The Casanova Code (24 page)

“Edwina,” her mother called. “You’re going to join us for dinner this evening? How lovely. I’m sure Walter will be happy to see your return to health.”

“Walter?”

“He’s speaking with your father in the library. I’m certain they’ll be out shortly.”

A bit of fear shot through her, as well as anguish and a strong desire to return to Isabella and her bedroom, but she kept her chin high and walked toward the library. She’d been avoiding Walter long enough; it was time to settle the uncertainties between them. She took a deep breath, then knocked lightly before opening the door.

Her father’s scowl shifted to a smile the moment he saw her at the door. “Come in, Edwina. We were just speaking of you.”

She glanced to Walter. His beaten expression lifted hopefully. He crossed rapidly to her to place a clammy hand on her cheek. “No indication of fever, but you shouldn’t be on your feet. You should sit.”

She took Walter’s hand between her own and removed it gently from her face. “I’m feeling much better, and I’d prefer to stand. Thank you, however, for your sincere concern.” She nodded her head in a sort of acknowledgment of gratitude. Walter’s face softened. A gentle smile lit his weary eyes.

Still holding Walter’s hand, she turned to her father. “I wonder if I might speak with Walter alone, Father.”

His eyes darted from her face to their clenched hands. “Certainly.” He beamed. “I suppose the moment calls for privacy, no?” He walked toward the door but paused a moment to kiss his daughter’s cheek. “You two take all the time you wish. I shall wait for your news with your mother in the drawing room.”

The moment the door closed behind her father, Walter took both of her hands in his. “Edwina, you know how I’ve felt about you from the day we met. I—”

“Wait, Walter. There’s something you should know before you say another word.” She pulled her hands from him and took a few steps to put distance between them. “I’m not the woman you believe I am. More to the point, I’m not the innocent you assumed me to be.”

It was amazing how much lighter she felt as the result of her confession. Just as discussing her circumstances with her friends had helped heal her heart, so did this admission. Still, she knew her words would not be accepted with joy and gratitude. She braced herself for scorn and insult.

Walter appeared confused, then a wide grin chased his concerns away. “My dear, I suppose your friend Claire has probably introduced you to some political attitudes of which you weren’t previously aware. We can discuss those later if you like, but I should warn you that, in some contexts, the word ‘innocent’ takes on a different sort of meaning. It implies—”

“I’m aware of what it implies, Walter,” she interrupted. “I’m not speaking of politics. I’m trying to say that I’ve recently become personally acquainted with the intimacies that can exist between a man and a woman.”

He still appeared confused, or perhaps shocked. It was difficult to tell the difference. Even so, she needed to know that he understood precisely what she was trying to say.

“For pity’s sake, I’m not speaking in code.” She walked over to stand in front of him, took his hands in hers, and looked him square in the eye. “Walter, I’m no longer a virgin.”

A
SHTON
SLUMPED
IN
HIS
SEAT
ON
THE
TRAIN
TAKING
him from Rome to Paris, the final leg in his acceptance test to join the Guardians, with an old beaten rucksack beside him. Everything of importance was packed in that sack, except the one essential he kept in his pocket. Funny. The rucksack reminded him of Edwina’s journal, overstuffed and tied with that red ribbon. He imagined her heart and soul were contained on those journal pages . . . and he hoped loving thoughts of him were written there as well. Lord, he could not wait to see her again.

The challenge from the Guardians had arrived nine days ago in the middle of the night. His father woke him none too gently to deliver it. Ashton almost rolled over and ignored the whole trial by secret mission, but his father’s gleam of pride and expectation proved enough to roust him out of comfortable slumber. He couldn’t recall ever having seen his father look at him that way, as a responsible man with meaningful goals. He certainly had withheld that sentiment during Ashton’s Casanova days. Even a bullet wound earned while serving with the King’s Royal Rifles hadn’t resulted in that paternal slap on the back and hearty wish for success.

He’d been instructed to leave in the middle of the night without telling anyone of his destination or purpose. He could leave no notes nor post any letters. His father assured him the Guardians would know—they had eyes and ears everywhere. For all intents and purposes, he was to vanish. This, he was assured, would be a test to see if he could keep his activities secret, a fundamental element of being a Guardian.

He was to make his way to a small town in Italy to see a farmer who had unearthed several medieval artifacts. He was to purchase what he deemed worthy based on his finances, then report to an address in Paris for an expert to evaluate the items. The mission seemed innocent enough. No government secrets to extract, no threats to make. Just pay a farmer out of his own pocket and return eventually to London . . . and Edwina.

It had been a long, long week, most particularly because he wasn’t even allowed to write to Edwina. He had so much to tell her he thought his head might explode. Then all the little details about the scenery he’d passed and the people he’d met would come tumbling out. He’d even ridden a bicycle! How he longed to see her face when he told her that tale. The farmer had lived so far away from the train station and he couldn’t find a horse to hire, so he’d rented a bicycle. The bone-jarring ride over earthen roads hurt his leg like nothing else, but somehow knowing that Edwina would enjoy hearing that he’d tried had kept him moving forward.

If riding a bicycle had marked Edwina as a modern woman, did riding a bicycle make him a new man? Lord, he hoped so. He certainly felt new and confident whenever Edwina looked at him. Even his father seemed to recognize the “newness” of him, and approved of the change.

Would his father approve of his choice of Edwina as a wife? Not that it mattered. While he would regret losing the new bond that had developed with his father as a result of his efforts in the family business and participation in the Guardians, both of which resulted from Edwina’s suggestions, the new respect and friendship would not stand in the way of his taking Edwina as a wife. He wanted her beside him always, ever into the future. The thought made him smile. Of the items he was able to hastily assemble for this trip, his most treasured were her letters. He refused to leave those behind for fear Constance would find them and destroy them. It would be like her. This way he could reread Edwina’s letters while they were apart. Once he returned and made her his wife, they would forge a new path, travel to the places she had dreamed, sample a new life, and join together each and every night.

His groin throbbed just at the thought of seeing Edwina naked on his bed, her arms wide in invitation. He knew from the moment she offered herself to him that she was the one he wanted to be with for the rest of his natural days. Someone to love. Someone he trusted implicitly. Someone he hoped now carried his child.

Edwina would be a wonderful mother; he saw that in her interactions with Matthew. She would be a wonderful companion, mother, lover, and wife. What more could a man ask for?

A man could ask to get this Guardian business over with quickly so he could return home and make her his once again, that’s what. He frowned. Three days to get from Rome to Paris, a modern miracle, but not fast enough to meet his needs. He had made this same trip in reverse about a week earlier. The dismal skies and rain slashing across the windows on that journey mirrored his mood at leaving Edwina behind. He knew she’d understand why he couldn’t tell her of his quest once he returned home to explain. At least the skies had cleared by the time he reached Rome. He lost a day in traveling from Rome to the countryside, and then renting the bike to travel to the farm and back. He traveled back to Rome and then allowed himself a day to get his filthy clothes cleaned and rest his throbbing leg, the result of his bicycling experiment. Three days ago, he boarded the train for Paris and now glanced out the window while the train slowed into Montparnasse station.

Suddenly, he sensed movement beside him. He glanced up to see a stranger with a bag that looked remarkably like his scurrying toward the rail car exit. A quick check to his side confirmed it was indeed his bag, the one that contained a few changes of clothing, three artifacts, and all of Edwina’s letters. In a moment, he was on his feet giving chase to the miscreant. He would have had him had the doors not opened to the rail station. Fellow passengers were quickly on their feet, trapping him in the aisle. He forced his way off the train, then spotted the man attempting to blend into the crowds on the platform.

“Stop! Thief!” he yelled, pointing his cane in the thief’s direction. A gendarme on the platform blew a warning whistle and gave chase on foot. Ashton would have done the same but knew that his leg would never keep up. Then he spotted the bicycle leaning against the station wall. Tucking his cane beneath his arm, Ashton mounted the bicycle and pedaled furiously after the thief and the whistle-blowing policeman. The smooth platform made for fast progress and much easier steering than had his Italian route. Shouting warning to the foolish few in his path, he made significant progress toward his target. Pedestrians dashed and jumped out of his way, and unfortunately managed to knock the pursuing gendarme into a stack of luggage. Ashton continued past the commotion, his bag with Edwina’s letters in his sights.

Medieval artifacts were not necessarily light affairs, as the thief most likely discovered. The sheer weight of the bag appeared to be slowing him down even as Ashton closed the distance between them. Ashton caught up with him just as the smooth train platform ended in an earthen patch filled with weeds and rocks. Letting the vehicle fly off the platform, Ashton leapt from the bicycle onto the man’s back, shoving him into the dirt. While the crook struggled to regain his footing, Ashton used his cane to snag the handle of the bag on the ground.

Ashton pulled a snub-nosed revolver from his pocket and aimed it at the thief, who dared to reach for the rucksack handle. “Don’t.”

The single confident command was all that was needed. The thief scrambled down the dirt embankment, leaving his prize behind. Ashton pocketed the revolver before the gendarme caught up to him, huffing from the run.

“Are you hurt, monsieur?” the policeman asked in French.

Ashton shook his head, then accepted the policeman’s extended arm to rise. He dusted the dirt from his pants and jacket. “Nothing that a trip home won’t fix.”

The officer’s lips twitched. “English. I thought so.”

“At least I fared better than that bicycle.” Ashton nodded to where the bicycle lay, its front wheel twisted at an unusual angle. “It must have landed on a rock.”

The officer lifted the bicycle, inspecting its wheel. “Nothing that a few francs won’t fix. Plus cab fare to return home,” he said with a rueful smile. “The bicycle was mine, monsieur.”

“I’m sorry about that.” He paid the officer more than required. After all, if it wasn’t for the use of the bicycle, he might have lost Edwina’s letters forever. Afterwards, they shook hands, then walked back to the train station, Ashton with his bag firmly in his grasp, the officer carrying his wounded bicycle.

“I wonder if you might tell me where I might find this address,” Ashton asked, producing a paper with his destination.

After waiting for the warning whistle blaring from the steam engine to cease, the officer told him the hotel was within walking distance and gestured the route. Ashton waved his appreciation and started off on this final leg of his “test.”

He followed the directions to the front of a fairly nondescript granite hotel that looked as if it had served witness to the wide tree-lined boulevard on which it had stood for centuries. Pedestrians strolled along the sidewalks while horses pulling hansoms and carriages trotted crisply down the boulevard. Good. Once this final piece of his admission test for the Guardians was completed, he shouldn’t have difficulty finding a hack to take him back to the station. Indeed, one waited patiently at the curb of the walkway. Just as Ashton stepped toward the door in the recessed entrance, a beautiful woman emerged from the hotel. She paused, tugging on her gloves, and gifted Ashton with a most alluring smile. But he wasn’t interested. He held the door open for her as a gentleman should, but he imagined the woman couldn’t transcript a single line of code and had probably never heard of
Treasure Island
. She wasn’t Edwina, and he wasn’t interested.

With a slight shrug of indifference, she moved to her waiting cab, leaving a lavender scent in her wake. Ashton entered the establishment, anxious to conclude this business so he could continue on home.

He climbed three flights of steps to reach the room noted. He knocked and waited. A voice called to him to enter. He turned the doorknob, surprised to discover it was unlocked. Obviously, he was expected. Still, he slipped his revolver in his hand, as he wasn’t certain who was doing the expecting.

He pushed the door open. A man stood with his back toward the door at a washstand in the back of the room. A wide bed, rumpled as if hastily made, dominated the small chamber. Not surprisingly, a hint of lavender scented the air. The man turned, drying his hands with a towel.
Rothwell!

“A gun? Is that necessary, Ash?”

“Did you expect me to embark on this wild-goose chase without one?” Ashton asked, pocketing the weapon.

“I suppose not.” He gestured to a small sitting area. “Have a seat. Tell me of your adventures.”

“I wasn’t expecting to find you here,” Ashton said as he lowered himself to a chair by a window. From this height, he could see over the rooftops to Luxembourg Gardens. Edwina would enjoy the gardens’ fountains and plantings. In fact, Paris would be perfect for their honeymoon, or at least the beginning of their honeymoon. There were so many places he wanted to show her. “Didn’t you warn me away from the Guardians?”

“I knew you wouldn’t listen.” Rothwell placed a snifter of brandy near his hand before lowering himself with his own glass in hand into the chair opposite. “And I wanted to see how far you would pursue it.”

“Is any of what you told me true?” Ashton watched his old friend carefully, not exactly certain which side he was on.

“Everything I told you was true.” Rothwell sipped from his glass. “The Guardians are a group of moneyed individuals who use their resources to bring the world’s cultural riches to England. Just as you brought back the artifacts. May I see them?”

Ashton moved to the bag he’d left on the bed and rummaged inside. “Are you the expert I was told would evaluate them?”

“No. That would be Hargrove.”

His hand paused on the reliquary that he’d wrapped in one of his old shirts. “Edwina?”

“No. Her father is our medieval expert,” Rothwell said. His lips twitched. “But I see you’ve met his talented daughter. I’m not surprised. I imagine some habits are hard to break.”

Ashton let the implied reference to his womanizing days slide off his back. His old reputation was what it was. Eventually, it would be forgotten, or at least be as interesting as last year’s news. He handed Rothwell the brass reliquary. “The crystal is broken and the relic missing, but with a little cleaning, I think the artwork will be exquisite. You can feel the pattern of a textured design beneath the dirt.”

Patterns.
Edwina had him thinking of patterns. Ashton hid his smile while watching Rothwell rub his finger across the crusted dirt. Did she know her father was one of the Guardians? His face twisted. “Why do you call her talented?”

“She’s a code breaker,” Rothwell said. “You wouldn’t know it to look at her, but she has a natural talent for breaking codes. The Guardians have had their eye on her for some time.” He held the brass reliquary up to the light, while Ashton prepared to hand him a beaker, the second of the medieval artifacts. “This is a lovely piece. Hargrove will be pleased.”