Surrender Becomes Her Part 19

The servants vanished into the house as if by magic, leaving only Thompson, Isabel, and Marcus standing in front of the house. His features kind and concerned, Thompson said, "Madame, may I help you down?"

Isabel was gently lifted down, Thompson discreetly making no comment about the pieces of rope clinging to her wrists and feet. Marcus dismounted and, remembering Whitley's greatcoat for the first time, untied it and threw it across his arm. The last of the crus.h.i.+ng weight he had borne since the moment he had read the ransom note lifted. Isabel was safe and so was the memorandum. Right now, it didn't even matter to him that one of the scoundrels had escaped. He smiled. He had beaten them. His gaze wandered to his wife. No, he thought jubilantly, they had beaten them.

But the greatcoat reminded him of pressing matters and, looking at Thompson, he said, "Tell George to prepare to leave for Holcombe within the next few minutes. He can ride my horse. Just as soon as Mrs. Sherbrook is settled, I'll have a note for him to deliver to Lord Thorne."

Thompson rushed away, leaving Marcus to escort his wife across the courtyard and into the house. Once inside, Marcus reluctantly handed Isabel over to Peggy's eager hands and excused himself.

"I'll be only a few minutes," he murmured, his gaze caressing Isabel's features. "I must write that note for Jack and then I shall find you."

"Madame needs to bathe and eat first," said Peggy with the impunity of a longtime servant. "A half-hour would be better for her."

Marcus bowed and said meekly, "Of course. Whatever is best for your mistress."

Triumphantly, Peggy bore Isabel away.

Tiredness washed over Marcus, but his step was light as he headed for his office. Entering the room, he tossed Whitley's greatcoat onto the nearest chair and sat down and scrawled a brief note to Jack, demanding his presence as soon as possible. Folding the note, he decided that it was going to be a very long night.

He rang for Thompson and, handing him the note, said, "This is for George. Tell him he does not have to wait for an answer. Oh, and tell Mrs. Brown to have a room prepared for Lord Thorne. I doubt Jack will be riding back to Holcombe tonight. I'll be upstairs with my wife. When Jack arrives show him here and notify me."

Despite the questions burning on his lips, Thompson bowed and departed. A moment later, the note was on its way to Holcombe and Jack.

Alone in the room again, Marcus poured himself a snifter of brandy and slowly leaned back in his chair and fully relaxed. It was over. Isabel was upstairs being fussed over by Peggy and soon enough he could turn the memorandum over to Jack and that would end his part in this whole affair. His mouth tightened. Collard's death bothered him not a bit, but he wondered about Collard's accomplice. Another smuggler? A Frenchman? Isabel might be able to answer those questions. And Whitley? Was he dead? Marcus strongly suspected so, but it didn't matter to him; what mattered to him was that his wife was home, unharmed, and the memorandum had been found and was residing in his safe. Soon enough it would be in Jack's hands and headed for Roxbury and London.

Glancing at the clock and deciding that he had tarried long enough he set down his snifter and left his office. Taking the stairs two at a time, he reached the upper floor and hurried down the wide hall toward his wife's rooms. He found her neatly tucked into bed, a bank of pillows at her back and a small tray across her lap. A larger tray, holding several covered dishes, sat on a nearby table. Of Peggy there was no sign.

Seeing him, Isabel set down her cup of tea and sent him a shy smile.

His heart fluttered in his chest at the sight of that smile and, heedless of anything but her, he sped across the distance that separated them. Knocking the tray askew, he jerked her into his arms and kissed her hard.

"I love you," he said in a shaken voice. "You mean everything to me. If something had happened to you..." His voice died away and he kissed her again. "I love you." With trembling fingers he brushed back a tendril of fiery hair. "I know ours was not a love match, but you must believe that I will do everything within my power to make you happy. I swear it."

Pressing sweet little kisses across his mouth and cheeks, she exclaimed, "Oh, Marcus, I love you, too-I always have!"

Astonished, he pushed her away slightly. "You love me? Truly?" he asked hopefully.

She smiled tenderly at him. "I was in love with you even when you were my pigheaded guardian."

He frowned. "If you loved me, why did you run away with Hugh?"

She sighed. "Because I was young and foolish and so miserable that I could think of nothing else to do. Things were so wretched at home, Aunt Agatha always pecking at me, and you...you only saw me as a troublesome ward and I so wanted you to see me as a woman." She toyed with a b.u.t.ton on his jacket. "I was convinced you never would, that you'd always see me as a child and a brat at that! The afternoon after our fight over Tempest, I was sunk in the depths of despair and I just wanted to run away from everything. Hugh happened along at the wrong time."

Marcus settled himself on her bed: Isabel half sprawled across him. "Well, you're wrong about one thing: I was very much aware of what an enticing little chit you were growing into."

She sat upright, her eyes big. "You never gave any sign!" she accused.

He sighed. "Sweetheart, how could I? I was your guardian. It would have been dishonorable of me to have given you any idea of my feelings."

She scowled at him. "Well, I think you should have given me a hint. If I'd had the least-do you realize how much time we wasted? If only I'd known!"

"I was waiting for the guardians.h.i.+p to end," he explained patiently. "I had every intention of courting you once I no longer had any responsibility for you."

"Suppose someone else would have caught my eye while you waited?"

Marcus smiled like a tiger, thinking of Whitley's near drowning at his hands. "I'm sure I'd have thought of a way to discourage anyone fool enough to come courting the woman I had marked as my own."

"Oh, Marcus!" she breathed. "That's the most romantic thing you've ever said to me."

He pulled her up against him and kissed her until her eyes were starry and she was breathless. "For the rest of our lives together," he said huskily, "I have every intention of saying and doing the most romantic things imaginable."

"The time we've wasted," mourned Isabel, rubbing her head across his chest like a kitten.

"Well, you weren't exactly encouraging after you came back from India," he said dryly.

She looked up at him. "How could I be? You know why I couldn't marry anyone." Her eyes narrowed. "Besides, you never once gave any indication you felt anything for me but irritation and annoyance."

He grimaced. "What did you expect? You'd broken my heart. I was hardly going to lay it at your feet and take the chance you'd trample it again."

"What fools we've been," she said softly.

"That's in the past," he murmured, "we have the future to share and memories to make." He kissed her. "I love you, Isabel. Never doubt that. I think I fell in love with you the first time I saw you-a squalling infant in the arms of your nurse."

She looked delighted. "Oh, Marcus! Really?"

"Oh, Isabel!" he teased, the gray eyes warm and caressing. "Yes, really."

It was a joyous time in a day that had been so traumatic and fraught with danger and they reveled in the knowledge that they loved and were loved in return. Pa.s.sion simmered between them and inevitably they made love, their coming together all the sweeter, all the more meaningful with love guiding every caress, every touch.

Mindful that Jack would be arriving soon, Marcus eventually rose from the bed and sought out his own room to prepare to meet him. When he was presentable again, lured by his wife's presence, he came back to her and, scooping her up in his arms, he settled in a comfortable chair near the bed. Nestled together, they talked of the things that lovers do until all too soon the knock on the door came and Thompson informed Marcus that Lord Thorne awaited him in his office.

Reluctantly, Marcus carried Isabel back to bed. "I have to talk to Jack. It's important."

Her eyes searched his. "Is it what you and Jack and Garrett were meeting about the other night and you couldn't tell me?"

He nodded curtly.

She caught his hand. "I'm involved, too. You can't tell me that my abduction today, yesterday, doesn't have some bearing on it. I want to be there."

He hesitated. "Are you up to it?" he asked. "There are questions I'd like to ask, but I didn't want to put you under any more strain tonight."

She grinned at him. "I'd be under more strain wondering what you and Jack were talking about than answering questions."

"Very well," he said with a faint smile. "Join us in my office when you are dressed."

Marcus found Jack pacing the floor when he arrived. Jack declined the offer of refreshments and demanded, "What the devil happened that is so important that I am dragged from my bed at this hour of the morning?"

Marcus said simply, "I have the memorandum."

"What?" Jack e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, goggle-eyed.

Marcus nodded. "Yes, I know, astounding, isn't it? Whitley had the memorandum with him all the time-hidden in his greatcoat." He waved in the direction of the greatcoat, lying where he had flung it earlier. "If you'll examine it, you'll see where he hid it."

In one long stride, Jack crossed to the greatcoat and plucked it up and found the seam Marcus had opened. He pulled out the oilcloth-wrapped packet and, looking back at Marcus, exclaimed, "By Jove! This is wonderful! Wellesley's plans can stand as they are. I'll leave immediately for London. Roxbury will be happy to have this in his hand I can tell you!"

Marcus pulled on his ear. "Ah, not that memorandum. It is a long story, but what you hold in your hand is a fake that I concocted. The original is over here in my safe." Smiling, Marcus turned to indicate the location against the far wall and froze.

The safe and its concealing gilt-framed portrait had not been in his line of sight when he had entered the room and, focused on Jack and his reaction, Marcus had not even looked in that direction. But now, he was staring in frozen disbelief at the sight that met his horrified gaze.

The portrait was on the floor, leaning neatly against the book-lined wall, and the door to the safe gaped open. Smothering a curse, Marcus leaped across the room and frantically dug through the items in the safe. Everything was there...except the memorandum.

Jack was on his heels, having realized the significance of the opened safe at the same instant Marcus had. Marcus whirled to look at him with wild eyes. "It's gone!"

"But how? Who knew about the fake and where you put the original?"

"No one!" Marcus said. "No one." He glanced past Jack at the tall windows behind him. Blackness met his gaze, but he knew to anyone standing outside that inside of the room would have been lit up like a stage in a theater. Harshly, Marcus said, "Someone must have been watching me and realized what I was doing."

Pus.h.i.+ng Jack aside, he s.n.a.t.c.hed up a candelabrum and strode toward the door. "There's one way to find out. Grab that one," he said, indicating the twin to the candelabrum he held in his hand. "Follow me."

Flinging open the door, he nearly walked over Isabel, neatly dressed in a simple green muslin gown, who was just preparing to enter the room.

She took one look at Marcus's face and touched his arm. "What is it? What has happened?"

Marcus gave a shake of his head. "In a moment. I need to confirm what I believe happened. Wait in the office for us, we will be right back."

Hand on her hip she waited until the two men headed down the hallway and then followed them, picking up the candlestick that Thompson had left burning on a table in the entry. Stepping out of the house a moment after the two men, she walked along quickly, guided by the light of their candelabra. When Marcus spied her following him, he growled, "I thought I told you to stay inside."

She smiled sunnily at him. "Did you? I must have misunderstood you. But since I am here..."

Marcus snorted and continued on his way. Arriving at the side of the house and the area just outside his office, Marcus glanced at her and said, "We're looking for signs that someone hid out here and watched me in my office."

The flickering candles pierced the darkness and, though daylight would have made the task simpler, after a few minutes Isabel said, "Marcus, I've found something."

She had indeed. There in the soft dirt at the edge of one of the many flowerbeds that flowed around the house were several footprints. From the depth and overlapping of the prints it was obvious that someone had stood here for several minutes. Closer examination revealed that two different-sized boots had made the prints.

Once he and Jack confirmed what she had found, Marcus stepped into the footprints and looked inside the windows. His entire office could be clearly seen and anyone standing here would have had an excellent view of the inside-and everything he had done. Following the prints in the flowerbed, he moved to a position next to the window and easily lifted it. Sticking his head inside, he glimpsed the faint dirt smears on the rug. His expression grim, he shut the window and turned back to the others. "It's clear he entered this way. There are more signs inside the house."

Silently the three returned inside and to Marcus's office. Looking for them now, it was easy to find the occasional smudge of dirt that had clung to the bottom of the intruder's shoes as he had walked directly from the window to the safe. This time when he offered Jack a brandy, Jack did not refuse. Isabel accepted a small gla.s.s of ratafia, enjoying the scent of apricots that wafted up from it before taking a dainty sip.

Jack's brow rose at Isabel's presence and Marcus said tersely, "I'll have no secrets from my wife. And after what happened today, she has every right to be here."

Jack took a drink of his brandy and said wearily, "Very well. Tell me what the devil is going on. And you can start with the reason you created a fake."

Marcus related the events of the day, starting with the discovery that Isabel had been abducted. He ended with finding her in the stables and the news that a well-known local smuggler, Collard, was presently lying dead somewhere in that same stable.

"Collard and his companion wanted you to betray England, risk the lives of those men for me?" Isabel demanded angrily, when he finished speaking. "Of all the dastardly deeds! Oh, I am so glad that Collard is dead!" Her face glowing she added, "And Marcus, it was so very clever of you to think of a fake!"

"I couldn't let you come to harm," he said thickly, his eyes locked on hers, "but neither could I turn over the memorandum to them."

"Of course, you couldn't," she exclaimed. "And I would not have wanted you to." She smiled lovingly at him. "But I am very glad that you came up with a way to thwart them."

"But it would appear that in the end he didn't," Jack reminded them sharply.

"No," Marcus admitted bitterly, "it would appear not." Staring down into the amber liquor, he muttered, "To think I had the b.l.o.o.d.y memorandum in my hand..."

"But you had no way of knowing that they were watching you," protested Isabel. "You couldn't have known. It is not your fault."

"She's right, you know," Jack said quietly. "I would have wished you'd have notified me the minute you found the memorandum...."

"I couldn't," Marcus snapped. "It was my wife's life at stake. You would have only cared that Roxbury got his precious memorandum back!"

Jack flushed. "I would have helped you," he said tightly. "I can't deny that my first reaction would have been to get it to Roxbury, but I wouldn't have abandoned you and s.n.a.t.c.hed it away from you and ridden h.e.l.l-bent for London."

Marcus ran a hand through his hair and sent Jack an apologetic smile. "I've insulted you. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. Or rather all I could think of was Isabel's safety."

Jack nodded curtly. "Apology accepted." He took a quick drink of his brandy and, glancing at Isabel, he asked, "Can you tell us anything about the two that abducted you?"

Isabel made a face. "Not very much. As you know, I never saw their faces and their voices were not familiar. I do know that there were two of them. One of which we now suspect was Collard. The other one..." She hesitated and said slowly, "I had the impression that the other one was the leader and that he was of a higher social standing than Collard. He seemed to be the one making the decisions. His speech was that of a gentleman; in fact, I thought of him as the 'gentleman' and Collard as the 'other.'" She looked uncertainly from one man to the other and added, "It is hard to explain but the gentleman was almost kind to me."

"And that's all you can tell us?" Jack asked, disappointed.

Isabel frowned, trying to recall every word that had come from the gentleman's mouth. "He was worried," she said abruptly. "He said something about plans changing, that nothing had gone as planned. I don't think he trusted Collard."

"Was any mention made of Whitley?" Marcus asked.

Isabel shook her head. "No. They said very little in front of me and Whitley's name was never spoken."

It was a depressed little trio that occupied Marcus's office. There was joy that Isabel had been returned unharmed, but all of them were aware that the fateful memorandum was in the hands of the "gentleman" and no doubt on its way to the French even now. They had failed, and many men might die because of it.

Jack shook himself and, tossing off the last of his brandy, said, "I must leave for London now. The sooner Roxbury knows of this latest event, the sooner he can set things in motion to change Wellesley's plans."

Despite the lateness of the hour, Marcus didn't try to dissuade him. "You have everything you need?"

Jack smiled wryly. "Yes, even a full moon to light my way."

He took his leave and strode from the room.

Marcus had not forgotten that the squire and the constable would be arriving shortly after daylight and so, despite a strong inclination to stay delightfully wrapped around his wife's soft, warm body, he rose in the hour before dawn and dressed and prepared to meet the day. The squire and the constable were suitably shocked by Collard's death, but there was nothing they could do but shake their heads. The ident.i.ty of his a.s.sailant remained unknown and they agreed that most likely it was a fellow smuggler. Marcus saw no point in suggesting otherwise. Neither mentioned the peculiar circ.u.mstances or the odd fact that the murder had taken place on the grounds of Sherbrook Hall.

"I never liked the man and I always knew that he would come to a bad end," remarked the squire as he mounted his horse and prepared to leave.

"Yes, indeed," said the constable, a bluff, hearty man known to frequently look the other way as far as the smuggling community was concerned. "No question about it, Collard was a bad 'un. Can't say as I'm surprised." He tipped his hat to Marcus and added, "I'll have someone pick up the body-don't you worry about anything. My best to you and your wife."

His official duties settled to his satisfaction, Marcus walked slowly back to the house. There would be no further investigation in the matter of Collard's death and, while the servants were aware that the mistress had been at the center of something, it had ended well and that was the end of it. Jack was well on his way to London and steps would be taken to keep Wellesley and his troops from harm. The escape of Isabel's gentleman gnawed at him, but Marcus decided he could afford to be magnanimous: Isabel was safe and in the end that was what mattered most to him.

Marcus and Isabel spent a delightful day together, wandering through the gardens, their hands entwined, stopping now and then to exchange dizzying kisses in the shadows and nooks that abounded. That evening, as dusk was falling, they had just finished an intimate meal in a courtyard at the side of the house, when the sounds of galloping hoofbeats and the creak and rattle of a fast-approaching vehicle caught their attention. With Isabel at his side Marcus strolled to the front of the house.

An elegant traveling coach pulled by four matched bays swung around the wide driveway. Lanterns winked in the deepening twilight on the corners of the coach and a pair of outriders flanked either side of the vehicle.

The coachman pulled the horses to a stop and the two outriders halted their steeds and dismounted. If he hadn't already spied the crest in the center of the door of the coach, he would have known the ident.i.ty of his sudden guests.