The Casanova Code (25 page)

“Why would the Guardians have an interest in a code breaker?” It troubled him that a group of well-placed men had been watching his Edwina from afar, as if they had some ulterior purpose in mind.

Rothwell took the beaker with painted enamel and examined it closely. “What I told you before is true. Sometimes secrets that are of interest to the Crown travel with the artifacts. It’s one of the reasons I’m a member of the Guardians. Sometimes those secrets travel in code. Access to a code breaker would be instrumental in deciding what secrets are important and which are not.”

Ashton thought of his father’s coded note. Did the Guardians know of that communication? Were they suspicious of his father? He knew that he had been. Did the slogan for Falcon Freight finally unlock the full communication? Edwina and he were to have met to discuss her findings, but, of course, this test by the Guardians had interfered.

He unwrapped the final artifact, a piece of limestone that had been carved in the likeness of a king, based on the crown atop his head. The nose was gone and significant effacement had occurred in the facial features, but enough artistry remained to make it an appealing purchase, or so Ashton thought.

“So this is what made that blasted bag so heavy,” Rothwell said, taking the carving into his hands.

The comment startled Ashton as he retraced his actions since he had stepped into the room. He couldn’t recall a time when Rothwell had lifted his bag. He glared across the small table between them. “How did you know of the bag’s weight?”

Rothwell smiled. “It was all part of the test. We wanted to be certain that you would protect any items you were assigned to retrieve. It was of particular concern to those who worried that your wound would hinder your abilities in that area. However, Jacques reports that you were both devious and resourceful in your efforts. He said you pulled a gun on him to protect the artifacts. I found that particularly encouraging, given that these trinkets most likely mean little to you.”

He was correct in that regard. The trinkets meant nothing, but Edwina’s letters meant everything. But Rothwell didn’t need to know that. “Are you telling me that I passed the test?”

Rothwell lifted his glass to clink against Ashton’s. “Most definitely. Your performance will silence the critics who felt you weren’t ready, or weren’t committed enough to succeed. There is one more item I wish to discuss with you.”

“Critics?”

“There were some who still think of you as a skirt-chasing rake. They weren’t certain you’d take your obligations seriously enough and would put the group’s secrecy at risk. Thus the need for the test.”

While he wasn’t surprised that his old reputation had caused skepticism, one possible skeptic concerned him. “Was my father one of the critics?”

“Not at all; your father was outspoken on your behalf. You made quite an impression on the old man while you worked for him.”

Surprise jolted through him. His father had kept that impression well hidden. Again, working for his father was another of Edwina’s suggestions. The Guardians thought she was talented due to her code-recognition abilities. They didn’t know the half of it. He sipped his brandy. “So what was the other matter you wished to discuss?”

“I understand you’ve been working on a rifle scope.”

Not only did he spill brandy down the front of his last clean shirt, but the alcohol at the back of his throat took a different turn. The resulting burning windpipe made it difficult to take a breath. “How . . . you . . .”

“How did I know?” Rothwell interrupted. “You’ve been working with Thomas Harris & Son on the optics. Harris is one of our members and speaks very highly of you.”

Ashton was beginning to wonder who wasn’t a member of the Guardians.

“He says you’ve developed a mount for the Martini-Henry rifle and have been working with him regarding the placement of a modified scope for maximum eye relief—whatever that is.”

Ashton’s voice was weak, but at least he could form a sentence. “It’s a term for the space—”

“Don’t bother explaining. It means nothing to me. Given your experience with the King’s Royal Rifles, I would imagine it’s important to you and the men who use that particular rifle.”

Ashton nodded, wondering what this discussion was leading to.

“And as those men who use the Martini-Henry rifle are important to the Crown, I’d like to extend a contract to purchase sufficient quantities of these new rifle scope mounts.”

Ashton thought his jaw might hit the floor. Harris had one prototype rifle scope mount. One. “What exactly do you mean by sufficient quantities?”

“I’d like to outfit every Martini-Henry rifle with one of these mounts. Your father is knowledgeable about the delivery of mass quantities. Harris is knowledgeable about the optics and can help you with the production. All you need to do is set up a facility to produce the product.” Rothwell frowned. “That is unless you’re adverse to being in trade.”

Ashton understood the reference. So many of his peers felt it a badge of honor to depend on someone else to finance a life of emptiness and leisure. Ashton had sampled that life for a short time and found it empty and shallow. While the contract Rothwell suggested was a bit frightening for someone like himself who had no experience in manufacturing, the lure of making his own money was intoxicating. He wouldn’t depend on his father for financing anymore, except as a business proposition. He would be independent, and that thought was exhilarating. He could understand why Edwina was so insistent on the concept.

“Of course, there are others among the Guardians who will help you. The members include bankers, solicitors, and other industrialists. We tend to favor like-minded individuals who keep the superiority of the Crown at the forefront.”

“I don’t know what to say.” He shook Rothwell’s hand. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Rothwell said. “Let’s have a drink to celebrate.”

While Rothwell topped off the glasses, Ashton imagined Edwina’s expression when she learned of this news. Again, it had been her suggestion that he pursue his idea for a rifle mount. He was beginning to wonder how he ever managed his life before he met her. She was his personal angel sent down to earth.

They clinked glasses and toasted the new venture. Ashton was more excited than ever to return to London to tell Edwina of all that had transpired. “What do I do with the artifacts?” Ashton asked. “I had thought I was bringing them for an expert to evaluate. Do I leave them with you?”

“No. They’ll go to Hargrove. We had you come to Paris because we didn’t wish to do the final test, the stealing of the artifacts, in London. We wanted you to have the difficulties inherent in dealing with a different culture and not possibly having friends nearby to assist.”

Ashton nodded. “So you didn’t tell the others that I’m fluent in French.”

Rothwell smiled. “I didn’t see the need.”

“So you want me to take these into London and deliver them to Hargrove.” Ashton smiled, enjoying the thought of appearing at Edwina’s door and asking to speak to her father. Yes, there was much the two men could discuss.

“There’s no hurry to deliver them. I imagine Hargrove has his hands full at the moment.” Rothwell shook his head. “I should tell you that he’s the one who was most opposed to bringing you into the fold. I imagine it was due to your reputation, combined with his having a daughter of marriageable age. But that’s no longer a problem.”

The fine hairs stood up on the back of Ashton’s neck. “What do you mean? Why is that no longer a problem?”

“He’s been working on a way to keep his daughter’s talents available to the Guardians. He’s had one of his employees, a hard-working and enterprising clerk, woo her with little result. Apparently Miss Hargrove has reconsidered and has accepted his suit. The two are to be married within a month.”

“H
E
’
S
BACK
!” S
ARAH
SLID
INTO
HER
SEAT
AT
THE
R
AKE
Patrol meeting, her eyes filled with sad portent.

“Who’s back?” Faith asked.

“Ashton?” Edwina whispered, interpreting Sarah’s sympathetic gaze. Dread filled her. She’d hoped never to experience this moment. When no letters arrived, no explanations, she’d hoped he had left forever so as never to remind her of all she’d lost.

Sarah nodded. “He placed that same ad in the personals. He said this time it was for himself.”

“When?” Her lip trembled so fiercely, her voice sounded like a death knell. One would have thought that he’d come to her first, not to the
Mayfair Messenger
.

“Oh, Edwina. He had the most terrifying expression. I’d suggest we engage the Rake Patrol to stop him if I wasn’t afraid he’d murder one of us first. His hands shook. I don’t think he’s shaven for days. He had the most awful scowl. He should be grateful that the women answering his ad don’t require a carte de visite. The sight of him would certainly scare them off.”

Then they’d be the foolish ones, Edwina thought, wishing she were free to answer Ashton’s ad. How she’d love to see his expression were she to walk to his table carrying a rose. But she had promised herself to another. Someone who wasn’t inclined to run off at a whim and leave her behind to deal with the difficulties.

The bell jangled about the Crescent door. Edwina glanced up and seemingly lost the ability to breathe. There could be no mistaking the man filling the doorway. His gaze swept the room, then settled on her face. Once he had fixed her in his sights, he advanced with apparent disregard for the other patrons until he stood directly opposite her at the table. “Edwina.”

In unison the other members of the Rake Patrol stood and vacated the table. Edwina wasn’t certain if they left the Crescent or simply moved to another table. The sound of his voice awakened her soul in ways she had wished remained dormant. Her body lifted with expectations, with dreams, with memories.

Her focus narrowed on Ashton’s gaunt face. Sarah was right. He didn’t look at all like the man she remembered, like the man she’d loved. He looked dark, hard, utterly masculine. She schooled her expression and tempered her thoughts, as in three weeks time she’d be another man’s wife.

He sat without waiting for an invitation. “I didn’t see your bicycle out front. I didn’t realize you were here,” he said.

She knew it was a lie. She’d bet he followed Sarah, knowing that her friend would come directly to her with the news. She met his gaze head-on. “Walter doesn’t approve of my riding a bicycle. He said it wasn’t appropriate for a married woman.” His eyes drifted down to her hands. “A soon-to-be-married woman,” she corrected.

His lips quirked in that familiar way that twisted her heart. “I see you’ve gone back to those ghastly high-neck collars.”

“Walter prefers that I dress in a more conservative fashion,” she replied.

“I’m surprised Walter lets you meet with your friends here at the Crescent,” he said sarcastically.

“Walter knows how much they mean to me,” she replied. “He wouldn’t think of breaking my heart.”

Ashton shook his head and chuckled. At least, it appeared that way. No sound actually emerged, as if he’d lost the ability to laugh. “Is that what I did? I broke
your
heart?”

His eyes looked so old, and so jaded. One of the Crescent’s female patrons walked by and dropped her handkerchief by Ashton’s chair. He didn’t notice. “
You
betrayed
me
, Edwina.
You.
Of all people . . .” He glanced away a moment, but when he looked back, his lost expression took her breath away. “Of all people, I thought I could trust you.”

“Betray you?” All her sympathy for him disappeared with the accusation in his words. “I betrayed you? You’re the one who left with no explanation. I waited for you in the park. I waited in the pouring rain believing that any minute you might appear. I waited, refusing to believe you would abandon me. When it was obvious that you had done exactly that, I dragged myself soaking wet to your house, worried that you might have been hurt, hoping for an explanation. Your stepmother supplied one.”

“You spoke with Constance?”

She nodded. “She said you ran off, just as you did five years ago.”

“You believed her? I told you what she did. I told you why I left back then.
That
has nothing to do with
this
.” He jammed his finger on the table for emphasis.

“Doesn’t it?” Her voice lowered to a harsh whisper. “She said you left after you took her virtue. She said she had no choice but to marry your father because you left her with a child in her belly. Is it really so different? What choice did you leave me?”

His eyes widened and a spark of humanity flashed. “Are you . . . ?”

“I don’t know,” Edwina replied hastily. “I’m not certain. Not enough time has passed.” But she had her suspicions. It was the main reason she’d accepted Walter’s proposal. Faith thought the stress over the past month might have caused her menses to cease, but Edwina suspected she was just being kind.

“I didn’t leave you, you know,” Ashton said softly. “I was sent on a mission by the Guardians.” Accusation tinged his eyes. “You do remember that you suggested I join them? I was told I could not communicate with anyone. I couldn’t send you a letter. They said they would know. I had to trust that you would understand that I wouldn’t leave without reason, and that I would return, for you, as soon as I was able. I had to trust in you.”

“Ashton, how was I to know?” she pleaded. “After what we did? How was I to know? You left me alone to make some difficult decisions.”

“Does he know?” It was spoken as a dare, or maybe—maybe it was a prayer.

She lowered her voice to intimate levels. “I told Walter that I was no longer innocent. He knows that I could be with child.”

“You told him!” He looked aghast, then considered. “Of course you would. To others you’re as honest as the day is long, but to me . . .” He hung his head. “Does he know that the baby, if one exists, is mine?”

“I imagine he suspects. There were no others. He never asked.”

“And it does not bother him to raise another man’s child?”

“I told you that he’s a good man. He has a good heart.”

“Good enough that you chose him over me.”

She sighed. “Ashton, you’re like one of those rare comets that fly through the night sky. A bright light that flies among the stars, inspiring dreams and wishes. I’m not a comet or even a star. I’m just someone below who is grateful to have spent some time in your world, but I can’t live there. I’m ordinary Edwina. You would eventually have been bored with me.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I’m right,” she said. “You just don’t wish to admit it.” She opened her reticule and removed the spyglass he’d given her. “I’d like you to give this to Matthew. It’s not really appropriate that I keep a gift from you now.”

His eyes pleaded with her. “Edwina.”

She removed her journal and untied the white ribbon that now bound it. Opening the book, she removed an envelope with an ink smudge on the back. “This is for you. I finished decoding your father’s letter. I had planned to give this to you in the park, but”—her lips tightened—“I can give it to you now.”

“Edwina,” he said again. “Don’t do this.”

“I have no choice, Ashton. I gave him my word. I promised I would marry him.”

“Did you promise you would love him?” His eyes searched her face.

She bit her lip. Her voice faltered. “I promised I would try.”

“Edwina . . .” he pleaded.

She slid her journal back into her reticule. “Sarah says you put another ad in the
Mayfair Messenger
. I wish you luck in finding someone who can appreciate all your wonderful qualities.”

“Qualities that you helped develop,” Ashton said. “Don’t leave me, Edwina. I beg of you. Don’t leave me.”

She shook her head. “I have to go.” She stood, and Ashton immediately followed suit. “Walter is joining the family for dinner. I promised I’d be waiting when he and Father return home.”

“Don’t let him break you, Edwina. You have intelligence and spirit. Any man who can’t see that is a fool.”

She placed her hand on the side of his face. The spot where she’d once left a red handprint. His lids cast down, he leaned into her palm, rubbing the stubble against her hand. She wished she could feel that stubble on other more sensitive places on her body, that she could feel Ashton fill her once again and bring her back to life. Her eyes softened. “Good-bye, Ashton.”

She started to leave, but his voice gave her pause.

“You’re a young woman, Edwina. Can you tolerate being married to a fool the rest of your life?”

She left without looking back. That way he wouldn’t see the tears rolling down her cheeks. They’d both be better off this way.

• • •

N
OTHING
WEIGHED
HEAVIER
ON
A
MAN
’
S
SOUL
THAN
lack of hope. Dragging that limestone bust through three countries was nothing compared to simply returning to his father’s town house after Edwina had efficiently eviscerated his heart.

His father discovered him well saturated with brandy in the library, that very room where Ashton had discovered Edwina snooping in the dark on the night that he’d introduced her to the secret gallery.

“It’s blazing hot outside, Ashton. Why have you lit a fire? Constance is complaining that her face is ready to melt.”

Ashton couldn’t see his father, not clearly anyway, but he could still recognize his voice. “I’m as cold as a week-old corpse. I thought the fire would help.” His voice dropped. “It doesn’t.”

He heard the clink of glass and the sound of liquid pouring, but as the level in his own glass remained the same, he assumed his father had poured a drink for himself. “Drink up,” he said. “You have a lot of catching up to do.”

“What’s this?” His father picked up a page of scented stationary from the center of the table. He started to read but he didn’t need to read far before he recognized the words. His voice raised in anger. Ashton assumed his face matched the fury in his voice, but again he really couldn’t see clearly and quite frankly he didn’t care. Not anymore.

“This letter was intended for me! No one else was to see it. How did you get this?” he thundered.

Ashton struggled to lift his eyelids higher. “I found it . . . rather Edwina found it . . . the night the pillow book arrived.”

“This isn’t Sakura’s letter,” his father fumed. “Hers was written in code. How did you do this?”

“Edwina . . . do you know Edwina?” Ashton tilted his head back in memory. “Sweet little code breaker, that girl. She figured out the code and transcribed it.”

A hesitant curiosity replaced the heat in his father’s voice. “Edwina . . . Is that the Hargrove girl?”

“You’ve met her then?” Ashton held up his snifter in salute. “Sweet little heartbreaker, Edwina.”

A chair moved beside him. His father drifted into view. A calmer and sober father. “No. I’ve not met her, but her father was determined to keep her talents available to the Guardians. I think he talked her into marrying that piece of milquetoast that works for him just for that purpose.”

“Walter? That milquetoast has enough spine to marry another man’s woman. I should put my rifle scope to good use. If he wasn’t in the picture . . .” He glanced to the glowing coals in the grate. “Time for more fuel.” He pulled an envelope from a stack of similarly scented envelopes tied with a scarlet red ribbon and tossed it on the coals. The edges of the envelope caught and curled. Flames licked the paper surface, slowly turning it to ash. One tiny corner remained untouched—one with a black thumbprint—then it too disappeared.

“What are you doing, Ashton?” his father asked tenderly.

“Her letters,” he replied. “I carried them next to my heart all through Italy. Almost killed a man in France when he tried to steal them from me. But now she’s going to marry Walter. She said she’s going to try to love him.” He turned blurry eyes to his father. “Try to love him when she already loves me.”

He reached for another letter to toss on the fire, but his father grabbed his hand and forced it to the table, stopping him. “Don’t do it, son. You’ll regret burning those memories. Later, when you’re sober, you might discover they’re all you have to keep you going. Latch onto a dream that one day things will be different and you can be together.”

“Sober. I don’t ever want to be sober again.” Ashton swallowed more brandy, then nodded toward the decoded letter on the table. “Edwina said she thought that was a love letter. I wouldn’t listen. I thought you were up to nefar—nefar . . . evil purposes.” His tongue must have swollen. Some words were just too difficult to say. He’d done extensive drinking in his Casanova days, but he couldn’t recall having this thick tongue before. “Why? You married Constance?”