“Olivia, there is more to this—” he began.
“Oh, yes, your sacred duty to King and country,” she said. “Now I suppose you are going to introduce me to Wellington and tell me it is my duty to to lead
you
to The King’s Ransom.”
For a moment he flinched, as if she had stumbled onto something he didn’t want her to find out.
“You are taking me to Wellington tomorrow, aren’t you?” she demanded.
“That’s exactly what I intend to do,” he replied.
Olivia didn’t believe him for a minute. “And I’ll be presented to Wellington tomorrow.”
On this he flinched again. “Well . . . on that there is a bit of a problem.”
“Oh, do tell,” she replied. “Let me guess, Wellington has conveniently left the country.”
“She’s got that one right,” Rafe muttered under his breath. He’d settled down in a chair, his boots propped up on the table. “I like her, Hobbe. She’s got fire.”
“A few minutes ago you wanted to strangle her,” his brother shot back.
Rafe grinned as he refilled his glass from a flagon. “I’ll leave that pleasure up to you.”
Olivia saw nothing amusing in their banter. “I will not be handed about like some Haymarket prize. Am I going to see Wellington tomorrow or not?”
Robert’s frown creased even deeper, and he shot his brother a dark glance. “Actually, Rafe was just telling me that Lord Wellington has moved with the troops a bit east of Lisbon. We’ll have to ride out to meet him.”
“How far east?” she asked.
“Badajoz.”
The chills ran down her arms. Had he just said what she thought she’d heard? “Badajoz?” she repeated.
“Yes. Do you have any objections?” he asked rather moodily.
Olivia didn’t quite know how to answer. Was this a test? Did he truly know what he was asking her? “Why has his lordship gone there?”
Robert’s lips pressed together, his jaw a solid line of impatience. “Madame, I’m not going to discuss the military implications of Wellington’s strategies with you. Suffice it to say we are going to Badajoz.”
Part of her wanted to hate him, to argue with him. Refuse to go with him. But she still found herself unable to let go of the dream that had sustained her all these years.
This was Hobbe. This was the man that boy—no, she corrected herself, Orlando—had asked her to trust. To give him the ring and to ask him to finish his lost mission. There was no reason for her to go all the way to Badajoz when she had promised Orlando she would entrust the secret of The King’s Ransom to Hobbe.
And now she had found him. But the truth was, she didn’t trust him. Yet if she didn’t give him the information he wanted, she would be forced to travel the entire width of Portugal in his company.
With the haunting memories of their lovemaking tormenting her each step of the way.
“When your brother gave me this ring, he asked me to give you the translation of the parchment he carried as well. I can do that now. You can have the information you have sought, Major Danvers, and I can have my freedom.” From you, she wanted to add. “You can continue on to Wellington with all due haste, and Jemmy and I can remain here in Lisbon until we can secure passage home.”
Robert shook his head. “That is not possible. I’m afraid you cannot remain here.”
“And why not?” she asked, her suspicions rising again.
“You wouldn’t be safe.”
Olivia laughed. “And I will be safer traveling across a war-torn country with the likes of you? Might I remind you that while in your protective care, I have been shot at, kidnapped and nearly sunk by a French corsair. I hardly see how I could be in more danger in Lisbon—without you protecting me.”
Rafe coughed and sputtered, his hand covering his mouth. He swung his legs off the table and staggered away.
“Things have changed,” Robert told her. “I would suggest returning to your room and getting as much rest as you can. We’ll leave before daylight.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I have some answers,” she said. “You claim you want to finish your mission. I am offering you the final piece. Besides, you have made it clear that you want nothing more to do with this fool’s folly, as you have called it, than to give Lord Wellington the information he seeks. Why this sudden change of heart?”
Robert didn’t answer her, but Rafe did.
“He fears for your safety, Miss Sutton,” he said. “Even now you are in grave danger. Do you know what happened to the last man who thought he knew the location of
El Rescate
?”
His dark intense gaze sent a chill through her blood. She shook her head.
“They tortured him for ten days. The man had been flayed, burned and dismembered before he finally found his freedom in death. And with him went the secret. Do not think eleven centuries of civilization will save you from such a fate. It has only whetted men’s greed that much more.” Rafe poured another glass of wine, rose from the table and pushed it into her quaking hands. “Have you not seen yourself enough death over its fabled gold?”
Olivia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “No one knows I am here. No one knows I am even alive.”
Rafe shook his head. “That is where you are wrong.” He continued, pressing his point and underlining her obvious fears, “Lisbon, England, the open sea, there is no place that will afford you protection until the treasure is found and restored to the Spanish people.” He glanced over at Robert and shrugged, as if in apology for revealing the truth of the matter. “Already there are whispers of your arrival.”
“But why me? Why would anyone suspect me?” she asked. “Surely there are Englishwomen who arrive in Portugal every day.” She was struggling to find a way to hide herself, much as she had after Orlando’s murder.
“That might have been possible if you had kept your mouth shut earlier,” Robert said, stepping into the conversation. “But you had to thank that maid in perfect Portuguese, something quite remarkable in this part of the country.”
“Then I won’t say another word,” she offered, to which both men laughed. “I hardly think I am all that different from any other Englishwoman!”
“Have you ever heard the legend of
El Rescate del Rey
?” Rafe asked.
She shook her head.
“If you had, you wouldn’t need to ask.” He finished the last of his wine and gathered up his coat, which lay tossed negligently over a chair. “I have my men to see to and an extra mount to find for you, Miss Sutton.” He nodded to Robert.
“Hasta mañana.”
Until tomorrow.
Olivia knew the instant Rafe left the room and she was alone with Robert. A wretchedly uncomfortable silence settled between the two of them.
After all these years, she’d found her Hobbe, her knight in shining armor, her hero. And she hadn’t the least idea what to say to him.
But then again, she had plenty to say. She turned and faced him. Rafe’s words had left her scared.
No, she thought, frightened senseless was a better description. And she knew in her heart the only man who could keep her alive until she fulfilled the destiny Rafe seemed to think she was an integral part of was the silent, brooding man before her.
“All this time you thought I killed him. You thought me capable of murdering your brother.” Olivia stared directly into his eyes. “You still do.”
He shook his head, but with none of the conviction that might have redeemed him. “That’s not true.”
“Liar.”
He had the decency to look away.
“I trusted you. I told you the truth.”
His lips twisted ever so slightly into a smile. “Not always. You let me believe a number of things that weren’t true. I think you were quite content to let me think you were a ruined woman. A woman capable of just about anything . . . including murder.”
Olivia put her hands on her hips. He had her there. And she didn’t like it one bit.
How the devil did he always do this—turn the tables on her when she just thought she’d finally outwitted him.
That, and the fact that her body still ached with a treasonous passion to know his kiss one more time. To feel his arms around her. To believe in the rapture he’d given her in that short time.
No, she didn’t want to go to Spain with him. Not if it meant the risk of losing her heart to him again.
Her mutinous thoughts must have been plain on her face, because he turned away from her. “Don’t think you’ll escape me, Olivia. I will take you to Wellington. It is a duty and a promise I will see to the end.”
With that, he caught her by the elbow and hauled her toward the stairs. His firm grip brooked no resistance, and Olivia knew it was futile to try and escape him now.
When they got to the door of her room, she turned to him. “Why do they call you Hobbe?” she whispered.
He shrugged, then his features softened. “Orlando had a hard time saying ‘Robert’ when he was learning how to talk. When he did say it, it came out ‘Hobbe,’ and the name just stuck.”
Olivia nodded. After another uncomfortable moment of silence, she asked, “What was he like?”
“I don’t want to talk about him,” he said, retreating behind his infamous wall.
But she knew it was not where he wanted to be. “Please. I’ve always wondered who he was. I have a right to know. He did save my life.”
At this revelation, she could see Robert’s eyes light with interest and the questions that had probably plagued him for years.
How had his brother died? Alone, and so far from his family.
Robert smiled, a wistful twist to his lips. And then he told her. Of Orlando’s love of riding, of his serious nature and his desire to serve his countries—both of them, England and Spain.
When he finished, she had tears in her eyes, and he reached over and brushed them from her cheeks. When she hazarded a glance up at him, she found him staring at her, a look of emptiness and need shining in his eyes.
She thought he was going to kiss her, reach for her as she had sought him on the
Sybaris,
but just as she could have sworn his head was dipping down to kiss her, his arms were reaching to encircle her, he turned away and the moment was lost.
“You had best get a good night’s sleep,” he told her, his voice choked with emotion. “We have a long journey ahead of us, and there will be few comforts along the way.” With that he opened the door and propelled her into the room, his touch both heated and all too brief.
And after he’d locked her in her room and she heard him settle his tall frame against the only door that led outside, all she could hear was one word in a never-ending refrain.
Duty.
Once again she was his duty. How she hated his honorable sense of obligation.
Before dawn, the sounds of restless animals and the voices of men brought Olivia fully awake.
After her argument with Robert, she’d intended to make her escape but found the windows covered with an ornate iron grillwork. Even if she could have gotten out, the height on that side of the building left her too dizzy to consider the window as a viable escape route.
She’d flopped down on the bed, and when she’d fallen asleep, she knew not. At first she’d been unable to rest, so instead she’d pulled out the paper Orlando had entrusted her with and her own journal, with her notes and research on
El Rescate del Rey.
When Robert had accused her of holding back her own secrets, he’d been right.
The truth was, she’d lied to the duplicitous Marquis of Bradstone. Oh, she’d told him correctly that
El Rescate del Rey
was buried in the Tomb of the Virgin, but it wasn’t in Madrid as she’d told him. For when she had gotten to that last word of the translation, she’d seen the agonizing truth for herself in the reflection of the window across the room—Bradstone held a pistol at the back of her head. In that one moment, she’d gone from a naive girl in love to a woman scorned. And if the word she was about to translate was to be her last, then she’d do her best to send Bradstone on his own path to hell.
For according to the encoded message he’d given her to translate, the tomb was actually in Badajoz, the city Wellington meant to retake from the French. Was it just coincidence, or was she a pawn in a greater game that she could not fathom?
She glanced again at the parchment that had revealed so much to her and yet had cost so many lives. Her fingers traced over the coppery bloodstains that had all but obliterated some of the words.
Orlando’s blood.
She felt an unshakable sense of guilt. She had promised him to get this information to Hobbe, and she had. But she knew that the young man had given his life to see the treasure found and restored to its rightful place—into the hands of the Spanish people and not the coffers of some greedy thief.
And by his blood, she would see this done—no matter what might come of her.
As for her heart, well, that was another matter, she thought, as she heard Robert’s voice rise above the other conversations. He would be coming up for her soon, and so she finished packing her meager possessions and finishing her toilet.
The door to the main room opened. “Miss? Miss?” the serving girl from the night before called out.
Picking up her bag, Olivia left her sleeping chamber. “Yes?”
“Oh, good, you are ready. He wishes you to come down immediately,” the maid said.
Olivia nodded and followed her. When she got to the door, she cast a look of regret at Jemmy’s room. Robert had promised to see him booked on the next ship bound for London.
Out in the hallway, the girl’s foot tapped a staccato beat. When Olivia joined her, she turned in the opposite direction from the main stairs. At first Olivia paused, and when the girl came to a halt, the glance she cast over her shoulder showed her impatience.
“He would have you come the back way. Hurry. You must leave now.”
Sighing at all this exaggerated secrecy, Olivia followed her. They went down a narrow staircase and out a back door, which let them out into a small garden at the back of the inn. The morning had just dawned, but a light fog held the inn and the surrounding countryside in its ethereal, misty grasp.
Already well down the narrow path, the girl whispered at Olivia, “Come along.”
They skirted the inn and continued down the road. The girl came to a stop near a pile of firewood. “Wait here,” she told Olivia.