Nicole Jordan (36 page)

Nor could she continue to deny the traitorous longings that had been building inside her these past few weeks. Lately she’d found herself wishing that she was not an heiress. That she was not obliged to fulfill her father’s dreams for her and could follow her own foolish dreams instead . . .

And if she was entirely honest with herself, she would admit that physical passion was no longer enough for her. She wanted more. She wanted true love, the kind her parents had known.

The kind she had only dared imagine in her most secret fantasies.

Love would be an adventure in itself, Antonia knew instinctively. And love with Deverill would be incredible.

A fierce yearning swept over her, along with a sudden realization: It would be a betrayal of her father, undeniably, but she would be willing to forsake her solemn vow to him if she thought Deverill could come to love her.

At the reflection, a new sensation curled inside Antonia, one edged with anticipation and hope. Overcoming Deverill’s personal demons might be impossible, but she wanted to try.

She wanted to discover if she could win his heart.

Nearly a hundred miles to the south, Deverill was staring restlessly out to sea, his thoughts roiling as his inner longings battled with his common sense.

He should, in fact, have been celebrating his victory. The past night had been long and arduous, but he had captured his quarry—the murderous smuggler who had preyed for months on the Cornish Freetraders—while sustaining no injuries to his own crew and little damage to his schooner. He was now sailing back to Falmouth with his prisoner locked in his ship’s hold.

Deverill wasn’t certain if his urgency to complete his task had been driven more by his need to save innocents from a killer, or by his eagerness to return to Wilde Castle, where Antonia awaited him. But now that his mission was successfully concluded, his focus most definitely had turned to Antonia—and to his own dilemma.

He was losing the battle against her. Against his fierce desire for her.

Deverill squeezed his eyes shut, picturing Antonia as he’d last seen her, remembering the silk of her hair and the warmth of her skin as she both succored him and drove him wild. Simply the memory made his loins harden—and aroused a peculiar ache in his chest at the same time.

For a long while now, he’d been aware of the special tenderness he felt for Antonia; a soft feeling would flow through him at odd moments, so unexpectedly he had no defense against it. Yet only now was he forcing himself to examine the more complex emotions assaulting him: A savage yearning that was not only sexual but something even more disturbing. A need for her that had grown to dangerous proportions.

Antonia, he grudgingly acknowledged, had burrowed under his skin like no woman ever had or ever would. And she was likely to stay burrowed.

It was a dire complication he had never counted on.

He couldn’t deny his reluctance to give her up, either. In truth, if he closed his eyes, he could actually imagine a future with Antonia.

Amazingly enough, he could envision being wed to her—a prospect that had unexpected and startling appeal. If he ever were to marry, he would want a wife exactly like her. She was spirited and challenging enough to keep him forever intrigued; adventurous and brave enough to be a Guardian’s life mate.

Any Guardian but him.

He wasn’t like his colleagues; he couldn’t be. He couldn’t permit himself to reach for happiness as if he were deserving of it. His search for expiation was nowhere near over. His vow to atone for the past would never be completely fulfilled. He had dedicated his life to his calling, and he would allow nothing to interfere . . . most certainly not his own personal desires.

Desire for Antonia. She made him dream of impossibilities. Made him yearn for things he would never allow himself to have.

He had to relinquish her before it was too late, Deverill knew. When he returned to Cornwall, he intended to end their affair. And when he returned to London, he would use the opportunity to sever his ties with her for good.

Indeed, Deverill resolved, the moment he received word from Macky that all their plans were in order, he would set sail for London . . . and he would leave Antonia behind.

It would be wiser for them both, allowing them to avoid any more of the dangerous intimacy that had filled their relationship the past few weeks. He couldn’t allow her to sail with him. The risk would be too great.

Instead he would make a clean break.

Antonia would be unhappy about his decision, undoubtedly. She would likely fight him. But at least he would stand a chance of ending their liaison with minimal pain . . . and eventually putting her out of his mind and heart for always.

After her conversation with Isabella regarding how to capture Deverill’s heart, Antonia arrived home in high spirits, her mind churning with possibilities and plans.

Her optimism immediately suffered a blow, however, for she was forcibly reminded of the threat Deverill still faced. A letter was waiting for her from her trustee, Phineas Cochrane.

Excusing herself, Antonia took the letter into the library, where she broke the seal and quickly perused the contents.

My dear Miss Maitland,

In formal correspondence Phineas always addressed her as Miss Maitland rather than Antonia, as he did in private.

I have reviewed the account books as you requested and regret to inform you that Director Trant has indeed been unlawfully transporting slaves, as you suspected, using the power of his office for his own gain.

When I confronted him, he claimed that by means of extortion and blackmail, Lord Heward compelled him to falsify the accounts to conceal their illegal activities and their immense profits.

Mr. Trant most certainly must be terminated from employment at Maitland Shipping—and perhaps be charged with felonious wrongdoing—but I shall await your further instructions before acting. It is my considered opinion that he is eager to escape prosecution and thus may be willing to help expose Lord Heward in exchange for leniency. It appears that Trant is deadly afraid of his lordship.

As you insisted, I have said nothing to Heward, so as not to alert him. Naturally, however, it would be best to act sooner rather than later. It is therefore my hope that you will provide me with new instructions regarding this highly distressing matter. I hold myself to blame for negligence in overseeing your company’s affairs and wish to make amends as soon as possible.

Your obedient servant,

P. Cochrane

Anger flooded Antonia at this first, conclusive evidence of Heward’s perfidious nature. It outraged and shamed her, not only that he had engaged in the terrible practice of transporting slaves for the lucrative profit, and that he had employed extortion and blackmail for his own devious ends, but that she had been so easily duped. Heward had betrayed her trust and her late father’s memory, criminally using the company to line his own pockets . . . and probably much worse.

After this revelation, she had not a shred of doubt that he was capable of killing an innocent woman and framing Deverill for the murder . . . and of poisoning her father as well.

Yet the difficult matter of proving Heward’s guilt remained.

Antonia’s fist clenched involuntarily around the letter. He had likely killed her father, and she would see him punished if it was the last thing she ever did—

Just then, Lady Isabella swept into the library. “I understand your letter came from London, my dear. I hope it contains good news and not bad?”

“Possibly good,” Antonia said, looking up. “We have a witness to at least one aspect of Lord Heward’s perfidy.”

She intended to send Phineas’s letter directly to Deverill at the inn in Gerrans, so he could read it the moment he arrived home from his patrols.

She hoped he returned soon, for she was more determined than ever to return to London. She wanted Heward brought to justice—and she wanted to be there to personally insure it happened.

Antonia received word about Deverill much sooner than expected. The next morning Lady Kenard sent a message to Wilde Castle with the glad tidings that the scourge of the coast had been apprehended, and that her husband, Sir Crispin, had gone to Falmouth to meet with Mr. Deverill and see to the disposition of the pirate. As the local magistrate, Sir Crispin would take charge of the prisoner and arrange all the proper legal proceedings.

Antonia read the news with relief, knowing that Deverill was safe after having successfully captured his quarry. She expected him to call on her when he completed his business with Sir Crispin in Falmouth, but her eager anticipation turned to impatience by mid-afternoon when there was no sign of him. No doubt he was busy, but at five when she still had heard no word from Deverill, Antonia sent a message to his inn. The innkeeper wrote back that Mr. Deverill had given up his rooms there and that his belongings had been delivered to Sir Crispin’s home.

It puzzled Antonia yet didn’t alarm her, since it was perfectly reasonable that Deverill would be invited to stay at Kenard House. It startled her, however, when Fletcher Shortall was shown into the drawing room soon after dinner, where Antonia was restlessly pacing the carpet while Sir Gawain and Lady Isabella sat reading.

“Have you brought word of Deverill?” Antonia asked immediately, trying to hide her anxiousness.

“Aye, miss.” The wiry seaman bowed respectfully to Sir Gawain and handed him a sealed letter. Then he did the same to Antonia with another letter. “His
nibs . . . er, Mr. Deverill . . . bade me beg yer ladies’ pardon that he can’t deliver this in person.”

Antonia broke the seal and quickly read the contents.

Deverill’s message was quite brief: A report from his London colleagues had been waiting for him upon his return, asserting that the path was clear to finally put his plans in motion. Thus, he would sail for London the following morning. Regrettably he would have no time to call on Antonia to take his leave, but would keep her informed of events once he reached London.

Antonia stared at the letter with welling trepidation. The time had come for Deverill to confront Lord Heward. Then another implication dawned on her: Not only did Deverill mean to sail without her, he planned to go without even saying farewell.

An odd, sick feeling rose up in her stomach to join her fear, but she tried to ignore it as she addressed Deverill’s messenger. “Tell me, Fletcher, where is Deverill now? With Sir Crispin at Kenard House?”

“Aye, miss. They had business to deal with, and Mr. Deverill could best do it there. He told me to bid ye farewell for him, since we’re to sail early tomorrow.”

“We shall see about that,” Antonia muttered to herself, before turning on her heel and marching out of the drawing room, intent on ordering Isabella’s carriage and then fetching her pelisse and bonnet.

Sixteen

Upon admittance by the Kenard butler, Antonia learned that Mr. Deverill was closeted in the study with Sir Crispin. When she requested to speak privately with Deverill, she was shown into a small parlor to wait.

Too unsettled to take a seat, however, Antonia paced instead. She did not want to infer too much about Deverill’s decision to leave Cornwall so abruptly without her, yet she very much feared he was driven by more than an urgent desire to get on with his investigation.

Her heart leapt when Deverill appeared in the doorway, and she couldn’t keep from drinking in the sight of him.

But his green eyes were hooded, dispassionate, and his tone was cool when he stated curtly, “Why did you come here, sweeting? I thought my letter made it clear that I had no time to see you.”

Antonia strove to keep her tumultuous emotions under control. “And
I
thought I might ask why you planned to leave without even saying farewell.”

Deverill shrugged his broad shoulders. “You know why—I must return to London immediately. And I saw little point in prolonged good-byes. Our idyllic tryst is over, Antonia. We had a pleasurable few weeks together, but they have ended.”