Now she was just “her.” Olivia fumed. Especially as Robert continued issuing orders like they were soldiers in his regiment.
Or prisoners of war.
“Lock the door behind me and don’t open it to anyone but me or Aquiles.” He took a quick tour of the suite, checking the windows and ensuring that all was in order. When he finished, he turned to Jemmy. “Do you still have that pistol of yours?”
“Oh, aye,” he said, drawing it out of his jacket. “Though it isn’t loaded.”
“Load it.” He tossed him a pouch of powder and shot. “And if anyone tries to come in, shoot first.”
“And if the Queen over there decides to leave?” Jemmy asked, tipping a grin in Olivia’s direction.
Robert didn’t even bother to spare her a glance. “Same orders.”
Olivia opened her mouth to protest, but it was too late. Robert had turned on one heel and left, pulling the door closed behind him with a moody slam. Jemmy threw the lock with all the enthusiasm of a boy on his first hunt, then eagerly set to work loading his pistol. Once he finished that task, he pulled a chair from the table and leaned it up against the heavy wood door, settling in, arms across his chest and the pistol at the ready.
Olivia knew that Robert was more than likely headed downstairs to meet with that stranger, and there was no way she wasn’t going to be there as well.
She, of all people, had the most at stake in meeting him.
Looking around the room and at Jemmy’s earnest, firm expression, she realized her only means of escape would require some subterfuge.
Having lived at Finch Manor for seven years, she knew one thing Jemmy and his father had a weakness for. Not entirely proud of herself, she walked over to the table and started to study the array of food and drink the boy had brought up.
And the first thing she did was pour herself a glass of port and take an appreciative sip.
“Oh, my!” she said, taking another drink. “This is wonderful.”
Jemmy’s brow furrowed, his jaw working back and forth.
Olivia smiled at him. “You must try this. It is simply divine. I doubt even your father has ever had such a bottle in his cellar.”
The young man rose to his feet. “I doubt this shabby place could out-serve my father’s cellar.”
Olivia shrugged and took another sip. “I hate to say it, but I don’t think I’ve ever tasted better.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he said.
She almost smiled as the young man poured himself a large tumbler full of the potent port.
And three tumblers later, Jemmy had deemed the Portuguese vineyard adequate before his head slumped over and he fell fast asleep.
“I’m so sorry I have to take advantage of you like this, Jemmy,” Olivia whispered to him, as she put a blanket over his shoulders. “Your mother always says, ‘Reyburn men have no head for spirits,’ and for once, I must say, I’m glad she was right.”
When Robert got back to the common room, it was empty except for Bathasar, who stood behind the bar, cloth in one hand, a dirty glass in the other. The innkeeper nodded toward a back room, where only a single candle burned.
“He’s waiting for you in there.”
Then, as if in answer to his arrival, from out of the shadows a tall, familiar figure stepped forward. “What kept you?” his brother Raphael asked. “Or should I say who?”
“Maybe I didn’t want to help unload your shipment,” Robert told him, choosing to ignore the inquiry about Olivia.
“Now that I would believe. You officers never are much for hard work.” Rafe walked back into the shadowed room and retook his seat. Before him sat a half-filled glass of wine, a flagon of the ruby liquid and an empty glass.
Robert took a seat as well and watched as his brother poured him a glass of wine.
“You’ve missed much since you left,” Rafe said. “The rumors have run rampant.”
“What are they saying?” Robert asked, taking an appreciative sip of the vintage.
There was something to be said for a smuggler’s wine cellar. And Bathasar’s was the finest in Portugal.
“That you kicked up a fuss when you were sent to London. Some even say you went after
El Rescate.”
“Sounds about right.”
Rafe’s brow cocked in surprise. Obviously it hadn’t been the answer he’d been expecting. “So?”
“So what?”
He leaned forward. “Did you find it?”
Robert shrugged. “Depends on whether or not you believe in legends.”
“And if one did?”
“Then I would have to say, yes, I suppose I did.”
Rafe whistled. “That sure explains a lot.”
“What do you mean?”
“The rest of the gossip. I’ve been plagued by every shady character from here to the border about your whereabouts. They seem to think that for a few coins I’d be willing to sell out my own brother.”
“Wouldn’t you?” Robert teased.
“Don’t test me,” Rafe shot back. “This is serious. The stake is already at five thousand in gold for you captured alive.”
“And if I have the information they want?”
“If you know how to find
El Rescate del Rey,
you might as well double that.”
Robert laughed. “Well by tomorrow I’ll have delivered Miss Sutton to Wellington in Lisbon, and then she’ll tell him where the ransom is buried, and I will no longer be a marked man.”
Rafe looked up from his glass. “Who did you say?”
“Miss Sutton,” Robert said, glad to have finally gotten to this portion of the conversation. He’d been wondering how he was going to tell Rafe about her.
Of all the Danvers brothers, Rafe had burned the hottest for revenge for Orlando’s death. His mercurial temper, inherited from his Spanish mother, had nearly consumed him as he’d raged and railed against the fates and treachery which had taken his beloved brother and closest friend.
And now he, Robert, had brought the woman connected to that murder to within Rafe’s very grasp.
But instead of the reaction he was expecting, Rafe laughed. “Oh, you had me going there for a moment. That chit died with our cousin and is probably still warming his bed in hell, if you’ll pardon my pun.”
Robert didn’t return his grin. “It’s no joke, Raphael. Miss Sutton lives.”
His brother’s eyes narrowed. “She’s dead. As dead as that bastard lover of hers.”
Shaking his head, Robert readied himself for the inevitable explosion.
Rafe didn’t keep him waiting long.
He slammed up from the table and kicked at his chair, stomping back and forth in the empty room. A long string of curses followed.
Robert just watched and understood. He’d felt much the same way when Pymm had told him the news.
“And you brought her
here
?” Rafe asked. “How can you trust her after what she did?”
“I don’t,” he told him. And he meant it. He definitely meant it.
No, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t trust Olivia Sutton. Despite his desire for her soft curves, her whispered words, the body that fit to his. She wore Lando’s ring like some prize—a token from a man she’d most likely watched die.
“Oh, this is bad,” Rafe said, continuing to pace about the table.
“Like I said, after tomorrow she won’t be my problem. I’m taking her at first light down to headquarters and delivering her to Wellington.”
Rafe came to an abrupt halt. “To Wellington? But you can’t.”
“And why not?”
“Because Wellington pulled out weeks ago. He’s in Badajoz by now.”
Olivia slid the bolt on the door and eased it open. She half expected Aquiles to be stationed on the other side. But to her surprise and relief, Robert’s giant servant was nowhere in sight.
The common area down below was empty, and the room was cast in shadows, the only light that of a single taper on the bar. She crept down the stairs, pausing at the bottom step, trying to discern where Robert had gone.
To her right, the muffled sound of voices caught her attention. With her back to the wall, her body swallowed in darkness, she eased toward the conversation.
She thought she heard Robert mumbling something, but the voice that answered him stopped her in her tracks. It was a voice she knew, had heard imploring her in her dreams to avenge him.
And now he was alive, here in this out-of-the-way Portuguese inn.
“Dammit, Hobbe, you can’t mean to take her there,” he was saying.
Olivia’s heart froze. The voice . . . But he couldn’t be. And what had he said?
Hobbe.
She shook her head, wondering if she had heard that correctly. Groping to steady herself, she bumped into a table, sending it rocking wildly.
The noise brought the occupants of the other room to their feet, and Olivia held her breath as first Robert, then his companion came barreling out of the private room, pistols drawn.
Robert caught up the candle on the bar and held it aloft, sending its thin light in her direction.
Olivia had witnessed many things in her short acquaintance with Robert Danvers, but the man standing next to him stopped her breath in her throat.
Like something out of a dream, out of a nightmare, he stepped past Robert and stood in front of her.
He was saying something, but what she couldn’t discern through the unholy roar in her ears.
For never before had she come face to face with a ghost.
O
livia faced the man who had died in her arms. “You’re . . . you’re alive?”
This living and breathing phantom had the audacity to grin. “I tend to like it that way.”
“But how? I saw you . . . I held you . . . when you . . . ” How could she utter the word “died” when he stood before her in such perfect health? She took a step closer to him and reached out with a tentative hand, prodding her finger into his chest, half expecting him to vanish into thin air.
But he remained before her, a living contradiction to the nightmare she remembered. Certainly he had changed some from the youthful Spaniard she remembered, but time had only given his promising sharp features a rugged, handsome quality.
“I don’t understand,” she said, touching him again. “How could this be?”
“How could what be, señorita?” he said, staring bemusedly over her shoulder at Robert.
Olivia had almost forgotten he was there. But nevertheless she tugged at the chain around her neck and pulled it until the ring sprang free. Holding it up for this man to see, she said,
“You
gave me this.”
His reaction was much the same as Robert’s had been. His eyes widened with shock. “I gave you that?”
Olivia shook it in front of him. “Yes! Don’t you remember? In the library at Lord Chambley’s. Right after you were . . . you were shot.”
“What is this?” he asked Robert in rapid Spanish. “What is she talking about?”
“She thinks you are Lando,” he told his companion. “Miss Sutton, I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake. This is my brother Raphael Danvers. The man who died in Chambley’s library was Rafe’s twin, Orlando.”
She whirled around. “Your brother? That man was your brother?”
He nodded.
Everything she thought she’d known shattered like a dropped porcelain teacup at this revelation. His brother? Oh, dear God. No wonder he hated her.
As she tried desperately to put all the pieces back together, she realized Raphael had reached out to touch the ring she still held before her.
“You say Lando gave you this?” he asked, his fingers closing over hers.
She nodded, still taken aback by their startling resemblance.
“What did he say? What exactly did he say to you?” the man asked, his dark gaze burning into her.
She took a breath and struggled for a moment to remember. Then, as if it had happened yesterday, she told him, word by word.
Run, now. Go as far as you can. Hide where they cannot find you. Give this to no one but
—
Hobbe.
Rafe gazed at her, his lips mouthing the words silently as if he were weighing each one. And when he finished, he looked at her anew, but this time his gaze was filled only with sadness. “My apologies, Miss Sutton. If Lando gave that to you, then I owe you my deepest apologies.”
Robert surged forward, pushing between them and coming face to face with his brother. “What the devil are you talking about? Are you out of your mind?”
Rafe bristled and met his brother nose to nose. “He would never have given
that
to her if he did not believe in her.” His words came out in blistering hot Spanish so fast that even Olivia could barely keep up. As if to punctuate his words, he held up his hand to reveal a ring that matched hers. “Lando sent this to you as a sign of his faith in her. That is good enough for me, as it should be for you, Hobbe.”
Hobbe.
“Hobbe?” she demanded. She caught Rafe by the arm. “You said that name earlier. Hobbe. Who is that?”
She sensed rather than saw Robert make a rapid gesture at his brother, but it wasn’t fast enough to stop Rafe from saying, “You’ve already found him.” He nodded at someone behind her.
She spun around, not knowing what to expect. And all she found in the empty room was Robert.
Robert.
He took a deep breath and straightened his stance, looking every bit the hero she had always imagined her Hobbe would be. But a hero he wasn’t. The realization howled in her ears like a spiteful banshee.
The man who died hadn’t sent her to another agent or some larger than life hero. But to his brother. Robert Danvers.
Rage and anger surged through Olivia at this, his newest deception. Oh, how it stung! And she didn’t know what was worse, that this lying, conniving bastard was her hero or that he had used her for his own means so effortlessly.
Why, he was no better than the cousin he had imitated so perfectly. No wonder he’d fooled everyone.
Including her.
“You lied to me,” she said. “How you must have laughed at my stupidity. Used me, while all the time you knew the man I sought was you. What did you hope to discover from me in the meantime? My duplicity? The truth behind my
ruinous reputation
?” She paused for a moment. “Well, you did find a way to discover the truth about those
lies,
now, didn’t you?”