Brynn felt her breath catch at the gentleness in his tone. Yet even knowing the danger of encouraging any intimacy between them, she answered honestly. “If I recall, I was in no mood for forgiveness. But I believe I would have understood that your duty came first.”
Lucian laughed softly, without amusement. “Defeating Napoleon is no longer merely a duty with me, love. It’s a driving passion. I admit, I have no objectivity when it comes to winning the war. Not after losing so many friends and countrymen. I want Boney to pay for the destruction he’s wreaked on England, on all of Europe. And I’ll do whatever is necessary to achieve his downfall, even if it means taking on tasks no true gentleman would ever consider.”
“What sort of tasks?”
She felt rather than saw him go still. Then Lucian shook his head abruptly, as if recollecting who she was. “They aren’t tales for a lady’s ears.” His tone had turned suddenly grim, but she could sense his despair.
Perhaps they were ugly tales, yet Brynn would have liked to hear them, to better understand this surprisingly complex man she was bound to for life.
She fell silent, contemplating his unexpected revelations. When the carriage drew up before the Wycliff mansion, however, she was filled with a disturbing new awareness. Thus far the evening had been disquietingly pleasurable, but what would the remainder of the night bring? Most pointedly, did Lucian intend to share her bed again and resume claiming his rights as her husband?
Her heart quickening with nervous anticipation, she entered the house on Lucian’s arm and surrendered her satin cloak to the butler. Yet, just as on their wedding night, a visitor was waiting for his lordship.
Informed that Mr. Barton was in the study, Lucian gave Brynn a brief glance, knowing it could only be bad news this late in the evening. “I’m sorry, my dear, but I must speak with him.”
She returned a slight smile that actually seemed relieved. “Of course,” she said quietly.
Lucian watched her ascend the grand staircase, her back slim and straight, hips swaying gently beneath her elegant ivory-silver gown. He had never regretted an interruption more.
Cursing the poor timing, he strode quickly to his study, where Philip Barton rose immediately to his feet.
“I regret the intrusion, my lord, but I knew you would wish to hear the news. The last shipment of sto
len gold reached France, there is no longer any doubt. It landed in Boulogne.”
Lucian cursed again. “Where was it taken?”
“That isn’t known, for the trail ended abruptly. It seems to have disappeared into thin air.”
“How can an entire wagonload of bullion,” he demanded with angry rhetoric, “simply disappear?”
“Perhaps it was split up. Regardless, my men lost track of it. I am very sorry, my lord.”
Lucian clenched his teeth, forcing back his anger. “You aren’t to blame, Philip.”
“It is the work of Lord Caliban, most likely.”
“Was he sighted?”
“No, not this time. I thought you might wish to travel to France to investigate yourself.”
Lucian hesitated, considering. He wanted to apprehend Caliban so fiercely, he could taste it. But he wanted to remain in England just as badly. Leaving Brynn now just as he was trying to cultivate a new relationship with her was out of the question. He couldn’t possibly woo his bride if he was slinking across France in search of illusive contraband and its treacherous thief. In any case, by now the gold had most certainly reached Napoleon’s coffers. Even sending Philip to France might be pointless; the cunning Lord Caliban would be long gone.
Then again, they might learn some vital crumb regarding the traitor’s identity.
“No,” Lucian replied, “I won’t be going to France this time. But I would like you to go in my place, Philip.”
“I, my lord?”
“This is one of our few leads to Caliban. We can’t risk letting even a scrap of information go unsought. And I cannot leave London just now.”
An eager light brightened the young man’s dark eyes. “Very well, my lord. I will make arrangements to depart at once.”
Seeing his enthusiasm, Lucian added a pointed warning. “Philip, don’t be discouraged if you unearth nothing. You will likely hit another dead end.”
“I understand. And it is quite possible Caliban never went to France at all, but left the gold to be delivered by his lackeys.” Barton frowned, looking disheartened once more. “It’s damned galling to know he is right under our very noses, performing his treason.”
“Indeed,” Lucian agreed darkly. “That’s why I have been thinking… perhaps it’s time to modify our course and begin searching for him here.”