The Guardian Duke: A Forgotten Castles Novel (20 page)

Then why did He let this happen? Was it something Gabriel had done? Was there some test he hadn't passed? Anger and fear enveloped him in a nauseous cloud.

"Why did You let this happen to me? Again? It was coming back!" He spoke the words out loud but he didn't hear them, not even a little.
Oh, God, what if it is permanent this time?
He'd begun to really believe that the northern climes had done him good. That his hearing would soon be back to normal. But no. Anger filled him as he'd never felt it.

"Why give it back only to take it away again? You are cruel." He turned away from the sunrise. "You may know everything, but You are cruel to give me hope and then snatch it away again."

Gabriel hit the post on the end of the bed with his fist. The bed shook with the force of the blow. Pain radiated up his arm but he welcomed the feeling. He had to get out of here.

Trembling with anger, he dressed and packed up his belongings. They were to board a ship to Ireland today. Dare he go now? He was dreading getting on any kind of ship, having had to battle seasickness in his navy days. Humiliation that a duke's son, a person of his rank, was curled into a wretched ball of misery and then the accident he'd had . . . well, they'd moved him to land duty and kept him there. But now, he had no choice. Alexandria was coming home to London with him whether she liked it or not and if he had to cross a hundred seas, he would do it.

Minutes later he pounded on Meade's door and waited. He finally opened it, his hair sticking up in all directions and eyes squinting against the light. It must be early. "I'm going down to the taproom for coffee and breakfast. Meet me down there as soon as possible."

Meade nodded and said something but his head was down and Gabriel couldn't make it out. "I've lost my hearing again," he blurted out in angry staccato. He might as well tell him, as he'd find out soon enough.

Meade's head came up and his eyes widened. His lips clearly mouthed that he was sorry. "How do you feel, Your Grace?"

"I feel like pounding someone into a bloody pulp, that's how I feel. Now, we'll use the speaking book again when necessary, but we must get on that ferry and find Lady Featherstone. You will have to question the men at the customs house. Find out if they have any record of her, what ship she sailed on, and where she disembarked. Also, try and find out the name of the man traveling with her, if indeed he is traveling with her and not following her." He waited for Meade to nod his understanding and then turned and stomped down to order breakfast.

GABRIEL PACED THE DOCK AREA while Meade went inside the customs house to find out about Alexandria. It was humiliating that he couldn't ask the questions himself, humiliating and infuriating. Anger hummed through his veins like wildfire. It wasn't good for him, he knew that readily enough, but he was afraid what would happen if he let go of the anger. The despair waiting for him at the other end of this rage was too terrible to consider. So he paced, switching his gloves back and forth from one hand to the other.

A hand on his shoulder stopped him midstride. He spun around to find a gun pointed at his chest. His heart leapt to his throat. Dear God, was this it? Was he about to get murdered in broad daylight by a couple of footpads?

The two men flanked him and he had a flash of memory from the post office the day before. The man in line behind him . . . it had to be . . . yes, he was the same man as the one with the gun standing right in front of him. He'd overheard them talking. He knew Gabriel was a duke.

The man shouted something but Gabriel had no idea what it was. The other man reached for him. Instinct took over and Gabriel spun to the side, but he wasn't fast enough. The gun went off, a silent explosion with smoke that surrounded them like thick fog. The air smelled of burning powder. It was too close! Too close. Pain burst through his shoulder in a shocking wave. Had he really been shot?

He stumbled as the other man dove on him, rummaging through his coat. He grasped Gabriel's purse in a tight hold. They were both breathing hard as the first man held him while the second patted down his body. They spoke to each other and then shoved him to the ground and turned to run.

"Help!" Gabriel shouted. He started after them, the pain from his shoulder radiating down his arm. Wasn't anyone around to help him? He ran a little farther, stumbling, blood dripping down his arm and to the street. A black curtain started to veil his vision. He fell to the ground. He was going to faint.

HE WOKE TO FIND MEADE'S face hovering over him. "Thank God, Your Grace. I've called a doctor. He should be here any moment."

Gabriel struggled to sit up, finding himself in his bed at the Queens Arms. "They got off with my purse, Meade. We have to find them. We need that money."

Meade's hands fluttered nervously around Gabriel's good shoulder, his reed-thin body blocking Gabriel's attempt to rise. "But sir, the blood. Doctor first."

Gabriel glanced at his shoulder and gave in, lying back down. He looked at his blood-soaked shirt, a wave of weakness overwhelming him. "Very well, help me get this shirt off. Is it still bleeding?"

Meade set to work on the shirt, a tortuous process that made the wound leak fresh blood. Gabriel knew enough about bullet wounds to direct him to press on it and hold the pressure until the bleeding stopped. They discovered that the bullet had passed directly through the upper part of his shoulder, which was good news, a clean shot with no bullet to dig out. By the time the doctor arrived, they had the bleeding stopped and had cleaned the area around the wounds, both front and back. The doctor spoke with Meade and then set to work stitching the one in the back.

"The wound is more ragged in the back, Your Grace." Meade explained as Gabriel breathed hard through his nose and concentrated on staying conscious. How had he let this happen? He would have heard them approach had he not been deaf. He could have fought them off if he'd heard them coming. Would he have to have someone with him at all times now, like a child in leading strings? The frustration gave him something to concentrate on as the needle poked in and out of his shoulder. Finally the torture was done.

The doctor made a poultice of some kind of strong- smelling concoction, applied it to both wounds, and bandaged it with a wide strip of linen around and around his shoulder and under his arm. The doctor held out a bottle of laudanum, which Gabriel refused. It was just a dull ache now and it kept him awake. Meade paid the man, Gabriel wondering how much money his secretary had on him, and then the doctor left with the promise of coming tomorrow to check on him and change the bandage.

"Meade, you must alert the authorities of the theft. There was over five hundred pounds in that purse. I recognized the man from the post office. He came in and must have overheard my conversation with the postmaster. He knew I am a duke. Tell them to check the post office for the identity of the man. If they recover the money, they can send it to us."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"How much money do you have? And what did you find out about Alexandria?"

Meade took out the speaking book.

"Alexandria's name was on the passenger list of the
Saint Patrick
. It left 2:00 p.m. on a Wednesday, almost two weeks ago. Its destination was Belfast—directly across the Irish Sea. She was not seen with a man, but when I questioned the clerk he said he did remember a striking older gentleman who carried himself with authority and the man did have a sword, which I thought sounded like the same man described by the postmaster. The clerk couldn't remember for sure, but after studying the list of names on board at that crossing he thought it might be James Montague."

Gabriel looked up, startled. "Admiral James Montague?"

Meade's eyes widened. "I had not considered that," he mouthed. "Could it be?"

Gabriel thought back to what he'd heard about the man. He was certain he hadn't met him in person and so had no face to put to the name. He had heard though that the admiral
had
gone north upon retirement from the Royal Navy. He must be in his upper sixties by now. Hadn't his wife died? He'd turned into something of a recluse after that, the gossip papers had said. But what could one of the most famed military leaders in British history possibly be doing with Alexandria? God save them, she was impossible to second-guess.

"If Montague is for her, she couldn't be in better hands. But if he's against her . . ." Gabriel tried to get up. "We've no time to lose. Let us get aboard the first ferry to Ireland. Do you have enough money for the fare?"

Meade took out his leather purse and emptied it onto the bed. It wasn't much but it would get them across the Irish Sea and then, in Belfast, Gabriel could make a visit to the Bank of Ireland.

"But sir, the doctor warned of infection. You need to stay in bed and rest for a few days at least. You shouldn't travel until it is somewhat healed."

"There is no time to coddle my shoulder. We leave day after tomorrow."

THE COLD BREEZE BLEW BACK Gabriel's hair as they skimmed across the choppy waves that crashed against the bow of the ship. He swallowed hard against the rolling of his stomach and set his teeth, a sheen of sweat forming on his face. Just a few hours . . . and if he kept his gaze fixed on the horizon, it helped a little.

What a mess he was! His hearing gone again, his stomach revolting against the rocking of the waves, and his arm in the sling under his coat aching with the damp air. He felt like the walking dead and hoped desperately that no one recognized him. He wore his collar up and his hat pulled low over his eyes. His anger had diminished into an imperceptible hum as they'd passed the inhabited Isle of Man with its quaint cottages, stone castle, and wide rocky beaches. A little while later, he saw the grandeur of the Emerald Isle coming into view. Land. Blessed relief. Rocky cliffs gave way to rounded hills of green. Those then sloped down into an inlet valley with the buildings of Belfast making black and white smudges against the green.

He'd never been to Belfast, only Dublin and some smaller towns in the south. The northeast of Ireland was said to be more Protestant, more British from all accounts. He would be afforded more respect here as a peer of the British realm, not that it mattered much with his hearing gone. Meade would be doing most of the questioning from now on. He would lend his weight as duke when needed, but otherwise he hoped to stay in the background where the curious couldn't seek him out.

Alexandria, couldn't you make this easy, sweetling? Leave a wide path? It would be ever so helpful.
He cracked a smile at the thought. Grasping tight hold of the handrail, he clung to it and tried to think as she might think. She was looking for her parents so she would be searching for clues. Where might she go to find such clues was the question. The letter from her mother had led her to Belfast, so she knew of one place her mother had gone. She must have visited the post office and inquired after her parents there. It was the best place to start.

An hour later they traveled up the channel and docked. Thanks be to God, he could get off this bobbing ride and plant his feet on solid ground. His knees wobbled and his thighs quivered as he followed the crowd off the boat. Once on shore, Gabriel took a long breath, his eyes shut as his body readjusted yet again, and barked orders for a carriage for hire, giving directions to the driver to take them to the post office. It was something of a comfort knowing that if someone said something he should respond to, Meade would take care of it. His secretary was becoming ever valuable, he reflected none too happily, settling back for the ride.

Thatched houses and shops lined the streets with pubs and churches on every corner. After a rocking ride that did little to help the nausea he was fighting, they stopped at a building with the British Union flag flying from the eaves. Gabriel followed Meade out. "You know what to ask, Meade?"

"Certainly, Your Grace."

"I'm trusting you to take charge of this mission and it's well . . . difficult," he murmured as they neared the door.

"I understand, Your Grace. I shall do my best."

Meade's lips were easy to read and his response expected. "Yes, well, see that you do. And if you get into any trouble, just bring out the speaking book. We'll deal with questions about that as they come."

Meade nodded, opened the door, and allowed Gabriel to precede him.

Gabriel watched in tense frustration while Meade struck up a conversation with the postmaster. The man looked at them both with obvious suspicion, a fact that boded ill of getting any information out of him. Gabriel tried to read his lips, understanding only that he'd been introduced as the Duke of St. Easton here on the prince regent's business. Risky that, but perhaps it would put the fear of God into the man. They proceeded to have an animated conversation with hand gestures and facial expressions Gabriel fought to understand.

Blast! Meade wasn't winning him over, Gabriel could tell. He didn't know how. What came as easily as nature, this golden charm, a velvet voice that he, instinctively, knew just how to use—thrust and parry, like a game of chess or swordplay. Every man had to be willingly conquered; women in a different way, but it had an easy flow to it, like satin against satin. One only need know how to react and counter.

Poor Meade was at sea. After several minutes Gabriel couldn't stand it any longer and interrupted. He leaned over the thin desk that he could easily break with his weight alone. "Tell us everything you know about Lady Alexandria Featherstone and her family, her parents, or see the prince regent's own men at your doorstep, my friend." He tilted his head and gave him an easy smile. "I mean only to protect her. I mean her no harm."

The man looked visibly shaken, but his chin raised in such a way that told Gabriel something important, told him that Alexandria had gotten to him. In their brief encounter, Alexandria Featherstone had won this man's allegiance . . . and that said a very great deal indeed.

Gabriel backed a little out of the man's face and smiled, a genuine smile. He stopped a laugh, knowing it wouldn't be understood.
Look what's she's done. She is everything I am imagining she is.
The thoughts pounded with the beating of his blood. He had to look away as a sharp sensation struck his eyes. He brought his fingers to his nose and squeezed, still smiling, unable to stop it.