Desire

Chapter Seventeen

Lucian stared blindly down at a dossier compiled about a dangerous French agent, not comprehending a word. Much of his intelligence work involved poring over boring reports, routinely searching for anomalies, coincidences, odd recurrences, clues- but he had never resented the tedium as much as now. He had weightier issues on his mind than enemies of the state: namely, his wife.

For the past week he’d spent a good deal of time at his offices, trying without success to distance himself in some measure from Brynn. He had yet to determine what to do about her lies. She still hadn’t told him of her pregnancy, which only served to underscore the shaky foundation of their marriage and rekindle his misgivings.

Adding to his disquiet was his recurring death dream. The nightmare had become more vivid and powerful than ever-of Brynn watching him die, perhaps even causing his death. What the significance of that grim image held, Lucian wasn’t certain, but it did nothing to allay his growing fear that he couldn’t trust her.

Realizing suddenly that he wasn’t alone, Lucian looked up from his desk to see Philip Barton standing in the doorway. Lucian forced a smile and invited his subordinate to enter.

To his surprise, rather than taking a seat as usual, Philip remained standing, his expression tight-lipped, his fingers agitatedly working the brim of his beaver hat.

Finally Philip spoke. “I greatly regret disappointing you, my lord. If you wish me to resign, you have only to say so.”

Lucian heard the misery in the younger man’s tone, but had no idea what might have caused it. He raised an eyebrow in puzzlement. “What the devil are you talking about? You haven’t disappointed me, as far as I know.”

“You didn’t trust me enough to divulge your changing the date of the latest gold shipment.”

Lucian felt a cold chill squeeze his chest. Events had been quiet of late, perhaps too quiet. Two shipments of gold bullion had been safely delivered to the allies on the Continent, and nothing had been heard from the treasonous Lord Caliban.

“I never changed the date,” Lucian said slowly. “Suppose you explain yourself.”

For the first time his subordinate looked confused. “But the letter…”

“What letter, man?” Lucian demanded impatiently.

“The letter you wrote authorizing the change in schedule.”

“I wrote no such letter.”

“My God…” An expression of horror seized Philip’s features. “The gold is gone, then… It was retrieved yesterday, on your order.”

Lucian rose to his feet, feeling dread boil up inside him. “I think I should see this letter.”

Delivering gold to fund the war effort was not a complex process: the London mint issued gold coinage, which was conveyed to the Bank of England and then shipped out under heavy guard to the Continent to meet troop payrolls and make payments to the countries of the Triple Alliance so they would continue to fight on Britain’s side. The transfer process had rarely failed until now.

The bank manager was unnerved to see Lord Wycliff and alarmed to think the gold had been consigned into the wrong hands. “But… but the l-letter of authorization seemed absolutely g-genuine,” he stammered.

“Allow me to see it, please,” Lucian demanded tersely.

With a murmur of distress, the manager signaled for an underling to fetch the letter. When it was presented in short order, Lucian grimly scanned the contents.

For purposes of national security, I am authorizing a change in date of the next scheduled shipment of gold. My agents will call the morning of October 5th at ten A.M. to receive the strongboxes.

Lucian Tremayne, Earl of Wycliff

His stomach roiling, Lucian passed the letter on to his subordinate. There was no question in his mind, though. The shipment was gone. Three strongboxes of new sovereigns-over a hundred thousand pounds’ worth-stolen effortlessly, without a drop of bloodshed or strife. No bloodshed yet, Lucian amended, his mouth tightening with fury. Such a sum would permit Napoleon’s armies to continue their slaughter of the allied forces for weeks.

“This does appear to have been written by you, my lord,” Philip said, his tone flat with dread.

“Yes,” Lucian replied through gritted teeth. “An excellent forgery.”

The manager wrung his hands in misery, looking as if he might cry. “I confess I thought the change odd, my lord, but the letter seemed to be in order- and it bore your seal.”

Taking the letter back, Lucian inspected the now-broken wax wafer, which had indeed been imprinted with the Wycliff seal. An imprecise warning thought teased the back of his mind, but before he could make sense of it, the manager launched into a spate of profuse apologies.

Brusquely Lucian thanked him and dismissed the man with a curt wave.

“Do you suppose it is the work of Caliban?” Philip asked when they were alone.

“Who else?” Lucian retorted grimly. “But he obviously had assistance from someone within our offices. Only two people besides you and myself knew when the next shipment was to take place, and I would trust both of them with my life.”

“Then who could have gained access to the schedule? And pulled off such a precise forgery?”

Lucian frowned. “One of our clerks might have accomplished it,” he said slowly. “Who wrote out the copy of the schedule?”

“None of the clerks, my lord. On your orders, I myself copied the original, but I had not yet delivered it to the bank. Both schedules are locked in my desk.”

“Locks can be picked, Philip. Which clerk usually performs such tasks?”

“Normally Jenkins,” Philip murmured, clearly dismayed.

“So he would have known the plans for the gold shipments that were stolen earlier this year? Before we took the responsibility from him?”

“It would seem so.”

Lucian turned abruptly on his heel.

“Where are you going, my lord?” Philip called after him.

“To hunt down our traitor.”

Evening had fallen by the time they researched an address and located the flat of Mr. Charles Jenkins, a senior clerk employed in the intelligence section of the Foreign Office. Lucian planned to withhold judgment until he could conduct an interrogation, but any doubts about the clerk’s complicity were dispelled the instant the door was opened; Jenkins took one look at his callers and bolted.

He reached a window and managed to raise the sash partway before Lucian caught him. Spinning the man around, Lucian threw him up against the wall and took hard hold of his cravat.

“Did no one ever tell you it is bad form to turn your back on visitors?” Lucian queried, his silken tone edged with steel.

Jenkins’s face contorted with fear as he panted out a question. “What… do you want, my lord?”

“I believe you have something to confess.”

“Confess? I don’t… know what… you mean-”

His grip tightening, Lucian twisted the cravat. Jenkins clawed at his throat but was no more forthcoming.

“Who paid you to forge the letter?” Lucian demanded, losing patience.

“What… letter?”

Enraged by the clerk’s brazen equivocation, Lucian hauled the man back to the window and shoved his head through the opening, giving him a good look at the dark cobblestone alley three floors below. “You’ll find it a long way down.”

Jenkins made a mewling sound.

“Tell me who hired you.”

“I can’t! He will kill me…”

“What do you think I intend to do to you?”

When the clerk only whimpered and shook his head, Lucian lifted him by the belt and shoved; his torso went through, then his hips. Lucian stopped shoving at midthigh, holding his victim solely by one ankle.

Jenkins screamed in terror as he found himself dangling over the precipice. “All right! I will tell you what I know!”

Lucian waited another moment before pulling the terrified clerk back inside. Jenkins sank to a trembling heap on the floor, holding his throat and eyeing his assaulter with dread.

“I advise you to keep to the truth,” Lucian said after a moment, when his rage was better under control. “You’ll be hanged for treason unless I can be persuaded to show leniency.”

The clerk visibly swallowed and nodded his head.

“Was it you who divulged the schedules of gold shipments months ago?”

“Y-yes, my lord.”

“I suppose you have an excuse for betraying your country and sending countless good men to their deaths?”

The clerk’s expression twisted into agony. “I never meant… I needed money badly to pay my debts… and my mother… They threatened her life, said they would kill her if I didn’t obey. I swear I didn’t realize the gold would end up in French hands.”

“You didn’t realize?” Lucian repeated contemptuously.

“No, I did not! I was only told to supply the schedule.”

“But you understood your crime quite well after the first theft, considering the uproar at the Foreign Office.”

Jenkins hung his head in shame. “Yes,” he whispered. “But by then it was too late. I was in too deep.”

“Very well, tell me who is masterminding the gold thefts.”

The clerk’s expression turned earnest. “I don’t know, my lord. I was merely an underling. I heard his name mentioned once-Lord Caliban-but I never saw him.”

“Someone must be giving you orders.”

“Someone did, yes. I received my instructions from a gentleman… Sir Giles Frayne…”

Lucian felt his heart lurch at the name, but he was spared from answering when Philip spoke for the first time. “Sir Giles has been dead for months.”

Involuntarily Lucian met his subordinate’s gaze. Philip was one of the few people who knew how Sir Giles had met his ignominious end.

Lucian glanced down at his hands that were suddenly unsteady. The memory of that bleak moment would always be etched in his mind. Killing his friend had unleashed something dark and primal within him, an ugliness he longed to forget. Yet he was prepared to kill again if it meant stopping the treacherous Caliban and his cohorts in treason.

“A convenient claim,” Lucian said finally, “now that Sir Giles is no longer alive to defend his name. How can you honestly expect me to believe you?”

“I have proof, my lord… if you wish to see it?”

“Yes.”

Keeping a wary eye on Lucian, the clerk struggled to his feet and went to one corner of the room. Lucian spared a glance around the spartan chamber, which held a cot, a desk, a chair and reading lamp, and a cabinet with a brazier for cooking. If Jenkins was being paid for treason, there was little luxury here to show for it.

Bypassing the desk, the clerk knelt and dug up a loose floorboard. Retrieving a leather pouch, he turned it over to Lucian. “They’re all here-all the instructions Sir Giles gave me for the past year.”

Lucian thumbed through the scraps of paper. “I see nothing to connect these to Sir Giles. You could have forged these just as you forged my letter.”

“But I didn’t, my lord, I swear it! I still have nearly all the money he gave me from the first time. A hundred pounds. Once I realized… I couldn’t spend it. I told Sir Giles I would no longer help. I pleaded- but he insisted. He said Caliban would kill my mother if I failed to do exactly as he asked.”

His expression held such sincere misery, Lucian was inclined to believe him. Moreover, he knew very well what treachery Giles had been capable of.

“If your contact is dead, how do you communicate now?”

“My instructions are left anonymously… in a flowerpot outside my door. I never see who leaves them.”

Lucian stared at him for a long moment, using his most intimidating scowl. The clerk visibly quailed but did not retract his story.

“Very well,” Lucian said at last. “Tell me about this letter of authorization you wrote. You forged my hand?”

“Yes, my lord. I obtained some of your correspondence and practiced for weeks.”

“How did you manage to get my seal?”

“I did not, exactly. I was supplied with several wax wafers with your seal already imprinted on them. It wasn’t difficult to transfer one to the letter. It requires only a hot brick and a razor-thin knife.”

“Someone must have acquired your seal ring,” Philip observed.

He kept a seal at his offices, Lucian reflected, and another in his study at home- He felt every muscle grow rigid as his mind flashed back to a morning some weeks ago when he’d found Brynn in his study with her brother. And the following day she had returned alone, claiming to be searching for a lost earring.

God’s mercy… Was that yet another lie? He wouldn’t put it past Sir Grayson to have stolen his seal, but Brynn? Was she involved in treason?

Lucian drew a sharp breath. His first instinct was to deny the possibility; his second, a desperate desire to shield her from discovery. She was his wife, the woman who carried his child. The one who owned his heart. It would devastate him to have to choose between her and his duty.

Lucian clenched his jaw, knowing he no longer had any objectivity where Brynn was concerned, yet he didn’t want Philip to know he suspected his wife of treason. At least not until he had proof. He would have to discover the truth from Brynn. Meanwhile her brother might very well be preparing to transport the gold to France…

Shaking himself from his stupor, Lucian eyed the trembling clerk. “You understand, I trust, the seriousness of your crime against the Crown? That the best I can do for you is to see that you are imprisoned or transported rather than hanged?”

“Yes, my lord,” Jenkins whispered. “I understand. I… I would be grateful if you would spare my life.”

“Mr. Barton here will see to your arrest. I suggest you gather whatever belongings will help ease your incarceration until your trial.”

“Th-thank you, my lord.”

When the clerk turned away, Lucian drew Philip aside. “I have a notion who might have had access to my seal,” he said in a low voice. “Sir Grayson Caldwell.”

Philip stared. “But that is…”

“My wife’s brother, I know. If Sir Grayson is the culprit, it’s possible this latest shipment of gold was taken to Cornwall, to be transported to France from there. Following him may be our only hope in finding it.”

“Yes, I concur,” Philip said slowly.

“I want you to take a half dozen of your best men and ride to Cornwall. Observe Sir Grayson from a distance, but do nothing to alert him that he is suspect. I don’t want you to show yourself at all, do I make myself clear?”

“I understand, my lord. You will be coming to Cornwall, as well?”

“Yes, I’ll follow you shortly. But I have a matter to resolve first,” Lucian said grimly. “One that can’t be delayed.”

It required all Lucian’s acting skills to rein in his emotions and refrain from confronting Brynn the moment he returned home. He wanted to shake the truth out of her, to plead with her to deny her complicity. Yet given her propensity for lies, he knew he was wiser to observe her reaction, to see if she would reveal her guilt. He could only pray she would allay his dark suspicions.

When he arrived, he went straight to his rooms and began to pack, not calling his valet because he didn’t want an audience.

He sensed Brynn’s presence even before she spoke; she had entered his bedchamber through their connecting door.

“Is something wrong, Lucian? You are so late, I had begun to worry.”

“Yes, there is something very much wrong,” he answered tersely, scarcely giving her a glance. “Another shipment of gold has been stolen.”

She frowned. “Another one?”

Lucian stopped his packing and gave her a level look. “The circumstances are different from the earlier times-actually worse. My seal ring was brazenly used to forge a letter that authorized handing over the gold to the thieves.”

“Your seal ring?” Her voice dropped to a mere whisper.

He forced his expression to remain impassive. “Yes, mine. It implicates me in treason.”

Her hand went to her throat. “Surely not… No one would believe you had anything to do with stealing government gold.”

“Perhaps not, but it will behoove me to catch the thieves as soon as possible.”

It was a clear opening for her to confess. Lucian felt his heart contract as he waited for Brynn to speak.

She took a step toward him, her beautiful features wrought with dismay. But then she stopped and visibly collected herself.

“Are you leaving tonight?”

A sinking, hollow feeling clenched Lucian’s insides. “We have no real leads. I will make for Dover tonight. That seems to be the likeliest point for the gold to be smuggled to France. It will take some time to investigate. Forgive me, but I may be gone for several days.”

“I…understand.”

“Will you be all right here alone?”

“Yes,” she murmured. “There is still a great deal to do to prepare for Raven’s wedding.”

Closing his valise, Lucian gave Brynn a brief kiss on her forehead, not trusting himself to do more, but she seemed too distracted to notice his lack of intimacy or to return the salute.

He had stepped back and picked up his valise when she apparently recovered.

“Lucian, please… take care,” she said, sounding sincere.

“I will,” he replied. “You take care as well, love.”

Then, feeling a numbing chill, he turned on his heel and quit the room.

Brynn stood where he had left her, fear and fury gripping her. Gray never had answered any of her letters questioning his dubious behavior during his visit some weeks ago, but she no longer had any doubt her brother had betrayed her. He had lied to her about the ring, claiming he needed the Wycliff seal to authorize transporting a load of brandy so he could elude the tax revenuers. Instead he had orchestrated an enormous theft, stealing a fortune in gold to smuggle to his country’s enemies!

Even worse, his crime could implicate Lucian in treason. Dear God…

Her mind and heart in chaos, Brynn returned to her own bedchamber, where she began pacing the floor as she tried desperately to think what to do.

Lucian was determined to apprehend the traitors. If he couldn’t find the gold in Dover, he would look elsewhere. And the trail might very well lead to Cornwall and Gray…

Brynn shuddered to think what would happen when Lucian confronted her brother. He would show no mercy. His duty was almost an obsession with him. Her brother would be arrested and possibly hanged… Or what if Grayson resisted Lucian as Giles had? It was an easy leap to imagine the two of them locked in mortal combat like in her dark dreams. But this time Lucian might not escape with his life. Or her brother might not.

An icy rivulet of fear ran down her spine. It terrified her to think of either one of them dying.

She didn’t want Gray to be hanged, yet if he had committed such a crime, he deserved some measure of punishment. He was still her brother, though. Her flesh and blood. She had to try to save him if she could. But how?

She couldn’t throw herself on her husband’s mercy. Even if she were to plead with Lucian to save her brother, she couldn’t believe he cared for her enough to sacrifice honor and duty for her sake. He had killed one of his closest friends who had committed treason, so why would he spare her brother?

And in any case, Grayson had to be stopped. She didn’t want the stolen gold to fall into French hands any more than Lucian did.

Sweet heaven, why had she not tried harder to stop Grayson weeks ago? She would never be able to assuage her own guilt. She was to blame for giving him access to Lucian’s private study. She should have insisted Gray return the ring at once, even if it had meant making a scene in front of her husband. At least then she could have prevented it from being used for treason.

She had to do something. If only she could persuade Gray to abandon his plan and return the gold-

Brynn stopped in her tracks. That was the only possible way. She had to try to reason with her brother, to convince him to change course.

Shaking herself into action, Brynn turned to tug the bellpull for her maid and another for the butler, intending to summon a traveling carriage. She would have to go to Cornwall at once; there was no time to lose.

She couldn’t divulge her true destination, however. Lucian would be suspicious if he discovered where she had gone. She would have to make up some other story-perhaps that Theo was ill. That was it. That lie would have to serve: she was going to Theo’s bedside. By the time Lucian learned of her absence, she would have confronted Gray-

Brynn felt another shiver sweep through her. She didn’t want to think about how Lucian would react when he discovered what she’d done, or what would happen if she failed.

Her sense of desperation rising again, she went to the clothespress and drew out a traveling costume.

Farther along the darkened street, Lucian watched his residence from the shadows of an unmarked carriage. Stone lay where his heart belonged, yet he was driven by the sick need to learn the truth. To know whether or not Brynn would reveal herself as a traitor. With all his soul, he wanted to believe her innocent.

He hadn’t long to wait before she emerged from the house and ran down the steps to the waiting Wycliff traveling coach. As it drew away from the curb, Lucian rapped on the roof of his own vehicle, ordering his driver to follow.

He held his breath as they wound their way through the dark streets of Mayfair. When Brynn’s conveyance eventually turned southeast onto the London Road, Lucian had to concede she was making for Cornwall.

He gritted his teeth, his emotions twisting from savage pain to raw fury. Fury at his lovely, scheming countess. Fury at himself.

He had allowed himself to be bewitched by Brynn’s exquisite beauty. By the powerful sexual attraction that burned between them. By his growing feelings of love for her.

He had wed a virginal young lady, hoping to sire a son. But Brynn wasn’t what he’d thought her to be, wanted her to be.

He didn’t know the beautiful deceiver at all.