Authors: Shirl Henke
“Which leaves us with a problem. Who is the mysterious fellow who gave Whistledown the earlier documents?” Michael asked as he paced across the carpet.
“We will deal with that matter after we've sent the Russians into exile,” the earl said firmly. “Right now the paramount issue is the signing of the treaty and the safety of the Japanese minister. He's to be presented at court in only two days.”
“Yes, with his paymasters gone, perhaps this spy will find other employment,” Jamison said, but Josh could tell he was not satisfied by Hambleton's words.
Josh was not certain he was either, and that worried him. He did not want the boy upstairs to be guilty...but he didn't want his own uncle to be either.
Please, not Uncle Ab...
* * * *
Josh was too restless to sleep, worried about the whole mess he'd been caught up in because of a debt of honor to his old commander. When he'd agreed to come to England, he'd never expected to give a hoot about any fancy nobles, folks who never did a day's work in their lives. Now he had come to love the shrewd, testy old man who was his closest blood kin. Surely he had not been blinded by that fact. Could his uncle be a traitor?
The more he turned it over in his mind, the more worrisome the possibility became. Hambleton had hired Edmund and Sabrina both. What if it was only to use them? His uncle had dismissed the problem of discovering the traitor while he sent Michael out to capture Zarenko and a bunch of Russians who would only be deported for their crimes. Josh had insisted on going with Jamison. Of course, the earl had argued against allowing his heir to endanger himself by participating in the arrest, but Josh had been adamant. At length, the old man had given in. Was it because there would be no danger? No capture because the Russians would be warned it was a trap?
“It doesn't make sense,” he muttered to himself as he poured two fingers of Who Shot John into a glass and took a swallow. The earl was richer than he was, and Josh had been well into making his second million when he'd been summoned to London. If the old man didn't need the money from the Russians, what other reason could there be for him to betray his honor and his country? The answer was simple.
There was none.
Josh commenced to pace in bare feet, polishing off the bourbon and pouring a refill. Maybe when they caught Zarenko, they'd find out the truth. That would not only relieve his own mind but clearing her cousin would make Sabrina happy as a pig with its snout in the slop bucket. Edmund had written her a note, explaining that all had gone well and telling her not to worry. One of the earl's servants had been dispatched to deliver it to her lodgings as soon as they'd arrived at Hambleton House and found she was not there.
Josh assumed she had decided to return to the safety of her own space. “Runnin’ scared, darlin',” he mused with a chuckle.
Sabrina. She had slipped under his guard and gone straight for his heart...a target he'd believed impervious to marriage-minded females. The idea of getting hitched still made him itchy, but he knew that was the only way he'd get to keep her. What an uproar it would create if the Yankee heir to the glorious Hambleton titles took a country squire's daughter to wife. The thought of it made him grin.
But he was getting ahead of himself. First they had to catch the Russians and wait for the dust to settle after this all-fired important treaty was signed. Then he'd tell his uncle what he intended to do...that is, if Sabrina ever forgave him for his deception. Somehow, he figured he could convince her to do that.
Just thinking about the nature of that “convincing” made his body stir. He began wondering if there was any way he could get past that old harridan who ran the lodging house. Maybe there was a drainpipe he could climb or a trellis, or he might toss pebbles against her window until she opened it.
”Nah, that's a damn fool idea that only works in storybooks,” he muttered, disgusted with himself for being as lovesick as a calf who'd lost its mama. The hell with it, he was burning up with need! Josh started to unfasten his robe. He'd dress and go do whatever it took to reach her.
Then he heard a faint ping against the windowpane. A second one. He crossed the room, mystified and a bit edgy about the bizarre coincidence. Someone was tossing pebbles against his window. He peered below, trying to make out the figure in the misty moonlight.
Chapter Seventeen
It was Sabrina! Josh rubbed his eyes in amazement. Then a slow grin spread across his face as he slid open the window and ducked his head out. “You have this Romeo and Juliet business ass-backward, darlin'. It's real sweet, but don't you think the door would’ve been easier?”
Sabrina clutched the bundle of letters in her hand, resisting the urge to throw them at the arrogant oaf. If not for their vital importance, she would never have come here, she assured herself for what seemed like the hundredth time. “The door is locked, and it's late. I have to give you something of a critical nature, but I don't wish to alert the household staff. Please come down,” she said with as much confidence as she could muster given her near brush with disaster.
Something in her voice indicated that she had not come for the reason he'd foolishly hoped. Josh could not make out her face, but he could tell she was excited. “I'll be right there. Don't move.”
He slipped down the rear servants’ stairs and out the back door into the garden at the side of the house. High stone walls surrounded it, and the brick pathways were shaded from the misty moonlight by the low-hanging branches of willows and pin oaks. The heavy air was warm and moist with the promise of rain as he approached the spot where she'd stood beneath his window.
He didn't see her. “Sabrina?”
“I'm here,” she replied in a small voice, materializing from behind a wisteria bush. “I—I didn't want anyone to see me lurking about and call the police.”
“Always sensible,” he said as he drew near. “Now, what's so all-fired important that you're out alone in the middle of the night to deliver it to me?”
“Love letters—”
“Oh, darlin', you shouldn't have,” he said, bending down to kiss her.
Sabrina fought the urge to smack the grin from his lips. “From the Duke of Albany's son to Natasha Samsonov,” she said, gritting her teeth. She shoved the bundle beneath his nose.
Josh nearly dropped the letters. “How in Johnny blue blazes did you get ahold of them?” He pulled her into his arms, suddenly frightened half out of his wits. There was no way she could've done this without considerable risk.
He wore nothing but a silk robe. She could feel his heart pounding as her hands pressed against his chest. Her own heart was pretty erratic as well, and not only because of the danger. “I decided that searching her suite while she was performing might prove worthwhile. You'll recall how simple it was to obtain a maid's uniform. It was equally simple to pilfer a skeleton key.”
“Sneakiness must run in your family,” he said with a sigh, planting a light kiss on the tip of her nose.
“Will you be serious, Josh? You know what these letters could mean to the Russians—how they could employ them to create a horrible scandal in the press and humiliate the royal family,” she said, pressing her hands against his chest until he released her.
“And you found them in Natasha's suite?” he asked incredulously, glancing at the fistful of papers.
“Well...” She had always been an abject failure at prevarication. “No—that is, I found a small piece of one. With the Wettin crest on it. When I couldn't find any more in her quarters, I searched her brother’s and—”
“You went into Nikolai Zarenko’s lair alone!” He would have yelled at the top of his lungs if all the breath hadn't been squeezed out of his body. “Do you have any idea what he would've done if he'd caught you in his suite, tearing the place apart?” Now he was yelling.
She shushed him. Before she could utter another word, she was back in his arms.
“This calls for something to drink—something wet and strong and I don't mean tea,” he said as he scooped her up and began walking toward the house.
“Your arm—you'll reopen the wound,” she protested.
“My arm's fine. Just a scratch,” he said, kissing her into silence.
Before she knew it, Sabrina was carried stealthily up the rear stairs. Josh moved silently on bare feet, taking the steep wooden risers two at a time until he reached the second floor. He did not put her down until they were safely behind the closed door of his room. As she slid from his arms to the floor, she felt as breathless as he—and she'd not exerted a bit of energy climbing the steps. She watched him take a bottle of whiskey from the small library table across the room and pour two shots into glasses.
“Here, drink this. I think we're both going to need it,” he said, handing her one as he tossed down the other.
She shook her head. “I do not require strong spirits to fortify—”
“Yes, you do. Go ahead. Fortify yourself,” he commanded, his green eyes skewering her fiercely.
Sabrina attempted to emulate him, taking a fulsome swallow...and began coughing fiercely the moment the powerful stuff hit the back of her throat. Josh patted her back while she blinked back tears. “Th-that b-burns,” she finally managed to accuse between coughs.
“I didn't intend for you to toss it back like a Texas drover at the end of the trail, darlin’,” he said with a hint of a smile.
She didn't know if her face was red from the strength of the vile corn whiskey or from embarrassment. “I was merely trying to get it over with as quickly as possible.”
“Try sipping it,” he suggested as he led her over to a comfortable-looking settee that filled one wall of the large, masculine room.
She tried not to look at the rumpled bed from which she had most probably awakened him. Instead, she carefully arranged her cloak, preparing to sit down.
“Here, give me that thing. It's wet from the fog,” he said, pulling the tie at the neckline so the cloak hung open, revealing the maid's uniform she still wore.
Before she knew it, he had peeled the damp garment off her, tossed it across a chair and was taking a seat beside her. Sabrina tried to scoot away from the heat of his thigh, but could not manage it with the glass in her hand. When she tried to set it on the table beside her, he placed his hand over hers and guided the glass to her lips. He put his arm around her, and his robe gaped open so that she could see the curly black hair on his chest...and knew that she was lost.
“Now finish it.” His voice was soft now, under control after his angry outburst downstairs. Damn, the woman frightened him...in more ways than one.
“This is taking advantage,” she said, already feeling the warm glow building in her belly from the first swallow of whiskey. Still, she took another sip. “Perhaps this is not as bad as I first thought. If one imbibes slowly.” He nodded in encouragement. Before she knew it, the whole glass was empty and her head felt light as air. She had to focus to understand what he was saying.
“How did you find these?” Josh had untied the packet and was sorting quickly through the foolish protestations of undying devotion addressed to “Darling Tasha” and signed “Georgie.”
“I told you. I searched his quarters just as I had hers. They were hidden behind the headboard of his bed in some sort of secret compartment. I suppose I was fortunate to stumble upon it.”
“You were just plain dumb lucky he didn't catch you,” he groused.
“Oh, but he did,” she blurted out. Curse that whiskey! Why had she volunteered that?
Perhaps because you're still frightened out of your wits...and you're inebriated
, a voice in her head teased.
Josh's heart missed a beat as he pulled her into his arms. “How the hell did you get away? He could've killed you! He would’ve—” He broke off, unable to let himself think of what might have happened. “Tell me how you escaped,” he demanded, his voice hoarse with fear.
“Well”—she moistened her lips, still unable to quite believe the whole of her adventure—“he thought I was the new chambermaid, come to turn down his bed. He...he asked me for a sweet.” Her face reddened.