“How did you know I was alone?” Gillian asked.
“I didn’t,” he told her. “I knew you’d been left alone because I heard the innkeeper and his wife discussing your situation, but I didn’t know you were alone until I climbed in your bedroom window and saw you curled up in bed all by yourself.” He took another deep breath before resuming his explanation. “You weren’t supposed to know I was there,” he said. “I intended to be long gone before you awoke.”
“But I surprised you.”
“Aye.” The one word was riddled with emotion. “In every way.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks. “You knew I was afraid. You held me through the night and paid my way home. You saved me, Colin.”
“No more than you saved me, Gillian.”
“When you danced with me at Lady Harralson’s, you knew who I was and what I’d done.” Gillian looked down at her lap and began pleating little folds into the paper on her lap.
“No,” Colin told her. “I had no idea who you were until I met with your father. All I knew was that I felt guilty for leaving you behind when you asked me to take you with me.” Colin shrugged his shoulders. “I couldn’t take you with me, but I didn’t like the idea of leaving you behind and at the mercy of the innkeeper and his wife. I did what I could.”
She drew a shaky breath and tackled the question uppermost in her mind. “Are you planning to use my father’s ships to smuggle French contraband?”
“No,” he answered honestly.
“Then what’s this about?” She waved the pleated paper on which the Davies shipping schedules and trade routes were written beneath his nose.
“We think that someone else is using your father’s ships for that purpose.”
“We?”
Colin groaned. He considered it a sign of just how dangerous she was for his peace of mind and how comfortable he had become in Gillian’s presence, that he, who never blundered or fell prey to foolish slips of the tongue where the Free Fellows were concerned, had made several in front of Gillian. He had fallen asleep over a stack of coded messages. At the rate he was going, Colin would be lucky if she didn’t know all of his intimate secrets by morning.
He took a deep breath, then exhaled and decided to tell her as much of the truth as possible.
“He lied, didn’t he?” Gillian asked before he had a chance to answer her. “He lied about being an agent for our government and working against the French. He lied about all of it.” She looked at Colin. “He used your name because you are everything he wanted to be, but was not. Our meeting. Our wedding. All of it was arranged, wasn’t it? Even before we met. We were like marionettes, and he has been pulling the strings. Please, tell me the truth. Because none of this is coincidence.”
“No, not coincidence, Gilly, my love.” He lowered his voice to that husky Scottish burr that always sent shivers of awareness up and down her spine. “Fate. It was fate. Because we belong together.” He stared into her eyes. “And everything I’ve told you is the truth. Or as much of it as I can safely divulge. I work with the government in the War Office. These messages were intercepted from French agents and sent to me because my new father-in-law’s—your father’s—name is occurring far too frequently for comfort.”
“Does your work for the government involve smuggling?”
“It has upon occasion,” he admitted. “And it’s also involved the apprehension of smugglers. Why do you ask?”
“The innkeeper’s wife at the Blue Bottle called you ‘the smuggler.’”
“I’m delighted to hear it,” he said. “Mistress Douglas has reason to suspect that I am a smuggler, and I prefer that she and her husband continue to think it.”
“I have reason to suspect you’re a smuggler as well,” Gillian reminded him.
“Do you believe me when I tell you that I don’t intend to use your father’s ships for that purpose or for any purpose?”
Gillian stared into Colin’s eyes and read the truth in them, then lowered her gaze and studied the pattern in the carpet.
“Gillian? Do you?” He held his breath as he waited for her answer, for it had suddenly become more important than the air he breathed.
“Yes,” she whispered, praying that her faith in him wouldn’t be betrayed simply because she wanted so badly to believe him.
Colin reached out and tilted her chin up so he could see her expression. “Are you certain?”
She nodded. “And I can prove it.”
He managed a tender smile. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”
“Maybe not,” she allowed, “but if you intend to help Papa instead of harm him, you need to know that the information on this sheet of paper and the letters on some of the cryptographical puzzles are wrong.”
“What?”
Gillian pointed to the trade route Colin had deciphered. “This is wrong. The Lady Dee has a port of call in the Firth of Forth in Edinburgh, but The Diamond Princess doesn’t sail those waters. She sails from the Mediterranean to the southern coast of Africa. The Pearl Princess sails the Orient, and The Lady Royal sails the Caribbean and has a port of call in Port Royal.” She looked at Colin. “This schedule, or whatever it is, has them sailing the wrong routes and calling at the wrong ports. None of Papa’s ships are sailing in Calais or any other French ports.”
“You’re certain?”
“Of course, I’m certain,” Gillian told him. “We named them that way. Each of our ships is named for the trade route it sails. It’s our company’s practice. The Dee is a river in Scotland, so The Lady Dee sails to Scottish ports. Diamonds come from Africa, so The Diamond Princess plies her trade in ports of call in Africa. Pearls come from the Orient, and Port Royal is in the Caribbean Sea, and so forth.”
“All twenty-four ships are named in this manner?”
“Yes. It began as a game,” she said. “When I was little, it was a way of teaching me geography as well as Papa’s business, and we’ve continued it because we could tell the trade routes of all the ships at a glance, just by knowing their names.”
“Who knows about this?”
“Papa and Mama and me,” Gillian answered. “And I suppose it’s possible that one or two of the most senior clerks and the older captains might know of it.” She thought for a moment. “It isn’t something we trumpet, but it isn’t something we hide, either.”
“So, it’s possible that a clerk or a sea captain or first mate with less experience would be unaware of the specific way the ships are named.”
“Of course, it’s possible,” Gillian said. “Obviously, whoever compiled this got it wrong.”
“Would the captains of these ships sail the wrong routes if they were ordered to do so?”
“It has to be possible,” she allowed. “If these ships were where this says they were, then all of them except The Lady Dee are in the wrong waters. I think that would depend primarily on two things: who’s captaining the vessel and whether they’re heading home or heading out.”
Colin frowned, not fully understanding the point she was making.
Gillian elaborated. “These are merchant ships, Colin. Cargo space is dear because every bit of space that isn’t used for the crew and the food stores is used for cargo. The more cargo, the more money to be earned from it. Ships leaving London have empty cargo holds. They could put into the wrong port and take on cargo or passengers fairly easily, but a ship coming into London from a trip abroad is filled to the gills with cargo and a crew eager to reach home. A detour to another port would be hard to explain to the crew and to those of us who await the ship.” She studied the paper. “In this case, three of the four ships are way off course. There’s no reason for ships bound for the Mediterranean, the Caribbean, or the Orient to sail north to Scotland. Even the crew had to question that”
“That would depend on whether the crew is in on the scheme or not,” Colin guessed. “And on who authorized the change in the trade route.” He turned to Gillian. “Who is responsible for doing that?”
/>
“Papa.”
“And if the good baron isn’t available?”
“Me,” she replied. “Or Papa’s designated scheduling clerk.”
Colin looked his wife in the eye. “Do you think it likely that your father might be unaware of his ships’ whereabouts?”
She shook her head.
“Gillian, I’ve seen The Lady Dee docked in the Firth of Forth.”
“That’s where she belongs,” Gillian reminded him. “Yes, I know,” he replied. “But I sailed from Marseilles on her. And I saw The Diamond Princess docked there less than a fortnight later.”
Gillian was so worried about her father and his wayward ships that she didn’t think to inquire about why Colin had been in Marseilles. “Something is wrong,” she concluded. “Papa didn’t authorize that I’m sure of it.”
“So am I,” Colin agreed. “We need to return to London as soon as possible.”
“What about those?” Gillian gestured toward the pile of enciphered messages. She studied Colin’s deciphering. “That should be an a and that should be a y and those two should be an l and an r.”
Colin shuffled through the papers Gillian had retrieved and stacked until he located the enciphering table. He studied it for a moment before he turned to Gillian. “Not according to the table.”
“The table is wrong,” she insisted. “Look at the grouping of numbers here,” she pointed to the passage in question. “And here. The message doesn’t make sense unless you change this to an l. What does the table say?” she demanded.
Colin read it, then turned to her. “You’re right. The table is different. They must be changing it.”
Gillian picked up another page of enciphered messages and quickly began deciphering it.
“How do you do that?” Colin was amazed. He was good at deciphering, and the Duke of Sussex was even better, but he doubted that either one of them could decipher as quickly as Gillian could and without Conradus or a deciphering table to help her.
“I like puzzles,” she reminded him. “And this is just a matter of recognizing the numerical patterns and figuring it out.”
Colin grinned at her. “If I swear you to secrecy and promise to make it worth your while, would you consider spending an hour or so before we depart for London working for the government deciphering codes?”
“On one condition.”
“What’s that, my lady?”
“That you repeat what you did to me this afternoon in the labyrinth.”
Colin’s grin grew even broader. “So, you liked being kissed in your secret places?” he teased.
“Oh, yes!” Gillian blushed to admit it, but it was quite the most wickedly exciting and incredibly satisfying kiss she had ever had. And she was eager to experience more of the same.
“It’s a deal, my lady,” Colin told her. “When and where?”
She straightened to her full height and looked him in the eyes. “In the coach. On the way to London.” She gave him a wicked smile. “I’ll dress accordingly.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
“They say best men art molded out of faults,
And for the most, become much more the better
For being a little bad.”
—William Shakespeare, 1564-1616
Measure for Measure
They departed Sheperdston Hall for London at dawn, and the journey was by far the most pleasant trip Gillian and Colin had ever made. The hours flew by as the carriage rumbled along the Post Road covering the distance between country and city, and the lovers inside the carriage occupied themselves with the covering and uncovering of each other.
They arrived at the outskirts of the city flushed with color and pleasantly sated. And as they put their clothing to rights and lingered over sweet kisses, Colin took Gillian’s hand in his and looked her in the eye. “I need... I want...”
“That’s a start,” she taunted him.
Colin took a deep breath and tried again. “About last night...”
Gillian arched an elegant eyebrow in anticipation. “Yes?”
Colin frowned. “I owe you an apology, my lady, for the way I took you without preamble on the desktop like a—”
Gillian placed two fingers against his lips to stop the unnecessary words. “I don’t recall any need for an apology. In fact, I found the situation quite to my liking—and quite satisfying.”
He kissed her fingers and bowed his head, and Gillian took pity on him and made his task so much easier. “When do you leave?”
“How did you know?” He looked up at her in surprise. The messages she’d spent part of the night helping him decipher had said nothing about his mission, only that he was needed in London.
She drew a shaky breath and managed a slow, wistful smile. “Your kisses taste of good-bye.”
Colin closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. “I have to go,” he told her. “There’s no one else. Whoever made those unauthorized changes to the shipping routes went to a great deal of trouble to arrange it. The moment your father becomes aware that his ships have been used for nefarious purposes, the game is over. And desperation is dangerous. Your father has spent a lifetime building his business. I won’t allow anyone to endanger it.”
A sudden rush of tears clogged her throat, and it was all Gillian could to do nod her head without crying.
“I don’t anticipate a long absence,” he said softly, “but there is always the chance that...” Colin couldn’t stem the feeling of urgency he felt or stop the sense of foreboding that something was about to happen. Something for which he needed to prepare. “That I’ll be delayed or...” He knew the success or failure of the mission depended upon him and that it was possible he wouldn’t return, but Colin looked at Gillian and swore otherwise. “I’m coming back, Gillian. I promise.”
“Don’t make promises you cannot keep,” she warned him, reaching up to trace the outline of the scar on his chest through the fabric of his waistcoat and shirt. “There are footpads with daggers on every corner.”
“Daggers I can handle,” Colin joked. “It’s the pistols I worry about.”
She blanched.
“It was a joke,” he rushed to reassure her.
“Don’t joke about things like that,” she ordered. “Not to me.”
“All right,” he agreed, turning her hand so he could press his lips against her palm, then close her fingers around the kiss to hold it. “I won’t be accompanying you to Herrin House,” he said at last. “You’ll have to go without me.”
Gillian slowly expelled the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
“I do have a favor to ask,” he continued.
“Anything.”
“My sister, Liana, is in her first season.”
“I know.”
“She needs help,” he said. “Someone other than Maman. Someone younger, who can help her with the latest fashions and things...”
He was putting things to rights, making certain his family would be taken care of, should something happen to him.
“I’ll be honored to help,” Gillian told him.
“She has no jewelry,” Colin told her. “She’ll need help with that.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“And if you can find the time,” he added. “I’m sure Malcolm and Gregory would enjoy learning how to sail toy sailboats.” He smiled at her. “I’m told that Tuesday and Thursday afternoons on the Serpentine are the best times.”
“Are you planning to be away that long?” she asked. “Or are you trying to tell me that you aren’t coming home?” The coach turned into the drive at Number Twenty-one Park Lane.
“I hope to be home to help you,” he said at last. “But if things should not work out the way we’ve planned... Avon or Shepherdston will contact you. If you need anything—anything at all—go to them.”
“I’ll wait for you, Colin McElreath.”
“Gillian…”
“I’ll be watching and waiting for your return”
The coach rolled to a stop, but Gillian made no move to exit. Colin continued to hold her hand as the footmen unloaded her trunks. “I suppose you’ll be needing your French lady’s maid once again.”
“I suppose,” she replied glumly.
“Hey,” he lifted her chin with the tip of his index finger. “No more tears. I’m not abandoning you. I’m coming home. As soon as possible. And when I do, Lavery will get a raise in salary and a few days off.”
She closed her eyes.
“Gillian...” He tried once again. “Gillian, I’m Sir Galahad. Galahad always returns.”
“You had better,” she warned, her blue eyes flashing. “Because I’ll be waiting and I...”
He waited for her to say it, waited for her to give him an opening.
She looked up at him, recognized the tender look in his green eyes and thought for a moment that he might be on the verge of telling her how he felt.
“I look horrible in black.”
* * *
When the Free Fellows League met at White’s in their usual room, all four of them were present for the first time since Colin’s wedding.
“Sorry to call you back from your honeymoon,” Jarrod apologized.
“We were planning to return to London early, anyway,” Colin said.
“We?” Sussex couldn’t resist teasing him a bit about the way things had changed.
Colin took the good-natured teasing in stride. “Gillian is eager to get to work putting Herrin House to rights.”
“How is it?” Jarrod asked. “In good shape?”
“I like it just as it is,” Colin told them. “Old Herrin had excellent taste. But it’s definitely a man’s home. The feminine touches are few and far between.” He made a face. “There’s going be a lot of fabric swatches and decorating involved.”