Amber (Jewel Trilogy, Book 3) (38 page)

Though Trick never thought he'd be cursing his king, he did so all the way to the cottage to fetch his papers.

From there he traveled two villages over to meet the contact Charles had arranged for, a man going by the absurd name of Zephaniah Pendregast and posing as a Puritan. On the ride, Trick switched from cursing Charles to railing at himself.

What an idiot he'd been to tell Kendra about his shipping company. He'd thought it would help to come clean with as much of the truth as he could, to relieve her mind where the children were concerned, at least. But he'd gravely miscalculated. He'd seen the doubt and confusion come into her eyes, and it had made him sick inside.

He had no experience with being in love, and he was doing it all wrong.

The foundations they'd built in Scotland were crumbling out from under him. He could only hope this mission would come to an end before those foundations eroded entirely. Hope there'd still be enough left upon which they could rebuild trust.

Hope his loyalty to the king wouldn't cost him his future.

Trick had sent a messenger before him, so Pendregast was waiting in back of the blacksmith's shop where Charles's men had arranged for his temporary employment.

"I hope it's damn good news you bring," Pendregast said, dropping his proper Puritan speech the moment they were out of earshot. He was tall and lean, dark haired with a long, hollowed-out face. The blows of hammer on anvil rang in the background as they paced together into the fields behind the town's High Street shops. "I'm bloody bored in this swiving establishment."

"It's sorry I am for the delay. I was called out of the country. In any case"—Trick pulled the roll of papers from his surcoat—"I have your descriptions."

They pored over the pages together, Pendregast asking questions and Trick answering as well as he could remember.

"So do you know these men?" Trick finally asked.

"I've attended enough secret meetings to last a lifetime, I'll warrant you that. This description here"—Pendregast stabbed a finger at one of Trick's pages—"seems familiar. And one other. I'll ask around, see what I can find. I'll be in touch."

Trick walked him back to the smithy, where they shook hands. "I'll be glad to have this behind me."

"No more than I," Pendregast grated out through the fake smile he put on his face as he reentered the shop.

Knowing he'd have to leave Kendra home alone soon, Trick spent a tense couple of days tiptoeing around her, avoiding her hurt gaze while wracking his brain for a plausible explanation that wouldn't cause even more pain and distrust. Mostly he kept out of the house, acquainting himself with his estate—which was a fair enough use of his time, considering he now planned to be here more than he'd once thought.

Life near the docks in London now held little appeal. His new plan was to manage the company through correspondence plus regular jaunts to the City to check up on matters, bringing Kendra along with him. Eventually Niall might become involved as well. Having discovered a family, Trick found himself entertaining grand ideas. Expanding his company to include ships based in Scotland was just the start.

Both nights he delayed coming home until Kendra was in bed, when the darkness would save him from meeting her eyes. In those wee hours, he tried to tell her with his body what he couldn't say with words. And if her blissful sighs were laced with a touch of disillusionment, he could only remind himself that things would be better soon.

A terse message finally arrived:
Meet me seven a.m. Saturday at the home of John Garrick. Z.P.

John Garrick? Trick wondered. Was he working for Charles, too? Well, at least this would give him a solid excuse to spend the weekend away. Kendra shouldn't question a card party at Garrick's—a house party her own brothers regularly attended. With any luck, she'd happily send him off.

Evidently, however, luck wasn't on his side.

"So soon?" she asked when he found her going over menus in the kitchen. She turned to the cook. "Will you excuse me a moment, Mrs. Brown?"

Dejection dulled her eyes as she led Trick to the butler's pantry, then, finding it occupied by two maids polishing silver, all the way into the deserted two-story dining room. One foot tapping on the black-and-white checkered marble floor, she stared up at the plasterwork ceiling, studying the painted scenes there as though they might hold the answers to her problem.

Her problem being him, of course.

"We've been home less than a week," she said.

As she lowered her gaze to meet his, he shifted on his feet. "The card weekends have become tradition. It's been months since the last one, ever since our marriage. The men have been awaiting my return."

She ran a fingertip along the carved and gilded mantel. The old duke had really outdone himself gussying up this chamber. "Trick, I'm..." He watched her draw a deep breath. "I feel like I've lost you since we returned home."

"I'm right here." He forced a smile.

"You've been out and about doing God knows what. Why can't we spend some time together? Shouldn't our marriage come before a card game?"

"It's already planned," he said, wishing he could find a way to make her feel as loved and secure as she deserved. He wanted that more than he wanted to breathe.

But first he had to complete the mission. He was so close. He'd already sent a message to King Charles saying the time had arrived to set their final plans into motion.

Soon he would be free.

The next morning found him leaving his sweet wife abed with a gentle kiss to her forehead. When faced with her disappointed sigh, he reminded himself why he was doing this.

These counterfeiters were undermining the economy, threatening the newly restored monarchy. He owed this to his country; he'd made promises to his king.

If a tinge of unease stayed lodged in his gut, he was determined to ignore it.

An hour later, he arrived at Garrick's estate to find Pendregast waiting along the road, he and his horse hidden behind a hedge that concealed them from the mansion.

"What gives?" Trick asked, reining in Chaucer. "Why aren't you inside?"

"We cannot just walk in and make an arrest. We need some damning evidence first. Have you any ideas how to gain entry?"

"We might try knocking on the door." Trick peeked through the hedge. "Is Garrick in on this or not? How many men has Charles roped into this operation?"

"Just we two. Garrick is the suspect."

"John Garrick? A counterfeiter?" When Trick jerked upright at the thought, Chaucer danced beneath him. "Are you certain?"

"Not entirely. He could be just another link in the chain. But that description you gave me that sounded familiar? I asked around, found the man, and followed him for two-and-a-half days, until finally he led me here. Was in and out in five minutes. Then I hid for a while, and another man arrived. Didn't match any of your notes, but he was in and out in five minutes, too."

"So if Garrick isn't doing it himself..."

"I'm assuming he's involved in the distribution at the very least. But we need proof."

Trick's mind reeled, remembering Garrick's preachiness, his edginess, the way he always seemed to be snooping around. A closet Parliamentarian?

Damn. It could very well be. That would teach him to move into an area and start blindly socializing with the neighbors. He could have brought Garrick and the others to the cottage someday. They could have seen his props.

Damn.

"We need an excuse to get in," Pendregast said. "He has too many servants to simply wait until he leaves. People are always around."

"I can gain us entry. I know him. And he owes me a meal."

"Pardon?"

Trick patted his stomach. "Breakfast."

"Mrs. Kendra? Were you not going to tell us about Clytie?"

With a sigh, Kendra flipped the page in the wonderful book of lesser-known myths she'd discovered in Amberley's double-leveled library. At least she'd thought it was wonderful last month when she found it. Today, reading from it, it didn't seem so wonderful at all.

Once she'd thought that attaining her dream, the orphanage, would be enough. But she'd been wrong. Working with the children was fulfilling, but it didn't mend the hole in her heart that had opened when Trick left her this morning.

Dragging her attention back to the children, she smiled at their rapt expressions.

"Clytie loved the Sun God—"

"Apollo?" Andrew asked.

"Excellent memory," she said, trying not to sound annoyed at the interruption. Every little thing seemed to annoy her these past few days. "But for this story we think of him as the Sun God. You see, he found nothing to love in Clytie, and so she pined away, sitting on the ground out-of-doors where she could watch him. And she would turn her face, following him with her eyes as he journeyed over the sky. And so gazing, she found herself changed into the sunflower, which ever turns toward the sun."

"Did he ever love her?" a chestnut-haired girl asked.

Kendra met her big brown eyes. "I'm afraid not." She sighed. "Clytie loved him with all her heart, but he could never return her feelings."

Just like Trick. Her feelings toward him had grown, but she was afraid his hadn't. The lies had started all over again, and so had the unexplained separations. No man could love a woman and treat her like that.

Was she destined, like Clytie, to follow him with her eyes all her life? Never succeeding in claiming his heart?

"Mrs. Kendra?"

She snapped the book shut. No use mooning about for these couple of days he'd be gone. He'd asked her to trust him, and she would do just that until she could force an explanation.

They'd come too far for her to let her marriage go without a fight.

Susanna wandered over to tug on her skirt. "Are we not going to finish the lesson?"

"Tomorrow, maybe." Feeling better already, she smiled. "For now, let's play blindman's buff."

"Lord Garrick is not yet awake," a stiff-necked butler told Trick.

"Well, then, rouse him." Without waiting to be invited, Trick stepped into the sprawling, dark manor house and motioned Pendregast to follow. "Tell him the Duke of Amberley is here to collect on a debt."

"With all due respect, your grace—"

"Aye, I
am
due respect. I believe I shall wait in the dining room until I receive it."

With a jerk of his head to Pendregast, he started wandering in the direction he figured a dining room might be located.

Sputtering, the butler marched up the stairs.

The third room Trick looked into had a dining table. He promptly dropped into a dull-mustard upholstered chair. The rest of the chamber was no less drab. He'd seen no evidence of the remodeling Garrick had claimed was his reason not to host the house party, though the place was sorely in need of it.

Of course, the last thing a counterfeiter needed was construction workers roaming around his house.

"Forgot about this." Pendregast took a folded note from his pocket. "It was sent by special messenger this morning, addressed to you."

Trick broke the red seal and unfolded it. A letter from King Charles—he'd have recognized his distinctive hand even without the "Your loving friend, Charles R." at the bottom.

The king wrote with good news that all was set, the plan to commence today and culminate sometime Monday evening.

Damn. "A day or two," Charles had told him with his usual blithe indifference when describing the plan last week. Trick had latched on to the convenient card party excuse without considering the arrangements might prove too complicated to be carried out over a weekend.

Damn, damn, damn.

He couldn't even go home and try to explain to Kendra. According to Charles's letter, the king's men would be waiting for him when he finished here.

"Is something amiss?" Pendregast asked.

"Aye. Nay." He shook his head to clear it. "I just need to get a note off to my wife. I saw a desk in the sitting room next door—could I trouble you to fetch me quill and paper?"

While he waited, he composed the note in his head. Yet another half-truth. The web his marriage hung suspended on was becoming more and more tangled.

He had the note written by the time Garrick stomped into the room, hastily dressed and bleary-eyed.

"What's this about a debt, Amberley?"

"I seem to remember you showing up unexpectedly at my home, right in time for supper." Folding the paper, Trick plastered on a smile. "I just happened to be riding by this morning and noticed it was time for breakfast."

"What?"

"And you brought friends as well, did you not? This is my friend, um, Harold"—he slanted Pendregast a quick glance—"Gaunt. Sir Harold Gaunt."

"Pleased to meet you, Lord Garrick," Pendregast said.

Garrick gave him a curt nod before turning back to Trick. "The friends I brought were your friends, too."

"And so they were." Trick shrugged and held up the note. "Can I trouble you to have one of your staff run this to Amberley House? It's rather urgent." He licked his lips. "What are you serving this morning?"