For Your Arms Only (24 page)

“Julia,” he said, practically vibrating with the need for action, “I need to find that trunk.
Now.”

A cool hand touched his. “We’ll look over here,” said Cressida. She took the candle from him. “Julia, perhaps you could look over there.”

Alec sucked in a deep breath to get a better grip on himself. “Yes, Julia, please.”

His sister still stared at him aghast, but at Cressida’s suggestion she slowly nodded. “All right.” The room grew darker as she moved off with her candle.

“What does it look like?” Cressida tucked her hair behind her ears and looked around the circle of light they stood in. “Goodness, there are a lot of trunks in here.”

Alec looked at her, standing in the middle of the stuffy attic with cobwebs in her hair and dust streaking her gown, not questioning his urgency or motives, but just ready to help—and he felt his chest tighten. There wasn’t another woman in the world like her. He had fallen, completely and irrevocably. “It’s leather,” he said. “Reddish brown, about so large, with my name painted on it.”

She glanced at the dimensions he sketched with his hands. “Officers take a lot of baggage,” was her only reply before she turned and started poking through the piles of stuff behind her. Incredibly, Alec felt a small smile cross his face, and then he joined her, borrowing the candle from time to time to get a better look in some shadowed corner.

After half an hour, Julia’s voice called out from the far eaves. “I’ve found it.” She sneezed, the sound muffled in the cluttered room. “I think.”

Alec wound his way through the attic to her, Cressida close behind him. His heart seemed to pause in his chest as he raised his candle over the small, grimy trunk, darkened now with dust but very definitely his old campaign trunk. He had carted it across Spain, Portugal, and into Belgium, learning to send most of his baggage ahead with a servant while keeping the most necessary items with him in this trunk, which was small enough to carry over one shoulder or on the back of a saddle.

He knelt down in front of it, jiggling the latch out of instinctive habit more than conscious memory. It had been dropped in a river outside Oporto, he recalled suddenly, and the latch had stuck ever since. For a moment the intervening decade fell away, and he felt again the relief at opening the trunk to see his things safe after all. Just as he hoped they would be now. Julia and Cressida huddled behind him, holding the candles up to illuminate the contents as he lifted the lid.

It had been packed in a hurry, and clearly not disturbed since; a spare waistcoat was crumpled across the top, and when he removed it, the rest of the contents were all a-jumble, as if they had been dumped inside with no thought or care. No one wanted to waste time packing up a traitor’s effects, he thought, lifting out shaving items, stockings, a dented flask. He took out a small tin lantern, useful for checking on his horse in rainy weather, and lit it, leaving the shutters wide open for more light.

“What are you looking for?” Julia whispered. Cressida murmured something to her, and she didn’t ask again. Alec ignored them both, too concentrated on his task.

He found his writing portfolio, the red leather cracked and dried. A small pot of ink, also dried up. He set everything aside in a growing pile on the floor. With increasing despair, Alec dug through the trunk, past candle stubs and spare buttons and dirty linens, stiff and musty. It wasn’t here. It must have been overlooked, forgotten or misplaced, even stolen—and then all would be lost—

Cressida saw his shoulders stiffen as he uncovered a small book, and unconsciously she held her breath. Was this what he sought? Slowly he reached in and took out the book, which she could see now was a journal. Her stomach twisted as she remembered the trouble her father’s journal had unleashed. She groped for Julia’s hand and pressed it, watching anxiously as Alec flipped open the cover.

For several minutes he paged through the book. She saw pages of writing, a few sketches, sometimes a column of numbers. Once a dried flower fell out, still vivid red. His expression somber, Alec picked it up and tucked it back into the book before turning more pages. With great difficulty Cressida resisted the urge to fidget, and bit her tongue to keep from bursting out with a dozen questions. Julia was wiggling one foot impatiently, but also was holding herself in check. As their nerves grew tighter, he only seemed to grow more deliberate. When he sat back on his heels and stopped to read a page, she almost jumped up and snatched the book away, even though she had no idea what he was looking for or where it might be.

Finally, just as she couldn’t bear it anymore and opened her mouth to ask, he flipped the pages to the back of the book. There was a letter there, folded and sealed and slightly wavy, as if the paper had been wet and then dried. Carefully he slid one finger beneath the seal and unfolded it, setting down the journal without a second glance. Cressida and Julia looked at each other and hardly dared breathe, waiting as he read.

From her position opposite him, Cressida could see his face as it slowly changed from grim and tense to an expression of abject grief. Whatever was in that letter, she didn’t want to know; the bottomless sorrow in Alec’s eyes was wrenching to behold. When he closed his eyes and bowed his head, she felt her eyelids prickle with tears. In a burst of panic she said a quick, desperate prayer that whatever it was, her father had nothing to do with it, even though deep in her heart she was terribly sure he did.

“I put it here to keep it safe.” His voice seemed to echo from the depths of a tomb. “No one knew…”

“What is it?” Julia whispered again, sounding as cowed as Cressida felt. Now neither was wriggling with impatience or anything else, but sitting stone-still and clutching the other’s hand.

He didn’t respond. Leaving the contents of the trunk strewn about the attic floor, he got to his feet and began picking his way toward the door. Cressida exchanged a nervous glance with Julia before they seized the lights and hurried after him.

H
e was halfway down the stairs by the time they caught up to him. “What is it?” Julia asked for the third time. “Alec, you’re frightening me. What did you find?”

He just shook his head. Julia stopped. “Alec!” Still he ignored her. She turned to Cressida. “What on earth?”

“I don’t know,” she said, watching him disappear toward his chamber. “But I don’t think this is a good time to ask.”

“It was a fine time to go rummaging about the attic,” Julia protested. “It must be something!”

Cressida just gave her a helpless look, then followed Alec, slipping into the room as he opened the wardrobe.

“What did you find?”

He pulled out a coat and tossed it on a chair, stripping off the coat he wore. “An old letter.”

Cressida chewed the inside of her cheek, then forced herself to speak. “It—It’s about my father’s diary, isn’t it?” He didn’t reply, rummaging around in a drawer. “Do—Do you know what he spoke of? The man who…” Words failed her, and she stopped. If Alec were somehow the man in her father’s journal, it proved his guilt. Her father’s as well, but that was immaterial; he was gone, while Alec was still here to bear the shame and disgrace, and her heart was splitting in two at the thought. “I can burn it,” she said a little wildly. “No one else has ever seen it—it was in code, not even Tom knew what was inside—”

“You don’t have to burn it, Cressida.” He took a knife from the drawer and slid it into a sheath with a strap attached. To her alarm, he swung the strap over his shoulder and buckled it, settling the knife and sheath under his arm. “Translate the rest of it. I daresay it will answer all your questions.” He put on the coat he had just taken out, patted the pockets and ran his palms down the sleeves, and strode past her to the door. The dagger under his arm made the barest ridge, although to Cressida’s panicked eyes it looked to be the size of a battle saber.

“Where are you going?”

“To see a dear family friend.”

She wedged herself between him and the door to block his path. “Why? Tell me, damn it. It involves my father in some way—do you think I’m a complete fool? I translated that journal; I know what it said. Are you—” Her voice shook appallingly. It was impossible, but she had to ask anyway. “You
can’t
be that man, the one he described.”

His jaw hardened. “No.”

She almost sobbed with relief. “Then what? Don’t brush me aside like this. What caused you to go running off to search the attic for a trunk you could have had brought down any time in the last month?”

The dark, focused look faded a bit from his face. “Cressida, let me pass.”

She set her chin. “Not until you tell me where you are going, and why you need a dagger.”

Alec exhaled through his teeth. “Later. I will explain, I swear to you I will. Just…not at this moment.” She shook her head, holding tight to the doorknob and refusing to yield. He ran one hand through his hair and swore under his breath. “I fear—I believe I know who your father describes. He…was a friend of mine. I thought I knew him, and yet he betrayed everything: not just his country, but his family and everyone who loved him.”

“Including you?” Her question was just a breath of sound.

His shoulders tensed. “Yes.”

“But this doesn’t need to be done now,” she cried. “Wait until tomorrow. Tell the army—write to Lord Hastings and have him send someone else to deal with it!”

“Cressida.” With unbearable tenderness he touched her cheek. “For five years my life hasn’t been my own. I lost everything, not just my reputation but my family, my name, my very honor.”

“I know,” she whispered, a tear rolling down her face. “But—”

“Do you think you could wait, and go on with your life for a day or two or ten, if you knew the answer to all your questions lay just a few miles away?”

“Let me go with you.” She seized his jacket in both hands. “He’s my father. I have a right to know, too.”

“You do. And I will tell you the moment I return.” He gathered her into his arms and kissed her, so sweetly she wanted to weep. She wound her arms around his neck and clung to him, the man she loved more than anything, and thought she might die of fear. If her father had betrayed him in some way…if her father had been responsible for his disgrace…Would Alec still want her? Could he look at her without seeing the daughter of the man who destroyed him? The premonition that she might lose the love she’d never expected to find made her hold on for dear life when Alec tried to set her away from him.

“I’m going with you,” she said fiercely. “Don’t you dare leave without me.”

“Under no circumstances are you going with me.” He raised one eyebrow at her. “I’ll tie you to my bed if I must, even if I won’t be here to enjoy it.”

She was breathing hard, her heart galloping along. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I think you know I would.” He kissed her again, a hard and ruthless kiss this time that made her weaken. Her grip on his coat eased and she melted into him with a moan.

“Don’t go,” she begged. “Please. You frighten me. Let me finish translating the journal before you do anything. Please, Alec, if you care for me at all—”

He didn’t reply, just kissed her again. With two jerks he pulled up the front of her skirt, pressing his hand between her legs. She gasped, but her body responded instantly. Love and desire, fear and desperation made her hands shake as she yanked at his trousers. By the time she shoved aside the fabric and cupped her hands around his erection, her knees were weak and she was almost on the verge of climax. He knocked her hands aside, his face drawn tight, and pushed her back against the wall as he drove up into her.

Cressida threw her arms around his shoulders and held on as he moved in sharp, hard thrusts. When he reached down to pull up her knee so he could go even deeper inside her, she came with a great shuddering sob. Her body clamped around his so hard tears sprang into her eyes. Alec thrust once more and gave a guttural exhalation as he found his release, pinning her tightly to the wall and letting his head fall to her shoulder.

One tear leaked from her eye and ran down her cheek. She stroked the back of his neck, running her fingers through the short, crisp hair. Her heart would break forever if anything happened to him. “I love you,” she said in a small, lost voice.

His shoulders shuddered, and his arms slid around her, holding her tightly to him. For one euphoric moment, she thought he had relented. He lifted his head and gazed down at her with eyes as blue and boundless as the twilight sky, but filled with resolve. Without a word he eased out of her, letting her feet back to the floor and gently smoothing her skirts down. His expression was somber, and she knew he wasn’t going to agree to her pleas. She closed her eyes and turned her face away when he touched her cheek, but he tipped her chin back to him.

“Cressida, my darling, stay here,” he murmured against her lips. “I’ll answer your every question when I return, but don’t ask me not to go. If you truly care for me”—he paused, then continued more evenly—“please don’t try to stop me from this.”

He was telling her that she could stop him if she tried—but he asked her not to. Without opening her eyes she nodded. Gently, reverently, he kissed her once more. There was a soft rustle as he stepped away, cool air rushing into the space where he had been, and she shivered. Without another word, he opened the door and was gone.

Damn him. Damn all men who thought they could handle any problem alone. Damn him for taking her heart with him into harm’s way and leaving her to suffer the agony of waiting. She opened her eyes and looked around the room. Damn her father, for whatever he had done. And damn her, too, if she stood here and did nothing to help Alec in whatever he was about to do.

She marched through the house, hoping her quarry hadn’t left already. Madame Wallace, dressed in a smart blue traveling gown, opened the door at her knock. A valise sat on the floor behind her.
“Oui?”
she asked, as if it was not surprising Cressida was at her door even though they had barely been introduced.

“May I come in? I must talk to you.” Cressida hesitated. “It is urgent.”

“Of course, Miss Turner.” Madame opened the door wider to allow her to enter. “What is the problem?” asked Madame with polite curiosity.

Cressida drew a deep breath and faced the other woman with an even gaze. “Alec has gone to confront someone who was involved in causing him to be suspected as a traitor.”

“Goodness,” she said mildly. “Just now?”

“He refused to let me go with him, but it may be dangerous and he would not wait.”

“Men,” said Madame with a sigh. “But why have you come to me about this?”

Cressida suffered a moment of doubt. Madame Wallace was so slim and elegant, with her exotic face and sensual movements. Next to her, Cressida felt like a giant, clumsy girl. Was she really here to ask this delicate woman to go help Alec? Tom was still in Portsmouth and Mr. Hayes had gone, but Mr. Wallace looked very capable…“I think you are more than you appear,” she replied, trusting her instinct. “I think you can help him.”

Something flickered in Madame’s eyes. She leaned closer. “Why is that?”

Cressida opened her mouth, but realized she didn’t have a good reason. “Can you not, then? Because if you can’t, I shall have to go myself.”

There was an odd humor in Madame’s smile. “This is why I do not like to work with gentlemen,” she said. “They are forever being led astray by their hearts or by their—” She stopped and pursed her lips. “Where has he gone?”

“I don’t know, but I think I can figure it out.”

“Go do that. I will be at your room in a few minutes.” She picked up the valise and set it on a chair. “We will leave soon; hurry.”

“Thank you,” she said in a rush of relief. “Thank you so much—”

“You will come with us.” Madame was digging through the valise and didn’t look at her.

“What?” Cressida exclaimed. “Oh, no. Must I go? Alec told me to stay here…”

“You are bound to know more than I do, and if you stay here I will be blind. Go, and be ready to tell me where he has gone.”

Cressida hoped she had done the right thing. With a quick nod she hurried back to the conservatory to scoop up the journal and her notes. She went in search of Julia, finally locating her in her chamber, freshly washed from the attic. “I need your help,” she said when Julia opened the door. “It’s about Alec.”

Julia waved her in without a word, her expression sharp with curiosity. Cressida handed her the pages of notes. “This is from my father’s journal. He kept it while in the army. It was in a code, of sorts, and I’ve been translating it.”

“Goodness, this is from years ago,” exclaimed Julia as she glanced at the first page. “What can it have to do with Alec now?”

She laughed nervously. “I’m not entirely certain, but read it all. There is a man mentioned, an officer, I think. Alec recognized him. Something in these notes led him to the attic and his trunk, and now he’s gone off to do…something, and I want to help but first I have to discover who this person is.”

Julia stared at her. “What?”

“Just read!” Cressida pushed her lightly in the direction of a chair. Julia went, reading as she walked. Cressida pulled out the writing table chair and picked up her pen, taking up the translation where she had left off.

For several minutes they worked in silence. “Do you mean this fellow?” Julia asked, reading aloud, ‘ “a fair, priggish fellow from Hertfordshire?’”

“Yes, that’s the one. He calls him Little Nob, or Nob. Can you guess who he means?” Julia shook her head. Cressida sighed. “He must be someone Alec knows, or did know, and it must be someone who lives within a day’s ride, since he left already.” Julia frowned, and they both turned back to their work.

Cressida’s despair deepened as her pen marched across the page. Worse and worse, her father’s behavior became. “A fine sum collected today,” he noted in June 1815. “Enemy on the march again, lovely to be back in business with my old friend De Lion.” De Lion was his name for the French colonel. “De Lion especially grateful today, informed him of old Blech’s position,” he wrote a day later. Cressida swallowed hard; old Blech was Marshal Blücher, head of the Prussian army at Waterloo. She handed the completed page to Julia and reached for another piece of paper.

And here was mention of the officer again: “Little Nob reluctant, even when de Lion offered considerable sum. Nob agreed after proof of his previous actions was displayed. Always wise to keep proof in secure location.” She was skimming now, looking for the codes that represented Little Nob or De Lion. “Nob snubbed me this eve; must remind him of mutual obligations…De Lion pressing for more information, reward handsomer than ever…Saw Nob with his expensive Castilian. No wonder he’s for sale…De Lion pays in gold now, excellent choice…Rebuffed by Little Nob, pompous arse; had to show him letters retrieved from De Lion to ensure cooperation…”

“Cressida.” Julia was looking at her with fright in her eyes. “This—This is by your father?”

“Yes.” The word almost lodged in her throat.

“But this—this is dreadful, what he says.” Julia held up the pages, her hands stained by the ink Cressida hadn’t taken the time to blot dry. “This is—this is—”

She stretched her cramped fingers. “I know,” she said quietly. “I can’t believe my father—”

“No.” Julia shook her head. She ran across the room and put the paper in front of Cressida, poking it with her finger. “This—
This
is what the army accused Alec of. This exactly, writing to a French officer and selling secrets. Here, it talks of letters retrieved from De Lion; letters from a Frenchman were found in Alec’s things, clearly implicating him in a correspondence with the man for money. My mother begged and begged for more information when the army said he had turned traitor, because she couldn’t believe it was possible, and finally some colonel spelled it out for her. I read his letter. This agrees with every particular of his account!”

“Are you saying that Alec is the officer my father dealt with?” She felt sick and disoriented. “But no—that can’t be…”

Julia snorted. “It’s not Alec. No one would ever describe him as fair or priggish, especially not then.”