DD-Michaels-END.rtf (20 page)

Ethan stopped in the middle of the riding path and turned to loo
k
at her as she sat on Berengaria's back. "Are you going to natter at me all the way to the Star and Garter?"

She shrugged. "Probably. How much farther?"

"Just around the next bend, if memory serves. We've been fortunate so far that this path is deserted. Alejandro,
limp."

Immediately the stallion's steady walk transformed into a nearly three-legged gait, his right hoof barely touching the ground as he favored it with each step.

"Very nice, very clever, but he doesn't look as if he's in pain. He almost looks as if he's dancing. He should look as if he's in pain."

"Nag, nag, nag. No, not you, Alejandro. Her. Alejandro,
be sad."

The horse bared its huge teeth in a head-tossing laugh.

"Very funny. I mean it, Alejandro. Be sad."

The stallion continued to limp, but now he lowered his head, his long mane nearly dragging on the ground, his tail hanging low.

Morgan clapped her gloved hands in appreciation. "That's wonderful. Such a smart boy. What else can he do? Jolly Roger knows some Spanish words, you know."

"How gratifying for him." Ethan looked back at her, his grin wicked. "Can your parrot fly?"

"Of course not, or he'd fly away. His wings are kept clipped. Why?"

"Because Alejandro can fly."

Morgan nudged Berengaria up on the path, so she was now riding alongside Ethan. "Oh, he can not."

"Ah, but he can. One day, if you're very, very good, and Alejandro forgives you for doubting him, perhaps he'll show you."

"I'll hold you both to that," Morgan said, then looked down the path to see that they were very near the Star and Garter. "Look, there's the coach. Oh, and there's Jacob, pacing like an old woman."

"And with that pistol stuck in his breeches. Yes, I see him. Now remember. You fell when your mare stepped in a rabbit hole, I raced to your side, you're fine, but Alejandro stepped into the same hole, and he was injured when he fell, coming up lame, which is why we're so late. Agreed?"

"You should write stories, Ethan. Nobody would believe them, but they might be fun to read."

"I'll remember that. It will give me something to occupy my time once I reach my old age. If I reach it, that is."

"Meaning?" Morgan asked as Jacob came stomping down the path toward them, looking very much like a vicar about to deliver a sermon on hell and brimstone.

"Meaning, imp, the more I'm with you, the more I wonder if I'll be allowed to reach an old age. Hell, as I think about the thing, reaching next week might well be a struggle."

"
I
—
"
Morgan began on a laugh, men ended, "I really do enjoy you, Ethan Tanner." Which was much more prudent than saying /
really do love you, Ethan Tanner.
And why should she say any such thing in the first place?

Morgan sighed to herself as Ethan began telling his ta
l
l tale to Jacob, wondering why what her mind thought so reasonable her heart was finding increasingly unable to understand....

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"She knows," Ethan said shortly, slamming down his curly brimmed beaver before leaning both palms on Chance Becket's desk at the War Office and glaring at him. "Christ, man, and you work here? The way you keep secrets, I'm surprised we aren't all speaking French by now."

Chance remained calm, already understanding who
she
was, and knowing it never paid to overreact to anything
that
she
might do. After all, at the bottom of it, Morgan was a Becket and, wild as she might sometimes be, obstinate as she might often be, she was never a fool. "What does she know?"

Ethan pushed away from the desk, subsiding into one of the chairs that faced it, but still glaring, because it felt good to glare. "I don't know. Some of it? All of it?
Enough.
What in blazes did you write in your little missive home to Papa?"

"Sh
e
—
b
loody hell, I left it on the table in the foyer because the maids were still fussing about in my study." Chance looked at Ethan. "She found the letter and read it? Never mind answering. If she found it, she read it. Although I'm surprised you're still in one piece. Amazed, frankly, that / am. What did she tell you?"

Ethan shook his head. "Has it occurred to you, Chance, that the two of us, grown men, are sitting here, mutually afraid of one small female?"

"Oh, not afraid. Not really."

"Not really, you say? Then pick another word, why don't you," Ethan said, pointing to the drinks table as he stood up, then returning Chance's nod before pouring them both glasses of wine.

"Careful. Cautious. Strong, yet allowing enough leeway as to not bring disaster down on all our head
s
— it's difficult to narrow everything down to one word."

"So we'll stick with
afraid,
why don't we?" Ethan suggested, handing Chance a glass. "Because, my new friend, I'm afraid you've bungled this one badly, and I'm paying the price. We may
all
be paying the price."

Chance took a sip of wine, looked at Ethan, then decided to down the entire contents of the glass. "Meaning?"

"Meaning that she may have taken exception to being shipped to Becket Hall without being asked, her Season over before it's really begun. Meaning that the idea that she might be infatuated with m
e
—
r
amshackle
as I a
m
—
d
idn't anger her half so much as learning that you think she won't remember my name next week."

Chance looked at his empty glass, wishing it full again. "Sorry about the ramshackle."

"
Thank you for that, at least," Ethan said, putting down his own empty glass and picking up his hat. "You'll be happy to know that your sister does not wish to marry me and is, in fact, only agreeing to allow me to accompany her to Becket Hall as long as I
refrain
from asking her to marry me. She was very clear on that head. Excruciatingly clear."

Chance nodded, not at all ashamed to feel relief flooding him. "That sounds like Morgan. Never wants to do anything anyone wants her to do. Julia and I have discussed that, as a matter of fact."

Ethan took his gloves out of his hat and began pulling them on. 'Then this news must be gratifying to you both. Thankfully, she's agreed to return to Becket Hall, with me tagging along, the hopeful suitor, and I suppose I can only be grateful you didn't mention the
Marianna
in your letter. You didn't, did you?"

"No, no, I've got that here," Chance said, pulling out a drawer in his desk and extracting the sealed letter. "You may as well take it now. Read it if you feel the need, but it only introduces you to my father and asks him to assist you in any way possible. I'll leave it up to you to decide how much you want to tell him."

"You're convinced he'll be willing to help?"

Chance nearly said,
and extremely capable of helping,
but stopped himself in time. "He'll be delighted, I know, as he follows the newspapers quite closely. You will probably have to listen to his opinions on the war while you're there, but don't delude yourself into thinking that living in the back of beyond means your soon-to-be host doesn't know more and see more than most anyone here in London."

Ethan inclined his head in acknowledgment of that bit of information, then said, "I've spent a few hours reading about Romney Marsh. Interesting place, for a marshland with shifting shorelines and more sheep than people. We had one close-run call at Dymchurch already, and Becket Hall isn't that far away. Do you think the
Marianna
will have any difficulties with the Waterguard because of the amount of smuggling that supposedly goes on up and down that area of the coast? I imagine they patrol quite often."

Chance kept his gaze steady on the Earl of Ay
l
es-ford. "Because French spies have been known to travel back and forth to France on smuggling runs, we here at the War Office, and in the Royal Naval Off
i
ce, are very much involved in protecting the coastline. I can tell you that we've had no reports of any problems with smugglers in the vicinity of Becket Hall for well over a year. So, no, I don't foresee any difficulties for the
Marianna.
She'll merely be stopping there for a brief visit with Ainsley Becket, dropping anchor beside my father's sloop, the
Respite,
and then heading out of the Channel, into the open sea."

"Well, then, you say I shouldn't worry, so I won't. Thank you."

"Yes. I'm sure the messenger we dispatched on horseback yesterday has already reached the
Marianna,
which is undoubtedly already back at sea, skirting the coast at a safe distance between our shores and France. The ship will put in alongside the
Respite
sometime after dark on Sunday night."

Ethan kept his own expression neutral, even as somethin
g
—
s
omething he could not put a name t
o
—stirred a deeper interest in Becket Hall, and, most especially, the family that lived there. This unusual family, this diverse family.

"Then it's settled, but only on that end. We're running out of time, you know. If we end
by riding hell-bent for leather to the coast because we're out of time, Chance, it isn't only Morgan who'll be asking questions. We must leave tomorrow, Friday at the latest, breaking the travel into two days. Have you heard anything about the preparation of the communication packet?"

Chance shook his head. "That's above me, I'm afraid. I've only been told to smooth the way for the rendezvous itself. After all, we can't keep reassigning any Waterguard officer with a brain in his head. Hopefully, this will be the last time we need to use your friend."

"Or, in other words, our last chance to avoid another war," Ethan said, sliding the letter inside his jacket. "Hopefully, we leave in the morning for Becket Hall, but there's no reason for Morgan not to have one more evening in society. There's a ball tonight at Lady Beresford's, and I've already arranged for the three of you Beckets to attend as my guests. Until then?"

"Yes, yes, thank you," Chance said, as Ethan headed for the doorway, wondering if Julia would feel up to attending, as she'd been kneeling with her head over the chamberpot this morning as he'd left for the War Office, frantically waving him out of the room.

Having accomplished all that
he
f
e
lt
he needed to
do, Ethan was nearing the staircase when he heard his name called. He turned to see the minister himself hailing him.

"The communication is ready?" Ethan asked, retracing his steps.

"No, curse it, not yet. Nearly, but we keep coming back to this impressment nonsense. How can we
be i
m
pressing our own citizens? Ludicrous, especially as those sailors are assisting the enemy. Trading with France, you understand."

"Oh, I understand, my lord. But, then, it's not me our government has to convince. Nor do I have to
impress
on you how dangerous is the position of my contact, who has no great reason to be sailing in the Channel, and whose ship and presence has to be raising questions from anyone with even a small measure of curiosity."

"Yes, yes, you've made yourself very clear on that, but the new time and place are already set, nothing we can do about that now, eh? All we're waiting on is one small change in the language of a single paragraph, and his royal highness' signature. Tell you wha
t
—
t
he cylinder will be delivered to Upper Brook Street by nine tomorrow morning. Becket still sees no problem in having you escort his sister to the family home?"

Ethan grinned. "No, sir, none. Amazing, isn't it?"

The minister looked hard at Ethan for a moment, then took
hold of his sleeve and pulled him
into a small alcove in the marble-lined hallway. "There's something else
I'd like you to do, Aylesford, as long as you'll be in the vicinity. You will be staying at Becket Hall for at least a few days, correct? Wooing the girl?"

"Unless they boot me out on my ear, yes, I suppose so," Ethan answered, wondering where this conversation was heading.

"Good, good. I thought so. Behave yourself, then, stay as long as possible."

Ethan allowed his left eyebrow to climb his forehead. "Matchmaking, my lord? That's so unlike you."

"Faugh!
That's Becket's problem, thank Go
d
—
a
nd if they're willing to overlook the obvious in order to gain their gel a title and a fortune, that's their nevermind, not mine."

"Isn't it strange? I always come away from meetings with you, my lord, feeling so very
good
about myself."

"What? Must you keep interrupting? I've asked this before, of Becket himself, over a year past now, I believe, and now I'll ask it of you. Nobody would suspect you of anything remotely serious, now would they?"