Whirlwind Wedding

Chapter 21

Austin's entire existence narrowed down to those few words spinning through his mind. / know where we can find Gaspard.

He grabbed her shoulders. "Where is he?"

"I'm not certain-but I discovered someone who knows."

"How? Where?"

"At the docks. While Robert assisted Molly into the carriage, I saw a man enter a pub. Even though I didn't touch him, I sensed very strongly that he has some connection to Gaspard."

His grip involuntarily tightened. By God if Robert had allowed her to go into that place in pursuit of this man, his brother would suffer. "You didn't attempt to speak to him, did you?"

"No. We left immediately." She laid her hands on his forearms. "But he's still there, Austin. I feel it. He's a large bald man wearing sailor's garb. He walked with a decided limp and sported a gold hoop earring in his right ear." She described the building's location.

"I'll find him." He released her shoulders and her hands fell away from his arms. For a long moment they stared at each other. He swore he detected a flash in her eyes of the warm, loving Elizabeth he'd thought he'd known and he fought the flood of feelings that swamped him. Damn it, those huge golden brown orbs pierced through his guard. But then it was as if a veil lowered over her and steely determination replaced any traces of warmth.

But that look that had flared in her eyes… hell, if he didn't know better, he'd swear she cared. Why was she helping him? Surely it wasn't because she'd promised to do so. He'd found out in the most hurtful way possible that she didn't keep her promises.

So perhaps she did care a little bit. But not enough. Not enough to find a way for them to share a life.

And he had to remember that.

Stepping away from her, he said "I must go."

"I know. Austin… be careful."

The quiet plea in her voice formed a lump in his throat that he could not speak around. Offering her a stiff nod he quit the room.

Elizabeth watched him go, staring at the doorway he'd just departed through. She knew he stood on the brink of finding the answers he sought.

She prayed that he'd be safe.

And that he might find it in his heart to someday forgive her.

Austin entered the dilapidated dockside tavern and allowed his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. His gaze panned quickly over the half-dozen patrons, then riveted on a man sitting alone in the corner, his large shoulders hunched protectively around his glass. He was bald and Austin caught a glint of gold shining in his right earlobe. He was the only man fitting the description Elizabeth had given him.

Austin approached the table and slid into the chair opposite the man. The sailor glared at him through narrowed mud-colored eyes. "Who the 'ell are you?"

Instead of answering, Austin placed his fist on the table between them. Opening his hand he revealed a leather pouch. "There's fifty gold sovereigns in there. You have information I want. Give it to me, and the money is yours."

The man's gaze flicked to the pouch. A nasty grin split his rawboned face, revealing rotting teeth. With the flick of his wrist, he slipped a lethal-looking knife from his sleeve. Leaning forward he said "Maybe I'll just take yer coins and keep me information to meself."

"You could try," Austin replied in a deadly voice, "but I'd advise against it."

A bark of laughter erupted from the sailor. "Would ye, now? And why's that?"

"Because there's a pistol pointing at your gut under the table."

He watched the sailor's gaze lower to where Austin's other hand was concealed by the table.

Doubt flashed in the sailor's eyes, but he quickly covered it with derision. "Yer expectin' me to believe a fancy toff like yerself would shoot me in front of a roomful of people? Ye'd hang."

"On the contrary, the magistrate would probably reward me for ridding London of the likes of you. And the silence of your so-called witnesses could easily be bought." Leaning back, Austin moved his hand from under the table long enough to afford his companion a glimpse of his pistol. "You can leave here a rich man or a dead man. The choice is yours."

The sailor studied him for several seconds. Austin stared right back, his hand gripping the pistol, but knowing that greed would win out.

Avarice glittered in the sailor's beady eyes. "I'd rather be rich. Richer than fifty quid'll make me."

"If I find your information useful, I'll give you an additional fifty."

"And if ye don't find it useful?"

Austin allowed an icy smile to touch his lips. "Then I don't believe you'll be of any use to me. And I don't believe you'll recover from the hole I'll shoot in your gut."

Fear flickered in the sailor's eyes, but he quickly covered it with a shrug. "Wot do ye want to know?"

"You know a Frenchman named Gaspard. I want to know where I can find him." He purposely jangled the pouch filled with coins. "Tell me and the money is yours."

The sailor tossed back a gulp of whiskey, then wiped his mouth with the back of a meaty hand. "Bertrand Gaspard?"

Austin fought to remain calm. Bertrand Gaspard. He finally knew the full name of the man he sought. "Where is he?"

The sailor shrugged. " 'E was 'ere in London for awhile, but then 'e rushed 'ome. To France."

"Where does he live?"

"Some village near Calais."

Austin leaned forward. "Which village?"

The sailor eyed him cautiously. "Can't recall the exact name. Sounds like a bloke's name."

Austin thought for a moment. "Marck?"

Recognition widened the sailor's eyes. "That's it."

"Why was he in London?"

"Said 'e 'ad some business. Was lookin' fer someone. Didn't say who. Bragged some 'bout comin' into some big money."

His gaze narrowed on Austin's. "That's all I know. I kept up me end of the bargain. Now give me the blunt."

Austin placed two pouches on the scarred table and slipped his pistol into his pocket. The sailor opened the pouches to verify the contents and Austin seized the man's distraction to slip out the door.

Keeping to the shadows, Austin walked quickly through the labyrinth of alleyways to his waiting hack. Grim elation pumped through his veins.

Bertrand Gaspard.

His knew his enemy's name. And where he lived. He knew where to find the answers he sought. And he hoped to God those answers included William. I'm coming for you, you bastard.

When Austin entered his town house, he found Elizabeth pacing the foyer. She halted the instant she saw him, her gaze running down the length of him as if to assure herself he was still in one piece.

Handing his hat to Carters, he said quietly, "I'm fine."

An audible sigh of relief escaped her. Her gaze darted to Carters, then returned to him. "Can we speak privately?"

He hesitated. God knew he didn't want to be alone with her, but he certainly couldn't discuss his meeting with the sailor here in the foyer. Inclining his head to indicate she should follow him, he walked down the corridor to his private study. Once inside, he closed the door, enveloping them in silence.

She stood in the center of the room, her hands clasped in front of her, her eyes steady on his, and a flood of memories washed over him. Elizabeth smiling at him. Elizabeth opening her arms to him. Lifting her face for his kiss. Lying beneath him, trembling with need. Asleep in his arms.

He tried to bludgeon the unwanted images back, but they assaulted him, attacking him with relentless accuracy. His gaze strayed to the carpet beneath her feet. They'd made love exactly where she now stood, the night he'd taught her the waltz and shown her where he'd hung the sketch she'd drawn of him.

He forced himself to look at that now empty space on the paneled wall opposite his desk. He'd removed the drawing because he couldn't bear to see it, to relive the memories it evoked every time he entered his study.

Returning his attention to her, he saw that her gaze was fixed upon the blank space where her sketch had hung. He fancied he saw hurt flash in her eyes, but he forced himself to harden his heart to it. She'd made her choice. And she had not chosen him.

"You wished to speak with me privately?" he asked.

She pulled her gaze from the paneled wall and faced him with a cool expression that ignited his temper.

"What happened at the docks?" she asked.

He cocked a brow. "You don't know?"

She blanched at his sarcastic question, then shook her head. "I feel that you found the answers you sought, but that is all."

Hoping a drink would ease the tension knotting his shoulders, he crossed to the decanters. After a hefty swallow of brandy, he related the information the sailor had given him.

She listened intently, her brow furrowed with concentration. When he finished she said "I assume you're planning to go to France."

"Yes. In fact, if you'll excuse me, I must instruct Kingsbury to pack my things."

"You're leaving soon?"

"Within the hour. The journey to Dover will take nearly five hours. I'll sail for Calais with the morning tide." He stood unable to tear his gaze away from her, knowing he could not leave without saying what needed to be said.

"Elizabeth." He coughed to clear his tight throat. "I owe you my thanks for your assistance in finding Gaspard. I shall always be grateful. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Elizabeth looked at his handsome, serious face and her heart broke into tiny pieces. Dear God she loved him so much. "I… I would do anything for you."

The unguarded words slipped past her lips and she cringed as the budding warmth she'd detected in his expression iced over.

"Anything?" A humorless laugh escaped him. "If that weren't such a blatant lie, it would be positively amusing." He crossed to the door and opened it. He hesitated as if deciding whether to say something more, but after several seconds, he simply walked into the corridor, closing the door behind him.

Elizabeth drew a deep breath and pressed her hands to her churning stomach. Her husband clearly thought he'd dismissed her.

Her chin lifted with determination.

Her husband clearly didn't know everything.

Austin strode from the town house, mentally congratulating himself on his hasty departure. He'd scribbled quick notes to his mother and Miles stating he'd been unavoidably called away to France. Regret pricked him at the way he'd left Elizabeth, but he hadn't had a choice. If he'd stayed in that room with her for another moment he would have said or done something he'd regret. Like dropped to my knees and begged her to love me.

An impatient sound escaped him and he forced himself to push thoughts of her aside. He had to concentrate on the task at hand. On his trip to France. On finding Gaspard. And hopefully William. He had to stop thinking about Elizabeth.

The footman opened the coach door for him. Austin placed his foot on the step and froze.

Elizabeth, garbed in her peacock traveling suit, sat in the coach.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked.

She raised her brows. "I'm waiting for you."

"If you wish to speak with me, you'll have to wait until I return. I'm leaving immediately."

"Yes, I know. And the sooner you settle yourself, the sooner we can depart."

"We?" A bark of incredulous laughter escaped him. "We are not going anywhere."

Her chin raised an inch. "I beg to differ. We are going to France."

Anger shot through him. With a curt nod he dismissed the hovering footman. Leaning into the carriage, he said in a tightly controlled voice, "The only place you are going is back into the house. Now."

"Do you truly think that is for the best?"

"Yes."

She nodded thoughtfully. "It seems like a dreadful waste of time to me. You see, if you make me leave this coach, you will be further delayed by having to remove my luggage. And then I shall have to arrange other transportation to Dover."

His lips collapsed into a tight line. "You will do nothing of the kind."

Determination fired in her eyes. "Yes, I will."

"The hell you will. I forbid it."

"I shall go just the same."

He barely smothered the vicious oath that rose to his lips. Damn stubborn woman. "Elizabeth, you are not-"

"How is your French?"

That gave him pause. "My French?"

"According to Caroline, you understand the language but can't speak it well enough for anyone to comprehend."

Even while he mentally consigned his sister to perdition, he couldn't deny the truth of her words. His French was atrocious.

His lip curled. "And I suppose you're fluent?"

She shot him a beaming smile. "Oui. Naturellement."

"And who taught you French?"

"My English mother, who studied the language as all English young ladies do." Her smile faded and her eyes turned imploring and determined at the same time. "Please understand. I cannot let you go alone. I promised to help you, and help you I shall. If you refuse to take me with you, I shall be forced to travel to Calais on my own."

He could tell by the tilt of her chin and the fierce resolve in her expression that she would do as she threatened unless he planned to tie her forcibly to a chair. And even if he did he didn't doubt that Robert, Miles, Caroline, or even his own mother would untie her. Damn it, the entire bloody family would no doubt accompany her to France.

Knowing he was defeated but not liking it one bit, he climbed into the carriage. Without waiting for the footman, he slammed the door shut himself, then signaled the driver to depart.