, she would call upon the cousin alone.

Gabriel explained. “We thought this the residence of Miss Marian Pallant.”

Landon looked even more puzzled. “It is, but—” He tapped his forehead. “Forgive me. Let us sit. Have refreshment.”

“I’ll tend to it, Captain,” Reilly said.

Landon offered Emmaline his arm and led them to a drawing room, a comfortable room, with upholstered sofas and chairs of the best brocade. Porcelain figurines, a matched set of a shepherd and shepherdess, decorated the mantelpiece. They might have come from the finest china shop in Brussels.

“Please sit,” Landon said, leading her to a sofa. Gabriel remained standing.

She did not want to sit or have refreshment. “Please. Is Miss Pallant here? It is urgent that we speak to her.”

“Urgent?” Landon frowned. “What is this about?”

She turned to Gabriel. “How much may we tell him?”

Landon stiffened. “By God, you will tell me all of it if it involves my wife.”

“Your wife?” Gabriel blinked.

Landon fixed his gaze on him. “I am married to Marian Pallant.”

“The heiress.” Gabriel nodded. “Yes. They said at the Home Office you had married an heiress.”

Landon folded his arms across his chest. “Why were you at the Home Office and why was my wife being discussed there?”

“Do not tell him.” Emmaline rose. “Perhaps we cannot trust him.”

Gabriel put his hand on her arm. “Allan, we are looking for Edwin. His valet sent us here.”

Landon’s eyes narrowed, his expression angry. “Edwin.” He looked at Emmaline. “Why do you wish to see Edwin? After what he did—”