The Guardian Duke: A Forgotten Castles Novel (31 page)

Mr. McQueen cleared his throat. "Well, no harm in checking the records, I suppose. You will wait here."

John reached over and squeezed her hand as the man headed toward a back room.

"My uncle is right, you know."

Alex turned suddenly toward John's face. "You heard our conversation?"

"Just the end of it. You cannot travel alone. It's too dangerous. Especially after that attack. Whatever your parents were looking for—"

"
Are
looking for."

"Yes, well, whatever it is, we know that it is very valuable. Possibly worth a fortune. It would seem there are those who will do anything to get their hands on it."

"I don't care about any of that. I just want to find my parents."

"You should care. They could capture you, torture you, even kill you should you no longer be of use to them. But if you found it first . . . think of it, Alex. Then you would have something to bargain with. Then if they are still alive, you could ransom them with it."

Alex gasped. "That's true. I hadn't thought of how I would save them once I do find them. John, you're brilliant."

He smiled and shrugged one shoulder. "I have another brilliant idea. One that even my uncle will agree to, I think."

Alex turned in her chair further toward him. "What is it?"

His smile lit up his handsome face. "I shall accompany you."

Alex dropped her gaze. Traveling alone with a man was almost worse than traveling alone. "I would welcome your company, but we couldn't possibly travel alone together. You must know that." Montague was more like a father to her and was probably thought as one as they traveled, but John was young and handsome, very handsome.

"We could if we were married." He said it so quick and low that her head shot up, not sure she'd even heard him right.

"I—I, are you proposing marriage?"

John's face flushed with color, but his blue eyes were earnest. "I beg your pardon. It's not the romantic gesture I'd planned for. I should have waited, but Alexandria, since the moment we met, I think I've been waiting to ask you to be my wife. And now, everything is happening so fast . . . you're about to sail away . . . I'm afraid I might lose you forever."

"It's just . . . such a surprise. I don't know what to say."

John took her hand and squeezed. "Think of it. If you marry, you will no longer need a guardian. The duke will no longer be able to control you."

Or her fortune
. If she married, and she wasn't even sure how that was possible without her guardian's consent unless they eloped, but
if
she married her fortune would be hers, or rather . . . she looked into John's earnest blue eyes . . . theirs. She cared for him. She enjoyed his company—greatly. She could learn to love him, she was certain of it. But dare she trust him?

Dear God, if I ever needed Your guidance it is now. Help me know Your will for my life
.

Alex was saved answering as Mr. McQueen appeared, striding toward them with a thick volume in his hands.

"Ah, here we are then." He opened the book to a wide page, turned it for them to see, and pointed his finger to a signature.

At the top of the page was the ship's name:
Achilles.
Then there were rows of names. Alex scanned them, her chest pounding. There, lines thirty-two and thirty-three, were the names: Lord Ian Featherstone and Lady Katherine Featherstone. Dated 1 December 1817.

"It's them," she whispered. She looked up at Mr. McQueen. "Where was this ship sailing to?"

He turned back a few pages and pointed to the log. The
Achilles
was sailing to New York but making a stop at Reykjavik, Iceland.

Alex looked at John and then back at Mr. McQueen. "When is the next ship leaving for Iceland?"

"I thought you might ask so I've already looked into it. There is a ship leaving for Ammassalik in Greenland two days hence. For a price, I believe the captain can be convinced to make a stop at Iceland on the way."

Alex's heart started to race inside her. She had to take this chance. It might be weeks if she waited for another opportunity. "Yes, book the passage." She looked at John's hopeful face, his eyes sparkling with love and adventure, and prayed she was doing the right thing. "Book the passage for two."

ALEX STARED OUT THE COACH window, watching the city blur by, dazed by everything that had happened. Her life had changed so much. She'd never dreamed she would ever be in Dublin. She'd never fathomed going to Iceland and couldn't imagine what it was going to be like. She had thought of marriage now and again as any girl coming into womanhood did. But she'd never thought of the handsome, blond stranger beside her. Her future husband always had dark hair, tall, but with a shadowy face, something that time would reveal, something she'd known she wasn't ready for.

John must have sensed her mood as he sat silent. He'd reached for her hand when they had first gotten into the carriage, but she only allowed him to hold it for a moment, and then she leaned toward the window, getting a look, a new look, at the city she might someday, when this was all over, call home. Dublin was this man's home whose carriage she shared. She didn't think he would like living in the windswept solitude of Holy Island. Would she ever live there again? Just the thought made her breath catch, trying to stop the tears.

They came to John's lovely town house, the home they would likely go back to once she found her parents, and he helped her down. She'd worn the new pink bonnet he'd picked out to go with her day dress. It shielded her face from any she chose it to, a fact that brought comfort with it when she was feeling shy and scared as she was now.

He reached down and grasped her chin in a tender hold and lifted it so she had to look at him.

She allowed it . . . stared long into his eyes.

"I love you, Alexandria."

Her lips quivered as she pressed them down into a sad smile. She couldn't say it back, not yet. She didn't know who she was at the moment. She felt swept away on a tidal wave, like the ones she'd so often watched from the shores of Holy Island, wishing when she saw them that she could ride away into an adventure, wishing her life would finally begin. Now that it had, she realized the folly of wishing away a childhood, a sudden knowledge coming to her that she'd tried too hard to be something important when she could have just enjoyed being a girl.

She was growing up. And it was hard, harder than expected.

John's lips came down and she let him brush them against hers. It felt nice, her pulse raced, but in a nice way.

A sudden sound made them spring apart. Baylor came down the steps to the town house and stood frowning down at them from his great height.

"I think it's time for her ladyship and me to go for a walk," he stated in a voice that neither of them could argue with.

John bowed to both, giving her a secret smile, and then went inside.

Alex put her hand onto Baylor's meaty arm and they started down the street of tan cobblestone. "I've tarried with you long enough, my dear. I'm missing the harpy something bad, and well, you don't seem to be needing me anymore."

Alex knew this had been coming. Baylor hadn't attended the ball, hadn't wanted to; instead he sought out Dublin's music dens and had gone back home in his heart. "I can't thank you enough, Baylor. You've been a true friend."

"That's the right of it. I expect to see you again someday with your parents in tow."

Alex looked up at him, a big smile spreading across her face. "As do I." She paused, thinking of how much she would miss him. "Promise me you'll continue your reading lessons. You've made such progress in the last weeks."

Baylor looked down at her with eyes that glowed with fondness and pride. "That I will, Lady Alex. Many thanks for your excellent teaching."

They walked in silence for a time and then Alex stopped. "Baylor, I've just had an idea."

He groaned in mock protest.

"Could you do one more thing for me before you go?"

He looked down at her face and wiggled his shaggy eyebrows. "Is it dangerous?"

Alex threw back her head and laughed. "Very dangerous. You see . . . it has to do with the Duke of St. Easton . . ."

B
y the time he'd searched the ballroom for the fourth time, Gabriel was sweat soaked under his costume. Where
was
she? His head throbbed, his temple pounding in a way that told him he should get control, but he couldn't. Panic, frustration—
dear God,
love, some strange feeling that made him want to be ill—was filling him. She couldn't have slipped through his fingers once again. Impossible. She couldn't have been here,
in his arms,
and now be gone.

After a half hour of Meade and him questioning guests and even the vicereine, who was very happy to have a moment of his attention, he finally had to admit defeat. Go home. Sleep. Regroup and plan tomorrow.

They did go back to the hotel and he did climb into his bed and pull the feather coverlet up to his neck, but he didn't sleep. He could not sleep.

The next morning he dealt with his valet's frowns as he was shaved. He stared in the mirror at his reflection, seeing himself in silence, still missing the
scrape, scrape, scrape
of the razor's song against his skin. What was he doing? Why didn't he just go back to the prince regent and admit that he couldn't find her? That she was more determined than all of them . . . ?

With an irritated move of his arm, he shrugged his valet away. Gabriel took up the warm towel and buried his face in it.

There was one clue left. One more thing he thought Alexandria would do. He'd put that one thought into motion by sending Meade a note to find out if there were any ships sailing to Iceland in the next few days or weeks. He couldn't imagine that there would be.

His valet had crept away, which was good. He needed to be alone. He picked up the hand mirror and peered into it again, seeing the green eyes that to him were so normal but to others seemed strange. Is that what had scared her off?

Scowling at his reflection, he prowled about the room . . . thinking . . . and moving the restless energy from his body. Meade would be back soon with the shipping schedule. He would wait . . . as much as it was killing him. Then he would buy passage and board the ship. He imagined himself waiting for her, on the deck, seeing her board and waiting for the moment when she saw him.

Gabriel closed his eyes and remembered the feel of her in his arms, how perfectly they fit together, how their breaths matched and their bodies melded until they felt like one. He should have known the second he pulled her into his arms that it was her.
How had he not known?

He stopped walking and leaned against the frame of the window. Perhaps he had. Some part of him had never wanted to let her go.

The door opened to reveal Meade. He knew not to knock, but he always just opened it a crack to see if he was appearing at a welcome time.

Gabriel motioned him in. "Is there a ship to Iceland?"

Meade came up to him and handed him a paper, nodding.

Gabriel looked down and read it. It was a ticket. In two days. How convenient. He let loose a shaky breath and flipped to the second page. It was a copy of her ticket, her signature. The familiarity of it slammed into him. He rubbed his fingers across his eyes, exhausted and exhilarated at the same time.

There wouldn't be far to run on the deck of a ship. Not that she would want to when he told her he was prepared to disobey the prince regent—that he was coming with her.

God, I never ask You for much. I can't remember ever asking You for anything before all this happened. Please, help me find her.

IT WAS TIME.

Gabriel swallowed hard, adjusted his leather gloves, and mounted his horse.

He sat a moment in the early morning light, looking out over the city while his outriders mounted up and flanked him, ahead and behind. They raised the flags of the Duke of St. Easton,
Faith for Duty
. This day he would choose faith.

The sun glinted off the stone buildings as they rode through the street toward Dublin Bay. Meade rode at his side. He cast a look at his stalwart secretary and had to smile. He was dressed in his new costume, the house of St. Easton colors across his breast, his carriage erect, riding like he'd been born to it.

They smelled the sea before they saw it. A blue smudge that was grayer and moving against the horizon. Ships of all shapes and sizes rocked against their moorings, their hulls yearning to follow the tide and the open sea.

Gabriel dreaded the thought of boarding the ship. To be deaf and seasick for the first weeks he would spend with her? Well, if she saw him through that, then they would get through anything together. Tears rose to his eyes as he thought of her. He commanded them away instantly.

He took a deep breath of the sea air, saw the white gulls take flight from the shore, and accepted the silence of the horses' hooves, the silence of the birds, the silence of the waves.

His horse moved beneath him and he directed it without thinking, realizing that he had grown more attuned to touch and sight. His mind felt sharp and alive as they approached the quay.

Suddenly a great cart rolled from a side street in front of them. Gabriel and his men hauled back on the reins, pulling their horses back from the danger. The men stopped behind him, their horses huffing and blowing, looking to him for direction.

A giant, red-headed man got out of the seat of the cart and moved in a slow, lumbering way toward them. His mighty arms waved them back.

"What is the meaning of this?" Meade surged forward on his horse, causing Gabriel to smile. This adventure had made a man out of him, to be sure.

Arms waved and their lips talked fast as they conversed. His men waited as the giant blocked the street for more minutes than Gabriel wanted to think about. Then, in a sudden move, the giant looked up at him, locked eyes with him . . . his eyes full of meaning, full of knowledge.

Everything stopped inside of him.