Authors: The Traitors Daughter
“Miss Tremayne!” Everly snapped.
Amanda jumped. “I—I was not attending.”
Everly sighed and shook his head. “I sincerely hope you are not involved with Admiral Locke or his fellows,” he said. “I would hate to have you arrested.”
“Arrested?” she squeaked. Alarm constricted her throat. “But I have done nothing. Locke is a blackguard, and I intend to prove it. He framed my father, who took the blame for Locke’s crimes. My father was a loyal officer—he was innocent!”
The stern lines of Everly’s face softened. “I respect
your regard for your father. For your sake, however, I hope that something more than fervent conviction drove you to rifle through Locke’s personal belongings. You put yourself in great peril, Miss Tremayne.”
“I have letters from my father, letters detailing his suspicions about Admiral Locke, but no one would listen. No one at the Admiralty, no one on the Navy Board. I had to take matters into my own hands.”
“Letters?” Everly’s golden brows arched toward his hairline. “What do these letters contain?”
“Documentation of my father’s suspicions about Admiral Locke. Activities, dates, apparent consequences.”
“Why did he send this information to you, and not to the Admiralty, or even to his solicitor?”
“He tried to warn the Admiralty, but he also feared that Locke was not working alone, so he sent home a copy of the information. He trusted me to do what was best.”
“I don’t think he meant for you to go off half-cocked like this,” Everly muttered. “You should have given the information to you family solicitor and let him deal with it.”
Amanda twisted her hands together in her lap. “After we received word of the trial, our solicitor respectfully declined to represent us in any further legal matters.” Try as she might, she could not keep the bitterness from her voice.
“Then he was a fool,” Everly said. He stared straight into her eyes; his azure gaze captivated her. “Listen to me, Miss Tremayne. This is not a matter for a woman of your sensibilities. Give me your father’s letters, they may aid me in my investigation. I assure you that I will do my utmost to find out what Locke is hiding. If I find evidence to exonerate your father, I promise you that I will.”
“You want me to trust you with my father’s letters? Do you take me for a gudgeon, Captain?” Her scorn sliced through the air between them. Surely he did not think her so naive! She was not convinced that he
wouldn’t destroy the letters; she vowed not to let them leave her care.
Everly let out an exasperated sigh. “No, Miss Tremayne. You are many things, but I do not think you are a fool.”
Amanda wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or piqued. “Don’t you?” she accused.
“No,” he insisted. “What have I done—lately—to earn your disfavor?”
“You never asked my direction. We have been driving around in circles for the past quarter hour.”
She had embarrassed him; a slow wave of color washed over his face from jaw to brow. “You’re quite right, Miss Tremayne. I can be very single-minded at times. If you would be so kind?”
Amanda gave him her address, and Captain Everly opened a window and relayed it to his coachmen. The steady clop-clop of the horses’ hooves combined with noises from the street to dull the silence between them.
“Allow me to apologize,” Everly offered with a small, self-deprecating smile. “Too much time ashore has compromised what manners I have left.”
Amanda smiled back in spite of herself. He was charming, wickedly so. “About the letters, Captain …”
Everly sat up, intent.
“It’s not that I do not wish to aid your investigation,” she continued, “but I have come too far to be shunted aside now. I will let you read my father’s letters, but they must remain in my possession.”
He scanned her face as if searching for duplicity. He must have found none, for he nodded. “Very well, Miss Tremayne. I agree to your terms.”
Relief bloomed within her; she sighed. “Meet me tomorrow afternoon by the gates to Green Park at half-past three. I will bring the letters.”
Everly’s expressive mouth broadened into a pleased smile. Laugh lines appeared around his eyes. Amanda’s heart staggered sideways in her breast, and she looked quickly away. Oh, heaven help her if she became too
fond of that smile; Everly had yet to redeem himself. She could not trust him until he had.
The carriage pulled to a halt in front of the lodging house. Everly squinted out the window, his good humor faded.
“You live here?” he asked, incredulous.
Pride stiffened Amanda’s spine. “’Tis the only place my grandmother and I could afford.”
Everly seized one of her bare hands in his and stared at her work-worn fingers. The touch of his warm, calloused skin made her dizzy. She jerked her hand away.
“You work to support your family?” His eyes were hooded, his expression inscrutable.
Amanda’s neck went hot with shame. “I had no choice, Captain. The Crown seized our lands and what money we had. Faced with the choice of work or starvation, I chose the former. If you must know, I am employed as a seamstress. Now, if you have no more rude or impertinent questions, I must ask you to excuse me.”
Amanda would have bolted from the carriage the minute the footman opened the door, but Everly placed a restraining hand on her arm.
“I’m sorry,” he said simply. “You did what you must.”
This was too much. “I do not want your pity, Captain,” she snapped. “Only your assistance. Green Park, tomorrow. Do not keep me waiting.”
She caught only a glimpse of Everly’s surprised expression before she darted into the lodging house. She uttered an unladylike oath under her breath. Did he expect her to be indebted to him? No doubt he thought himself very magnanimous for helping a poor woman in distress. Of all the arrogant, condescending … Amanda paused on the landing, wrestling to cork the genie bottle of her temper. Yes, the captain was arrogant. And condescending. But no matter her opinion of him, right now he was the only one who could help her achieve her father’s redemption.
Amanda resumed her ascent at a more dignified pace, and wondered how she was going to tell her grandmother that they were not going back to Dorset.
I
nstinct alone prompted Everly to brace himself with his cane as his carriage turned a sharp corner, for his mind was preoccupied. The memory of Miss Amanda Tremayne’s lovely face lingered in his imagination, no matter how hard he tried to exorcise it. Egad, she was a fetching thing, even with shadows of distrust in her dark eyes. Fetching, yet prickly as a sea urchin.
The more he thought about the girl, the more she mystified him. She was a walking contradiction. Lovely, but grim. Young, but hard-edged. A pocket Venus who could throw a punch as well as any man. How could she be so idealistic and confident of her ability, yet so reckless, determined, and completely blind to the peril in which she had put herself, let alone the potential consequences of her actions?
Everly found it hard to believe that a slip of a girl had undertaken such a monumental task, or come as far as she had. When he met her in the park, he would have to do his best to convince her that she had done enough, she should allow him to continue the battle. This was no longer her fight. If Locke or any of his ilk found out about her letters, Miss Tremayne would be in considerable danger. He had to protect her, for her own good.
His carriage came to a halt, and Everly stared out at the formal façade that was Boodle’s gentleman’s club. He hadn’t been here in months, ever since … well. He’d rather not remember the last time he was here. He pulled the message from his pocket; Grayson MacAllister had slipped it to him earlier in the day.
Meet me at No. 28
St. James’s Street, 4 o’clock
. The message was unsigned, but obviously from Carlisle. Secrecy again.
Everly alighted from the carriage. He felt a muscle spasm in his jaw as he made his way up the stairs. Of all the potential meeting places in London, why did Carlisle have to choose this one? No matter. Everly handed his hat and cloak to the porter, but kept his mother-of-pearl inlaid cane by his side. More rain in the air, more pain in his leg. He was growing weary of this.
“Thomas will show you the way, Captain,” said the porter, before Everly could say anything.
So, he was expected. In unfamiliar waters, a captain did not
like
to be expected. Alert, Everly followed the footman up the stairs to a private parlor near the back of the building. The room was empty. The footman bowed and departed, closing the door behind him. Everly settled down in a chair by the hearth.
He had never been in this particular room. It was much smaller than any of the other parlors, but close surroundings did not bother him. After all, a frigate’s wardroom was hardly larger than this, with a much lower ceiling and worse smell. No, the problem was not the room, but the furnishings. The mahogany furniture with dark leather upholstery, the black marble mantelpiece, and the heavy bottle green velvet curtains which framed the single window all contributed to a rather Stygian atmosphere. Some might feel cozy in a room like this, but Everly felt downright claustrophobic. He shifted in his chair, feeling a sudden longing for the bright, open sea and the feel of wind against his face.
Minutes trickled past like treacle from a spoon, and the longer Everly waited, the more annoyed he became. Where the deuce was Carlisle? He checked his timepiece yet again. A full quarter hour had passed. Stiff and awkward, he rose from his seat and yanked on the bellpull, determined to get to the bottom of this.
An elderly servant, stooped with age but still spry, answered Everly’s call. “Yes, sir?”
Everly frowned. “I’ve never seen you here before.”
“I’ve been employed here for over forty years, sir,” said the man with great dignity.
“Hmmm. No matter.” Everly paced before the mantel. “I was supposed to meet a certain gentleman here, but he has not arrived. Is there any message for me?”
The footman shut the door. “Patience is a virtue, Captain, especially in my business.” Before Everly’s eyes the man straightened up, his hunched shoulders disappeared, and he seemed to grow a foot taller. He approached Everly with a confident stride.
Everly gripped the head of his cane, stunned. “Carlisle?”
The earl made Everly an elegant, self-mocking bow, then put a finger to his lips. “Softly, Captain, if you please. I regret the deception, but I had to be certain you were not followed, and that we were insured complete privacy.”
Everly examined Carlisle up and down, from his powdered wig to his rusty black livery, lingering with incredulity on the complex makeup that had transformed the earl into an old man, complete with wrinkles and liver spots. “Forty years’ service, indeed. You have a flair for the dramatic, my lord.”
Carlisle grinned, displaying yellowed teeth. “I ran off to join a traveling theater company when I was fifteen, and actually managed to learn a few things before my father found me and dragged me home.”
Everly’s eyes narrowed. “Why were you so certain I’d wait for you?”
“You don’t strike me as the type of man to leave in a fit of pique,” answered the earl. “This mission is too important to you, and to England. I meant to join you sooner, but several gentlemen in the gaming room have been quite demanding, and kept me busy.”
Carlisle must have noted Everly’s surprise, for he continued. “Part of my disguise is fitting in to my surroundings. With a recent influx of members, the club management has had to hire more staff, so a new face—even an older one—isn’t unusual. No one would recognize me, dressed like this.”
“Quite so,” Everly agreed. “Now that you’re here—how should I proceed on this rather delicate matter?”
Carlisle’s eyes shone with cunning. “As it happens, Admiral Locke is also a member of Boodle’s. His presence has all but eliminated the club’s reputation for dullness.”
Everly raised an eyebrow. “Does that have anything to do with why you asked me here?”
“It does, Captain. Locke is one of the demanding gentlemen in the gaming room. Gambling is one of his favorite pursuits, and he has a taste for deep play. He believes that many gentlemen of the
beau monde
think themselves above his touch, so Locke prefers the company of navy officers. They have as much blunt as the nobs, but with fewer pretensions.”
Everly responded with a humorless smile. “For the most part.”
“I have also learned that the admiral’s ball was not as successful as he would have liked. It seems that most of the
ton
were not impressed by his hospitality, and Locke did not make many favorable connections. Seems that most of the high sticklers consider him a mushroom, a parvenu.”
“So much for the Lion’s aspirations,” Everly muttered.
Carlisle nodded. “Exactly. To proclaim him a hero is one thing, but to socialize with him, or even have him court one’s daughter is quite another. This situation works to our advantage. As a result of last week’s disappointment, Locke plans to give a smaller, more intimate card party on Saturday for a circle of friends who share his tastes. This will be the perfect opportunity for you to get back into the house.”
“Card party?” Everly waited for Carlisle to elaborate.
“If you wish to call it that. From what I’ve been able to uncover, Locke has engaged a notorious hostess, Mrs. Danvers, to turn his house into a gaming hell for the evening. Cards, dice, and ladies of questionable repute will be the bill of fare.”
Everly met the earl’s eyes. He did not need to guess
what Carlisle expected of him. “How am I supposed to get an invitation to these … festivities?”
“Simple, Captain. All you need to do is join Locke at the table downstairs. How are you at vingt-et-un?”
“Tolerable, I suppose,” Everly mused.
“Splendid. You should also know that Locke tends to socialize with men of rather shady reputation. Play the role of disgruntled captain as well as you do the cards, and I am confident that your virtues will prompt Locke to give you an invitation.” Carlisle smiled.
Everly repressed a guffaw. “If I didn’t know better, my lord, I’d swear you just insulted me.”