Nicole Jordan (4 page)

“We actually had little information to go on. When Isabella’s ship never arrived, we sent out inquiries. There had been no storms that week, or any other reason to suggest it might have sunk. And then we learned that a vessel flying an Algerian flag had been sighted in the packet’s wake.”

“And there has been no word of Bella since? No demands for ransom?”

“None. Sir Gawain sent two agents to Tripoli just in case our intelligence was mistaken, but the odds are greater that she was taken to Algiers.”

“And Sir Gawain wants me to go directly to Algiers to search for her?”

“Yes.”

“Doubtless he understands the difficulty of locating her there.”

Caro nodded. From what she’d heard, Algiers was a large, crowded city with dwellings crammed together like rabbit warrens. And the country itself—the Kingdom of Algiers—was a vast expanse of rugged mountain and hostile desert.

Her sherry remaining untouched, Caro set her glass on the mantel to reach into her reticule. Drawing out a thin sheaf of folded papers, she handed them to Thorne.

“All the particulars are here,” she said. “Everything we have planned thus far…each of our assignments, including yours.”

Thorne perused the details quickly, not questioning why Caro had come personally to deliver his orders. The Guardians often communicated by mail dispatches and carrier pigeon, but this assignment was too important to risk being lost.

Caro shuddered to think of what might have happened to her friend. It was hoped that Isabella’s dark beauty and elegant manners would have spared her the fate of many slaves—a terrible life of toil and beatings—and landed her instead in some wealthy lord’s harem. The Kingdom of Algiers was ruled by a Turkish dey, who governed from a massive castle. If Isabella was imprisoned there, breaking her out might be next to impossible.

Yet first they had to find her. A half-dozen Guardians were in Barbary now, seeking information, while several others had been recalled to Cyrene in the event they had to mount a rescue.

Thorne looked up from studying his orders. “Hawk is leading the search in Algiers,” he verified, “and I am to link up with him there.”

“Exactly. And I don’t need to tell you how imperative it is that you proceed quickly.”

He nodded. “I’ll leave tomorrow morning, as soon as I arrange a few details to put my current assignment on hold.”

The light of anticipation in Thorne’s eyes greatly encouraged Caro. For the first time in weeks, she felt her taut nerves relax the slightest measure. She was infinitely glad to have Christopher Thorne on their side.

She had known he would be eager to participate in the mission, since he loved the thrill of danger. A rebel at heart, Thorne was the hotheaded, reckless member of the group. And of all the Guardians besides Caro, he was closest to Isabella, so he understood perfectly her anxiety for her friend.

Thorne rose from the sofa and crossed to her, taking her gloved hands in his larger, stronger ones. “We’ll find her, never doubt it.”

Caro smiled faintly. She was far more troubled about this mission than any previous one, doubtless because she had such a high personal stake in the outcome. “It is just so frustrating to be this helpless. I cannot stop seeing Isabella at the mercy of some cruel master. She is all alone, Thorne—”

“Have you considered another possibility? That Bella may look upon her captivity as an adventure rather than a tragedy?”

He was trying to reassure her, Caro realized, yet he did have a point. Most women would be terrified at being enslaved by Barbary pirates, but the spirited Isabella was far more resourceful and enterprising than any average woman. If anyone was a survivor, it was she.

But still, it distressed Caro immeasurably that they couldn’t even begin to make detailed plans until they discovered if and where Isabella was being held captive, which could take weeks or even months.

“You are right, of course,” she murmured. “But I shall go mad with nothing to do but wait.”

Thorne chucked her under the chin. “Oh, no, my girl, you won’t get off so easily. At the moment I have the perfect task for you. You may make my excuses to my aunt. She won’t be eager to free me from my promise to squire my cousin around London.”

“Why me?”

“Because Aunt Hennessy likes you. And she will be more willing to forgive me if you ask it of her.”

Lady Hennessy had sponsored Caro’s disastrous London Season years before and held her in high affection, despite the scandal she’d inadvertently caused.

“Just tell her that Bella has gone missing,” Thorne added, “and that I’m needed to rescue her.” He led Caro to the library door and opened it. “Go attempt to wind her around your thumb, love. Meanwhile I’ll fetch some dispatches for you to carry to Sir Gawain tomorrow. I should return in an hour or so. Do you mean to stay here tonight?”

“If Lady Hennessy will permit me.”

“I have no doubt she will—
if
you promise not to cause a scene at her ball. She is still trying to live down your Season.”

Color rose in her cheeks at his wicked teasing. “Of course I won’t cause a scene. I intend to make myself scarce as soon as I speak to her.”

“She will be grateful, I’m sure.” Thorne turned to go, then glanced back over his shoulder. “Oh, and Caro? One other thing you may do for me…. Extendmy apologies to Max Leighton.”

Caro felt every nerve in her body tighten. “Major Leighton is here?” she asked, her voice a bit too high and breathless.

“
Mr.
Leighton. He’s a civilian now. But you should know that. He is in all the society pages.”

She did know. Sir Gawain had the British newspapers shipped to Cyrene with his weekly reports so he could keep up with current events in both the world and in the Beau Monde.

“Why must you apologize to him?” Caro asked, trying to appear casual.

“Because I dragged him to this ball so he could keep me company. It was a supreme sacrifice on his part, considering how persistently the ladies are hounding him. I regret having to abandon him to their sweet mercies. Tell Max that I am sorry and that my invitation to him to visit Cyrene at Christmas still stands.”

Caro lowered her gaze to hide her dismay. “If I see him,” she answered reluctantly, “I will give him your message.”

“That isn’t good enough, love. Promise me you will seek Max out after I leave. Otherwise I will have to delay long enough to do it myself.”

“Very well…I promise.”

“No doubt he will be pleased to see you. He was just asking about you earlier tonight.”

She gave Thorne a startled glance. “He was?”

“Yes. You evidently made quite an impression on him during his brief visit to the island last year. Now go find my aunt. I will return as soon as possible.”

As Thorne strode away, Caro stared dazedly after him, wanting to curse. The last person she wanted to see was Maxwell Leighton, but it didn’t seem as if she would have much choice.

Caro returned to the ballroom with grave reluctance. She wasn’t a coward—ordinarily. But the thought of encountering Max Leighton again was unnerving.

It astonished her that Leighton had asked after her.
You evidently made quite an impression on him.
Heat rose to her cheeks. She could only imagine what he thought of her behavior that night. Acting like a perfect wanton. Pleading with him to make love to her. Practically seducing him. Even now her face burned at the memory. Even now the memory of his touch filled her with a sweet, aching longing.

Did he have similar remembrances of their night of passion? After all the women he had likely been with, Caro doubted their tryst had meant anything special to him.

She certainly would never forget it, though. That magical night had shown her so clearly what she was missing in her life. And Max’s wonderful lovemaking had only increased her yearnings….

It had been a profound mistake to surrender to her wanton urges, but still she cherished the memory. So much so that she didn’t want it spoiled by cold reality, or the disappointment of encountering him now in the light of day. She had read numerous newspaper accounts of Max Leighton over the past months—the titillating gossip about his amorous affairs and the predictions regarding the race to secure his hand in marriage.

Lamentably, however, she saw him the moment she entered the ballroom. The crowd had parted slightly, revealing his tall, commanding form a short distance away. Rather than the dashing uniform of the 7th Hussars, he wore an exquisitely tailored blue coat that molded his muscular shoulders to perfection and no doubt reflected the striking color of his eyes.

He was surrounded by a half-dozen beauties, as she’d expected. Determinedly Caro tried to repress the hollowness in her chest. She had often wondered if Max was still the wounded warrior, or if he had somehow managed to heal after the terrible conflict with Napoleon had ended. He certainly did not look as if he was suffering now, she reflected wryly.

She was infinitely glad that he had come through the war safely. And he deserved happiness, certainly. Considering the horrors he must have endured, the mind-numbing pleasures that London offered a battle-weary soldier would go a long way toward helping him to forget. But still, it had disillusioned her to learn that he had turned into such a rake. More damningly, it hurt to see him with so many beautiful women.

Just then he turned and met her gaze across the ballroom. Her heart seemed to stop completely. He was still the same unforgettable man she saw so frequently in her dreams. Those were the same striking features. The same compelling blue eyes fringed by black lashes. He still possessed the same powerful, potent masculinity.

She could feel herself flushing with warmth as his glance hotly connected with hers.

Chastising herself, Caro managed to swallow past her dry throat. If she was required to speak to him, she would do her utmost not to let her tumultuous feelings show. And if, heaven forbid, he happened to mention that long-ago night between them, she would brazen it out, pretend to be as sophisticated as all the worldly beauties who presently flocked around him, vying for his attention.

For now, however, she needed to find Thorne’s aunt.

Dragging her gaze away with effort, she spied Lady Hennessy along one wall, sitting with the other dowagers. Grateful for the distraction, Caro threaded her way through the crowds.

The portly, silver-haired lady looked up with surprise, her expression first breaking into a smile of delight, then fading to one of concern. “My dear girl, whatever are you doing here? Sir Gawain? Is something amiss?”

Caro bent to kiss the soft cheek that was presented to her. “Sir Gawain is well, my lady. But I fear I have some other regretful news—as well as a request regarding your nephew. May I have a private word with you?”

Lady Hennessy’s friends on either side of her took the hint and vacated their chairs, allowing her to draw Caro down to sit beside her.

“Very well,” the elderly lady said, narrowing her sharp eyes. “Tell me what daring deeds my scapegrace nephew is involved with this time.”

“You seem to be taking an extraordinary interest in Miss Evers, Mr. Leighton,” a plaintive female voice murmured. “Surely you realize that she is merely trying to draw attention to herself.”

“Yes,” another young lady complained. “It is just like her to create a scene by appearing at a ball in all her travel dirt.”

Forcing his attention back to his companions, Max raised an eyebrow. “You think she is here merely to create a scene?”

A half-dozen ladies responded, all eager to regale him with tales of Caro Evers, it seemed.

“My come-out was the same year,” one remarked.

“She was old for a deb even then.”

“I remember her as a silent, awkward creature. No social skills to speak of.”

“She would not even dance.”

“But it was the scandal she caused that was the final straw.”

“Indeed, Lady Hennessy was mortified.”

The trills of laughter became a chorus as they all seemed to share a common memory.

“What sort of scandal?” Max asked curiously.

“Miss Evers dressed up as a man to attend medical lectures.”

“She was caught studying naked bodies!”

“Worse, she examined the entrails!”

Several of the ladies shuddered. The tall blonde who had hunted Max earlier added with malicious glee, “And for that, she was banished from the ton in disgrace.”

His eyes narrowing, Max fixed the widow with a cool frown. She evidently noticed his disapproval, and fell silent—but one of her conspirators did not.

“It was quite absurd, her pretending to be a man, although she certainly could be one, her complexion is so coarse and brown.”

Feeling a rush of protectiveness for the woman they were so eagerly demeaning, Max found it an effort not to clench his teeth. Caro Evers’s golden-hued skin was not the pasty, milk-white ideal favored by English beauties, but he found it immeasurably more attractive. “Her complexion is no more tanned than usual for someone who lives on a Mediterranean island.”

“Do you know her, Mr. Leighton?”

Smiling faintly, he again came to Caro’s defense. “I had the distinct pleasure of meeting Miss Evers last year when she saved the life of one of my lieutenants. In fact, I consider her to be one of the most remarkable women of my acquaintance.”

His response put an abrupt pall over the conversation. “Now if you ladies will please excuse me,” he added with a wicked smile, “I must go pay my compliments to Miss Evers.”

Ignoring the looks of dismay on their faces, as well as the blond widow’s indignation, Max turned sharply and made his way across the ballroom toward where Caro Evers was deep in conversation with Lady Hennessy.

It was obvious that some urgent business had brought her to London, and he was highly curious to know what it was. He was even more interested to see if any remnant of the fire that had once blazed between them still existed.

He kept his gaze fixed on her and was gratified to see how she froze when she looked up and saw him.

Her gray eyes were as large and lustrous as he remembered, like silver smoke, while her features had the stamp of character and intelligence. Not stunningly beautiful perhaps, but with an inviting appeal all the same.