Mission to Love (Brothers in Arms Book 14) Page 2

  The jibe made Very pull away from Simon with a frown. She grabbed Wolf’s arm before he could say anything. “Sir Barnabas, you really must stop trying to bait my husband,” she scolded him. “It is good to see you, too. Give Mrs. Jones and Lord Wetherald my love.”

  She grinned at him. Very was a tall, robust woman, with dark hair and rosy cheeks and the combative temperament of a Valkyrie. Unlike her husband, she had come to terms with Sir Barnabas and his past. Simon had often thought that if she and Sir Barnabas had met in another time and place, they would have ruled the world together.

  Sir Barnabas just crooked his lip and raised a brow at her public reminder of his very personal, unconventional romantic entanglements.

  “Indeed,” he said. “Good afternoon.” He bowed his head again, and like a shadow fleeing the sun was gone in a breath.

  Chapter 3

  “What did he look like?” Mrs. Christy Manderley asked, leaning forward in her chair and pinning her dear friend Daniel with a sharp look. She could feel a frown creasing her forehead and didn’t care. “Was he gaunt? Pale as death? Bruised? Battered? Starved? Had they shorn his hair? His glorious hair?” She bit her trembling lip. She had loved Simon’s hair. The feel of it in her hands as he kissed her. The color of it, like wheat after the rain.

  “For God’s sake, are you done?” Daniel snapped impatiently. “You know, you could have met us at the dock. We did send word of our arrival.”

  “No, I couldn’t,” she said, taking a deep breath and leaning back in the chair, pretending a calmness she was far from feeling. “It wouldn’t have been seemly. And you didn’t answer my question.”

  “Which one?” asked her ex-husband, Harry Ashbury, his voice full of amusement. “The one about his glorious hair?” She turned and glared at his smirk. “You never told me my hair was glorious when we were married.”

  “Because I didn’t think it was glorious, then or now,” Christy told him plainly, not meaning to be unkind. “Ours was never that kind of marriage.”

  She knew other women had always found Harry attractive, men as well, but he had always just been Harry to her. She thought him tall and gangly and awkward, and since he’d come back from America, his missing eye was difficult for her. Sometimes she still had trouble knowing where to look when she was speaking to him. Everyone thought him tall and handsome and dashing and mysterious. What rot. Now that she thought about it her lack of attraction to Harry should have been an indication of their unsuitability.

  “And what about your current marriage?” Daniel asked sarcastically, tapping his fingers on his desk. “Not to Simon, I might add. Does Robert have glorious hair, Mrs. Manderley?”

  “Yes.” The fact was her husband did indeed have glorious hair. Not in the same way as Simon’s, whose hair was soft as silk and blond. Robert’s hair was thick and slightly coarse, a dark chestnut color that gleamed like copper when the sun hit it just right. She did like his hair on a sunny day.

  “Christ,” she heard Daniel mutter, and she looked back at him and blinked a couple of times to bring him into focus. He had his head on the desk and was gently bouncing it against the polished wood. “She’s daydreaming about both of them.”

  “Oh, stop being so melodramatic,” she told him with a dismissive sniff. “You should have pursued a career on the stage.” She knew Daniel quite well now, after spending months in his company in Scotland waiting out the divorce with him and Harry. What an odd little family they’d made together.

  Harry choked with laughter. “Spying is somewhat similar, my dear,” he said.

  “You are not amusing,” Daniel told Harry, but Christy could hear the affection in his voice.

  She wasn’t sorry she’d divorced Harry so he could be with Daniel and she could marry Robert. She and Harry had married so young, and been so ill suited. Their Scottish divorce had hardly raised a brow in London since Harry had deserted her the day after their wedding and when he returned ten years later she was seven months pregnant.

  Everyone assumed the child was Robert’s since they’d married immediately after the divorce was final, but of course little Christian was not Robert’s. He was the son of a lowly coachman whom Harry had paid well to move to America and keep his mouth shut. Really, Harry was the best friend Christy had ever had, or ever would have, Robert included.

  It was really too bad that she’d had the misfortune to meet and fall in love with Simon at the same time she’d met and fallen in love with Robert. Life was really terribly unfair, wasn’t it? Ten years alone without a single gentleman of distinction anywhere, and as soon as she got pregnant from a misalliance—a very disagreeable lapse in judgment—two perfectly wonderful gentlemen appear. Really, how was she supposed to fall in love with just one? It was probably just as well that Simon hadn’t wanted her. It made the choosing that much easier.

  Robert had seen her tendre for Simon before he’d asked Christy to marry him. She had put that aside as any woman with a conscience would have done upon marriage. Robert had never asked her about it nor indicated in any way that he did not trust her or suspected she still had feelings for Simon. She would not betray his trust in such a fashion. But surely asking about Simon’s well-being after such an adventure as he’d recently survived was not a betrayal of trust?

  “Christy, stop worrying about Simon,” Daniel told her. He rose from his seat and limped over to gingerly lower himself into the chair beside her. He’d gone and got himself shot while rescuing Simon. It was a good thing he hadn’t been too injured to get Simon away from those awful pirates. “He was a little weak and a little worse for wear, but he will recover,” he assured her.

  “What does that mean, worse for wear?” she asked. She didn’t even try to temper the shrillness creeping into her voice. “What is worse and who was wearing it?”

  Harry smiled at her and she calmed a bit. He always played straight with her, as he put it. In other words, he told her the truth and didn’t treat her like a simpleton or a child, as most men did. It was true men tended to treat women with a certain level of disdain, but Christy was frequently subject to a higher degree of it. She assumed it was her appearance. She was petite, with piles of black hair and big blue eyes, and her rosy cheeks stood out against her white skin. She looked like a caricature of a china doll. It was quite vexing. She hated it. She fervently wished she looked like an Amazon, like Mrs. Tarrant. No one treated Veronica Tarrant like a simpleton. If they did, she knocked them silly, Christy was sure.

  “I just meant that he was tired, a little bruised, thinner, yes, but not starving,” Harry explained. “And as far as I could tell, every hair was still on his head.” He glanced over at Daniel, and in that glance Christy could see that he wasn’t telling her something.

  “What?” she asked, reaching out and gripping Daniel’s arm. “What aren’t you telling me?” She shook his arm. “Tell me. Tell me right now.”

  “They branded his back.” Daniel sat back in his chair with a sigh. “A big awful slash of a brand down and across his back.” He slashed his hand in the air to demonstrate, and Christy’s gaze fixed on his hand hanging in the air. Curiously, the longer she stared, black crept in around his hand, surrounding it until the sight of it winked out completely.

  “Christy? Christy, are you all right? Can you hear me? Damn it, Daniel, did you have to tell her like that? You know how sensitive she is.” Harry’s voice seemed to be coming from far away.

  “Sensitive? Christy?” She heard Daniel snort in disbelief. “There was a time I might have believed that corker, but I’ve lived with the woman. She’s as sensitive as I am, which is to say, not at all.”

  She felt something press against her lips.

  “Here, drink this. Whiskey usually does the trick.”

  “I never faint,” Christy insisted, hating how weak her voice sounded. She shoved ineffectually at the glass pressing against her lips, mumbling her words. “You are forever trying to pour spirits down my throat,” she protested. She took a sip just to
get him to leave her alone.

  “Well, this is the second time you’ve fainted in my drawing room, not that I’m counting,” Daniel corrected her. “And if you’d stop fainting on my carpet I wouldn’t waste my good whiskey on you.”

  She looked up at him dubiously as Harry helped her back up into her chair. Daniel was finishing the whiskey in one swallow.

  “I think you pour the whiskey for yourself and use me as an excuse.” Christy patted her hair into place and curled her hand into a fist when her stupid fingers wouldn’t stop trembling.

  “Guilty as charged,” Daniel said unrepentantly.

  Christy would love to be that blasé about her own transgressions, but the world was not weighted equally when it came to the trespasses of men and women. She ought to know. Her mother-in-law still hadn’t spoken a single word to her in almost eight months of marriage, and refused to acknowledge Christian’s existence even though dear Robert had given him the Manderley name. There would be no forgiveness from that quarter.

  She pushed aside those useless thoughts and forced herself to confront the ugly news that had upset her so a moment ago. Really, she was being ridiculous. She hadn’t even gotten queasy at childbirth. The only other time she’d fainted was when she’d nearly been kidnapped by would-be assassins, and honestly it was more likely that not eating that day had caused her temporary lack of control rather than fright. Her nature was far too practical for fainting.

  Not that her husband knew that.

  Poor Robert had rescued her from her kidnappers that night almost a year ago, and to him she was still the delicate flower who fainted in fright. She simply hadn’t been able to bring herself to correct his first impression. That was the woman he’d asked to marry him, and if that was the woman he wanted, then that was the woman he deserved, no matter how irritating she found the role she was forced to play. Robert was the dearest, sweetest, most wonderful man on earth, who had offered for her hand at a time when she was desperate. How could she disappoint him by showing her true colors?

  “How bad is the…the brand?” she asked, her voice only squeaking a little on the last word. She blinked away the spots in front of her eyes. She would have to remember that Simon seemed to be her weakness. It wouldn’t do to show that in front of Robert.

  “Bearable,” Harry said quickly, grabbing the glass from Daniel’s hand and frowning at him when he saw it was empty. He shoved it back at Daniel, who just shrugged.

  “You are both being very tiresome,” Christy snapped, pushing Harry’s hands away as he ostensibly tried to comfort her, or hold her steady or some such nonsense. “If you’d just tell me what was going on instead prevaricating, perhaps I wouldn’t think the worst and act accordingly!”

  “I see,” Daniel drawled, pouring himself another whiskey. “Somehow, in typical female fashion, this is our fault.”

  “Don’t ‘typical female fashion’ me,” Christy said, narrowing her eyes at him. “This is your fault.” She slashed her hand through the air. “You were trying to assault my sensibilities with those theatrics and you know it. Now stop it.”

  “Motherhood has made you shrill,” Daniel said. He flipped his coattails out masterfully before sitting down behind his desk.

  “Don’t be a fishwife,” she snapped back. She turned to Harry, who was laughing at them, as usual. “Now, how bad is it? You told me you’d deal it plain, didn’t you?”

  “I did,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry. It isn’t pretty. But it’s healing, which is good. The ship’s doctor had a salve that worked wonders. Says he uses it for the men who are served the lash.” Christy shuddered. “But he’s still very tender, and from what I know of burns it will be a constant reminder of his ordeal.”

  “That’s terrible,” Christy whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “Poor Simon.” She pounded her fist against her thigh. “I wish Sir Barnabas James to Hades! Why did he have to get Simon involved in his personal vendettas?”

  “Don’t blame Barnabas,” Daniel said with a sigh. “Simon was looking for trouble, and he would have found it somewhere with or without Barnabas’s help. I was actually relieved when I found out he was doing something for Barnabas. That usually means a fair bit of backup.”

  He ran his hand through his hair, an uncharacteristically frustrated gesture for Daniel. “Christ, it’s hot. I wish I’d known what the two of them were about. I could have solved the whole problem without any of this mess.”

  “Or not,” Harry said. “You don’t know that. It could have been you we were rescuing. What’s done is done. And no one is to blame. Understood?” He looked between Christy and Daniel. “Understood?” he asked again when neither one answered.

  “Understood,” Christy muttered.

  “I don’t have to answer to you,” Daniel said mulishly. “Are you going to go see him?” he asked Christy, changing the subject.

  “Oh,” she said, startled. “Oh, no, I shouldn’t. No.” She shook her head vigorously. “I don’t think he’d like that. Do you? No. That wouldn’t be a good idea.” She paused. “Should I? No. Really? Why?”

  “I think he’d like to see you,” Harry said. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea either, but I do think he’d like to see you.”

  “Why?” she asked again, worrying her bottom lip. She’d bitten the poor thing into a sorry state of affairs the last few weeks. “I mean, why isn’t it a good idea?”

  “Are you truly asking that question?” Daniel asked incredulously. “Let’s see. One, you’re married to Robert.” He ticked the item off on one finger. “Two, you’re married to Robert.” He ticked off another finger. “Any way you look at it, that seems to be the main issue here.”

  “I’m surprised you feel that strongly about my marriage,” she said, genuinely taken aback at his vehemence. “I mean, you have so many friends who are…who are…” She searched for a polite way to put it.

  “Engaged in illicit liaisons with persons who are not their spouse? Engaging in them with their spouse? Wait,” Harry said, holding up his hand, “engaged, in the company of their spouse, in illicit liaisons with persons who are not their spouse. There,” he offered helpfully, dropping his hand. “I think that’s it.”

  “In love with more than one person was what I was going to say,” Christy corrected, blushing.

  “Yes, well, we are not in Rome,” Daniel said sternly. “We are English, after all.”

  “That makes no sense at all,” Christy said impatiently. “What have the Italians got to do with it? I don’t even know any. And you and Harry are lovers, and heaven knows that sort of thing isn’t English at all.”

  “It is far more English than most Englishmen admit,” Harry said with a chuckle.

  Daniel tried to steer the conversation back. “Do not go see Simon. That was the point I was trying to make.”

  “Well then, say what you mean,” Christy told him, exasperated. She slumped in her chair. “And I won’t. I said I wasn’t, didn’t I? That’s why I’m here, not that you two are being very helpful.”

  “Where is Robert?” Daniel asked. Christy could tell he meant why wasn’t Robert keeping an eye on her. She ground her teeth together. Daniel was worse than the old squire’s wife back home.

  “He’s working, of course. He’s been gone almost all the time for the last several weeks. A difficult case, he says. He assures me it isn’t dangerous, but I know it is. He’s a constable, after all.” She clasped her hands with a sigh. “I really didn’t think how hard it would be to be the wife of constable. It is worrisome, isn’t it?”

  “I’m sure he’s fine, Christy,” Daniel told her, concern in his voice. She sat up straight as she smiled at him. They might bicker like family, but he cared about her, too, and it warmed her heart. He and Robert had been friends since they were children growing up together. He worried as much as she did.

  “Of course you’re right,” she told him brightly, hiding her concern. Between Robert’s mysterious case and Simon’s kidnapping and Christian
’s teething, Christy hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks.

  “Stay for supper,” Harry told her.

  “Yes, stay.” Daniel tried to cross his legs and winced.

  “Oh, Daniel,” she said with a little tsk. “Do remember you got shot.”

  “Yes, Daniel,” Harry said, “do remember.”

  “There is a distinct lack of sympathy in this room,” Daniel grumbled.

  “Well, Harry already lost an eye,” Christy said prosaically. “What’s a little shot to the leg?” Daniel’s problems seemed so simple.

  “Madam,” he said, raising his refilled glass of whiskey, “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

  Chapter 4

  “Manderley! What’s the problem here?”

  Robert sighed and took a moment to compose his features. He wiped his forehead before turning around to face the senior constable at the scene.

  “Nothing is amiss, sir,” he responded with a polite nod of his head in greeting and a slim smile. Always polite, that was him. Nary a word of complaint or rebuke from Robert Manderley, no sir. He was a man’s man, a good sort who’d do the work his superiors were incapable of doing.

  He sighed. The hot weather had them all on edge. He tucked his handkerchief away.

  “Take care of that, eh?” Mr. Clythehorn turned away with a dismissive hand and Robert instinctively responded with a, “Yes, sir.”

  Now what the bloody hell had he agreed to? He really needed to pay more attention. Christy was rubbing off on him.

  At the thought of his sweet wife, he smiled to himself. Christy was always lost in her daydreams it seemed. It was a wonder she remembered what day of the week it was and where she’d put the baby.

  He looked back at his assistant, Thom Longfellow. Thom just nodded at him with a wink. Good, Thom had it under control. Good man, Thom.

  Robert returned his attention to the body on the ground. This one made ten. Ten young pickpockets, scruffy lads of the streets with their throats slit, left to bleed out in back alleys where they wouldn’t be found until the stench gave them away, and the rats and the elements had made it impossible to identify them. This one was the exception. This boy had only been dead perhaps a day, maybe two at the most. The hot temperatures did not mix well with dead bodies, however, and while still identifiable, the stench was almost unbearable.