Beyond Seduction

Chapter 15

When at last she lifted her head from his shoulder, Madeline stared into Gervase’s face, and tried to fathom what the last moments had meant, what they’d revealed.

The power between them-fueled on her part by what she recognized as love-had only grown stronger, but…did he feel it, too?

If he did…what was it he felt?

A suddenly very vital question, but one his expression, more stoic than impassive, did little to answer.

“Can you stand?” He sounded resigned.

Realizing her legs were still locked around him, she straightened them and tried; she was stable enough.

She drew her arms from his shoulders; he took her hand.

“Let’s get back to the boathouse.”

She let him steady her through the waves. In the boathouse she would be able to see his eyes, and perhaps get some idea of what was going on, what it was that seemed to be shifting and resettling in the landscape between them. She’d thought she’d got it right, but he seemed to want to tell her she’d got something important wrong.

They reached their clothes; he handed her his handkerchief. “Just dry your hands-there are towels inside.”

She did, then they collected their clothes and walked up the beach, the breeze cool but not cold on their damp skin; picking up their footwear, they climbed the steps to the boathouse door.

They went up to his retreat; leaving his clothes on the table, he lighted several candles, then went to a cupboard against one wall and pulled out towels. Turning from placing her clothes on a chair, she accepted one, and set about rubbing the last of the sea and its salt from her skin.

That done, she patted the wet ends of her hair, which predictably had escaped. Long, wet strands hung to her shoulders; squeezing them in the towel, noting he had much more to rub dry, she drifted to the long bank of windows overlooking the sea.

And thought of what she felt, wondered what he might be feeling.

Eventually she turned, and saw him sitting on the edge of the daybed, watching her. He searched her face, then held out a hand, beckoning. “Come here.”

She considered, then did. They had to talk; she had to learn…whatever it was he wanted to tell her.

He took her hand, with his other hand plucked the towel from her slack grasp and tossed it to lie with his. Then he drew her to him, reached for her waist, turned her, swiveled and shifted back, drawing her down to the daybed, settling her between his thighs while he lay with his shoulders propped against the raised back.

Her back to his chest, she couldn’t see his face; he was a hot, solid, muscular cushion behind her, his legs lying alongside hers.

She relaxed against him, into his embrace as his arms closed around her; he nuzzled her temple, brushing her hair aside with his chin to place a gentle kiss there.

Closing her eyes, she savored the closeness for one long moment, then asked, “Until when are you planning to remain in the country?” The most important, vital question, one she could no longer not ask.

He didn’t immediately reply, but then said, his voice even, “Forever.”

She frowned. She knew him well enough to gauge the nuance in his voice. He meant forever, literally. Opening her eyes, she started to turn, to look into his face.

His arms tightened, keeping her still. Then he sighed. “There’s something I have to tell you.” A moment passed, then he went on, “It would help, a lot, if you remain as you are and listen, and say nothing-do nothing-until I tell you the whole.”

She stayed silent and still within his arms. Wondering…suddenly worried.

He drew breath, then said, “I already know who I want for my wife.”

Her heart constricted, a sharp pain. She moved, unable to stay still.

He tightened his hold. “Just listen.”

There was an urgency in his voice, a taut tension that surprised her, made her listen even though she didn’t want to hear.

“I didn’t know who she was when I returned to fix the mill. But my sisters, and Sybil, too, forced me to look at her-really look. And when I did, I saw…” He paused, then went on, his words falling by her ear, earnest and intent; he wanted her to understand. “I already knew my criteria-the things I wanted in my bride. Age, birth and station, temperament, compatibility and beauty-that was my list. The lady in question obviously satisfied all those criteria except that I didn’t know her well, so couldn’t tell if we’d be compatible.”

He drew breath. “So I set out to discover if we were.” He paused; she suddenly felt cold, suddenly felt an inner quiver. She couldn’t think. Then more softly he asked, “Do you remember when I told you what our first kiss was about-what I said? But before we got to that, you’d already told me in no uncertain terms that you would never believe, refused to believe, that I would want you for my wife.”

A shiver materialized. She ignored it, frowned. “Me?” He shifted, and she wriggled and turned. Stared at his face as he flicked out the silk shawl that had been lying on the daybed’s back and spread it around her shoulders. She gripped it, clutched it, staring, stunned, at him. “You want to marry me?”

He met her eyes and quietly stated, “All along I wanted to marry you.”

He paused, then went on, “If you remember, I told you I wanted you warming my bed.” He pointed toward the castle. “My bed-the one in the earl’s chambers, the one only my countess will ever grace. That’s where I wanted you-that’s what I meant.”

She still couldn’t take it in. “You meant to marry me-virtually from the first.”

“After that first kiss, yes.”

“But…” Confused, she gestured around them, pushed back her hair. “What was all this about, then? The game we’ve been playing? My seduction?”

His lips twisted, a wry grimace. “You told me why you didn’t believe-no, why you knew I would never seriously consider marrying you, why you believed I never would. You listed your reasons, remember. You had four-that I wasn’t honestly attracted to you, not physically, that you were too old, that you weren’t the sort of lady society would accept as my countess and that we would never get along, the two of us, not in the sense of living together, because we’re too alike.”

She stared at him, her eyes slowly narrowing as she connected actions with his words…she suddenly understood why he was being so careful, why he was tense. “You’ve been attacking my reasons. One by one.”

His lips thinned. “Undermining them. You didn’t give me much choice. I came home from London frustrated beyond bearing-and then I found you, and realized you were the one I wanted, the one I’d been going to London to search for. You were here, under my nose all along, and all I’d had to do was open my eyes. Once I had…I wasn’t about to accept your dismissal and meekly go away.”

She snorted. “You don’t know the meaning of the word ‘meek.’”

“True.” The tight smile he flashed her was more warning than reassurance. “So I set out to prove to you that I honestly desire you-you can’t possibly question that anymore. And you must by now realize that no one else sees either your age or your nature as in any way disqualifying you for the position of my countess. All our neighbors, all of local society would see a marriage between us as an excellent match.”

“Oh, my God!” Her eyes widened, her lips parted in shock. Then she glared at him. “Who else knows? You said your sisters and Sybil-who else?”

He wasn’t surprised by her reaction, that much was clear from his grimace and ready answer. “Not the whole neighborhood-it’s not exactly something I would shout from the steeple.”

“Thank Heaven for that. So who?”

He sighed. “My sisters and Sybil-as I said, they pointed me in your direction and insisted I look, so they were aware from the outset of my interest.”

She remembered his sisters at the festival, all they’d said. “Dear Heaven! Your sisters are worse than you.”

“Very likely-a point you might want to bear in mind.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “No others?”

He pressed his lips together, then said, “Muriel’s guessed, I think. And your brothers.”

“My brothers?”

He nodded. “Harry spoke to me-entirely correctly. They’d noticed my interest, even if you hadn’t.”

She stared at him, stunned again. “Good God.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.

For a long moment, she simply sat there, naked on the daybed, clutching the shawl about her shoulders, facing him, completely naked, her hips and legs wedged in the space between his knees, and tried, frantically, to get her mind to take in all he’d said, and readjust her world.

In the end, she blinked, focused on his eyes, and asked, “What now?”

“Now?” His jaw set. “Now we go on until you’re convinced we can get along on a daily basis, and then you agree to marry me and we arrange a wedding-and then I get to have you warming my bed.” Taking her free hand, he urged her up. “And if we’re to get you home before dawn, we’ll need to get dressed.”

She glanced at the windows, at the faint lightening of the sky; he was right. Standing, she found her head whirling. “Wait.” Letting the shawl fall to the daybed, she clutched his arm. “You’re rushing ahead too fast.”

Releasing him, she went to the chair and tugged her chemise from the jumbled pile of her clothes. She struggled into it, then turned to see him looking down, buttoning his trousers. “Just because we’ve been lovers I’m not going to meekly say yes and marry you.”

He looked up at her. “You don’t know the meaning of the word ‘meek.’”

She grimaced, and reached for her drawers. “As I said, we’re much alike. And that doesn’t necessarily augur well for domestic peace.”

“It does, however, mean we’ll usually understand each other.”

Stepping into her silk drawers and pulling them up, she gave her attention to settling and tying the drawstring at her waist. If she’d stood on painful ground before, at least she’d been confident she knew the landscape. Now he’d shifted everything, and she no longer felt confident of anything at all.

She shot him a dark glance. “I notice you haven’t said that because we’ve been intimate I have to marry you to preserve my reputation.”

“Indeed-do, please, notice that.” He cast her an equally sharp glance, then started tying his neckerchief. “If I thought such a ploy had a hope in hell of succeeding, I’d be pushing the argument for all it’s worth. Explaining the facts of life to Harry-”

When she gasped, he shot her an irritated look. “But as I know you’ll only dig in your heels harder if I take that tack, I didn’t even consider it.”

“Good-because it won’t work.”

“I know-see? Understanding at work.”

She humphed, and wrestled her riding dress into place. “You’ll have to help me with these laces.”

Shrugging on his jacket, he came over and did so, swiftly redoing what he’d earlier undone. She felt him tie off the knot, but then he paused. Then he turned her to face him.

His hands on her shoulders, he looked into her face, into her eyes. For once let her see into his, past his guard-see clearly and without equivocation the possessiveness he was reining back.

“I want you as my wife-and I don’t like having to wait. But I know you’re not yet ready to agree. However, as I told you at the outset, I want you warming my bed-for the rest of my life. Whatever you want, whatever you need to get you to agree, I’ll do it, I’ll give it. Whatever it takes, I want you as mine.”

She held his gaze steadily, let a moment tick past, then simply said, “I need to think.”

He nodded and released her. As he moved away, heading for where he’d left his boots, he murmured, “If you feel anything for me, don’t take too long.”

Gervase insisted on riding all the way back to the Park with her. Which did nothing to clear her head, or stop her whirling thoughts.

When she woke the next morning-late-she felt muddle-headed, but found she couldn’t think about, couldn’t concentrate on, anything else. Not until she’d decided on this, on them, on him and how she should deal with him.

What she wanted from him in order to agree to be his. What else she needed to know. Whether she dared.

Marriage between people like them was not something to be embarked on lightly, not a link to be recklessly forged.

Leaving Harry to face the ledgers alone, she pleaded a headache and went to walk in the rose garden. To pace.

She’d seen falling in love with Gervase as a risk, a danger, but had embarked on their liaison, their affair, anyway, then, when love had sneaked up on her and blossomed so easily, she’d blithely-recklessly-surrendered to it. She’d meant to stay on guard and be wise, but it-he-had somehow slipped under her shield and lodged in her heart.

That was one thing. Unrequited love when she was merely his temporary lover was a scenario she’d been willing to face and cope with…at least she had been until she’d realized just how strongly she felt about him, how possessive of him she’d grown.

Regardless, she’d accepted the risk and couldn’t now retreat. So she loved him, and knew it. But did he love her?

When they’d been no more than lovers, that hadn’t truly mattered. Now he’d asked for marriage, it did. A liaison lasted for a finite time; marriage was forever. If she agreed to marry him and he didn’t love her…what then?

Could she bear it if, years from now, he found another, a lady whom he did love, and turned from her?

She honestly didn’t think she could.

Head down, hands clasped behind her back, she paced unseeing along the paved path between the burgeoning bushes.

How could she learn if he did, or could, or would, love her? She was too well acquainted with the male of the species to place any reliance on words, especially those uttered in the heat of the moment, under duress-especially, for them, emotional duress. No matter what he swore, or how sincerely he spoke, she wouldn’t accept mere words as proof of his affection.

Where else to look for such proof? That was the first of the questions facing her-the first she had to answer.

The scent of roses wreathed about her. She paced, and thought, and wrestled with her feelings, and tried to imagine his. After a largely futile half hour, she headed inside, her way forward unresolved but her goal at least clear.

To avoid a potentially soul-destroying marriage, or alternatively to grasp a shining prize, she had to find some way to discover whether Gervase Tregarth truly loved her or not.

Somewhat to her surprise-to her unease-the one question she hadn’t even needed to ask was whether she wanted to marry him. That, she’d discovered, not entirely happily, was a want already engraved on her heart.

A little before noon, Gervase called in at Tregarth Manor, the manor house outside Falmouth where he’d been born. He spent an easy half hour chatting with his cousin, who now lived there with his wife, confirmed that he no longer felt any strong connection to the place-it was no longer “home”-then headed on to his destination, Falmouth itself.

He paused on the last hill above the town, studied the roofs sprawled about the harbor, then shook Crusader’s reins and headed down, the steady clop of the big gray’s hooves following his thoughts around and around.

As they circled one female-one frustrating, stubborn, when it came to herself blind Valkyrie he was one step away from forcibly seizing and carrying off to his bed. And keeping her there until she agreed to marry him forthwith.

Even now, hours after the fact, he was still grappling with the frustration that had gripped him when he’d realized the direction of her thoughts. Lady Hardesty’s blindness-which would have made Madeline’s more understandable except that they lived in deepest Cornwall, not London-and the insult the group had, albeit unintentionally, handed her, had made him see red. Literally. He was still amazed he’d handled the moment with passable civility. “Civil” wasn’t how he’d been feeling.

But then to discover that she had still not grasped the notion that she was the lady best suited to be his wife, that she still saw herself as a passing fancy, a local lady he’d seduced to be his mistress for the summer, had all but shredded his control.

He’d felt distinctly violent in that moment on the dance floor, then even more so when on the beach she’d confirmed her complete lack of comprehension of all he’d spent the last weeks trying to show her. To demonstrate to her, because actions spoke so much louder than words.

In her case, not even actions had sufficed; she’d thought her way around them, rationalized them-had made them fit her entrenched view that she was not the lady who would be his countess.

But she was. His jaw clenched; he tried not to let his grim determination seep into his expression-no need to scare the other travelers on the road.

Regardless of her willful stance, she was the one, the lady who would, as he’d informed her, warm his big bed at the castle for the rest of his life.

In the face of her determined refusal to see, he’d jettisoned his careful approach and told her the blunt truth-not solely so he could more openly forge ahead with his campaign to win her, but equally in response to her question of how long he would remain in the country-how long he would remain with her-and the vulnerability he’d sensed behind it.

He didn’t know if she loved him as yet, but he suspected she was at least close to it. That realization had been the only bright moment, one moment of blessed relief among the other, less happy revelations of the night.

So now she was at least thinking of him and her in the appropriate way, and considering agreeing to marry him. He hadn’t exactly proposed; he inwardly winced as he recalled what he’d said, how he’d put it. But at least she now knew how he felt, how he saw her.

Of that, at least, she could no longer harbor any doubt.

Unbidden, his mind ranged ahead, to their wedding-he assumed it would be at the church at Ruan Minor. That seemed likely; both their families were part of that congregation. He knew the church well, could imagine himself standing before the ancient altar, could imagine turning and seeing her, walking up the aisle to his side…

Crusader jerked his head, jerking Gervase from his dream. He realized; frustrated irritation swamped him. “Good God! Now I’m fantasizing.” His sisters would laugh themselves into fits. It hadn’t even been the wedding night he’d been fantasizing about.

“First things first,” he muttered beneath his breath. How to get her to agree.

Slowing Crusader to a walk as the first cottages neared, he considered what he could do, what ammunition he had. He could bring in the heavy artillery and recruit her brothers…or unleash his sisters, Sybil and even Muriel; he was sure they’d all be happy to fight for his cause.

If she proved obdurate, and he got seriously desperate, such actions were an option. However…he grimaced; trying to understand women in general was hard enough, but trying to understand her…

Instinct was all he had to guide him, and that urged him to give her at least a little time-time enough to see and accept his constancy, that he was determined, had been from the first and wasn’t about to lose interest and change his mind, much less draw back. For someone of her character, her particular traits, convincing her of that would be half his battle-and something he would need to achieve on his own.

How?

Visions of stocking the boathouse with flowers, of arranging to have a rose on her pillow every night, of learning what she most craved-new novels, the latest music sheets, what else?-and getting those things for her, all the usual things a gentleman might do to assure a lady of his affection, danced through his mind, but none of those actions would work, not with her.

They might even make her suspicious of him and his motives.

In the battlefield terms with which he was most familiar, he needed to make his point more forcefully, not simply nip at her cavalry’s heels. He needed some more powerful and definite way to make a statement.

Cobbles rang beneath Crusader’s hooves as the town closed around them. Setting aside his mental quest for some suitably dramatic action, Gervase straightened in the saddle and refocused his mind on his immediate objective.

He knew the town well, and many there knew him. Passing the town hall, he turned down Market Street and headed for Custom Quay. His first port of call would be the harbormaster’s office.

The early afternoon found Madeline in the arbor, sitting on one side bench studying the daisy she held in her fingers. She was tempted to try the “he loves me, he loves me not” test-it seemed as likely to yield an answer as any of the other approaches she’d thought of; despite her earlier efforts to clear her mind, she’d accomplished very little that day.

Sighing, she sat back and surrendered-gave her mind up to the topic that despite her best efforts had dominated her thoughts. Perhaps examining the pros and cons of marrying Gervase might shed some light.

The benefits were easy to enumerate-being the countess of a wealthy earl was nothing to sneeze at, being the mistress of his castle, the social position, the local status, even being closer to his family-his sisters and Sybil-all those elements spoke to her, attracted her.

And when it came to her brothers, he was the only man she’d ever met whom she trusted-had instinctively trusted from the first-to guide and steer them in the ways she couldn’t. To understand them as she did, and join with her in protecting them as needed.

Lots of benefits. But she could see the difficulties, too. They were harder to put into words, but were nonetheless real. Most derived from the fact she’d initially identified, one he hadn’t attempted to deny. They were very alike. Both were accustomed to being in control of their world, and largely in command of it.

If, for each of them, the other became a major part of their world…what then? Both of them had managed largely alone for all their adult lives. Finding the ways to share command at their respective ages-to accommodate another as strong as they themselves were-would not be an easy task.

That was one point where they might stumble. She knew herself too well to imagine she would ever be the sort of female to retreat from a path she was sincerely convinced was right. Regardless of any potential danger to herself…and therein lay the seed for serious discord. Because she knew how he would react. Just as she would if their places were reversed.

He was a warrior, a being raised to protect and defend-but so was she.

That brand of strength, of commitment, ran in his blood, and in hers. It was what had had him risking his life in France for over a decade, what had had her without a blink sacrificing the life most young ladies yearned for to care for and protect her brothers.

He was what he was, and she was who she was, and neither of them could change those fundamental traits. Which raised the vital question: Could they, somehow, find a way to rub along side by side, to live together without constantly abrading each other’s instincts, each other’s pride?

Heaving a long sigh, she gazed at the house, peacefully basking in the sun. Rather than finding answers, the more she thought about marrying Gervase, she only threw up more questions.

Worse, crucial but close-to-impossible-to-answer questions.

Inwardly shaking her head, she rose; still entirely planless and clueless, she started back to the house.

The sun was well past its zenith when Gervase led Crusader off the Helford ferry, swung up to the gray’s back, and set him cantering out of the village south along the road to Coverack and Treleaver Park beyond.

He’d left Falmouth an hour ago having satisfactorily fulfilled his reasons for going there. After the harbormaster’s office, he’d talked to a number of the officers from the revenue cutters bobbing in the harbor, then had ridden on to Pendennis Castle to check with his naval contacts there.

No official had heard so much as a whisper of any ship lost in the last month. No records, no complaints, nothing.

Quitting the castle, he’d ridden back into the town to the dockside taverns to seek the unofficial version. But that, too, had been the same. So if the brooch Madeline’s brothers had found did hail from a recent wreck-one for which someone around might harbor an interest in the cargo-then that wreck had to be some smugglers’ vessel, moreover, one not local.

He was inclining to the belief that the brooch must have come from some wreck of long ago.

That belief had been reinforced by a chance meeting and subsequent discussion with Charles St. Austell, Earl of Lostwithiel, and his wife, Penny; Gervase had stumbled upon Charles in one of the less reputable taverns. His erstwhile comrade-in-arms had been doing much the same as he, keeping up acquaintance with the local sailors he’d developed as contacts over the years.

Charles had been delighted to lay eyes on him. Gervase had found his own mood lifting as they’d shaken hands and clapped each other’s backs. They’d sat down to share a pint, then Charles had hauled him off to the best inn in Falmouth, there to meet Penny.

And Charles’s two hounds. The wolfhounds had inspected him closely before uttering doggy humphs and retreating to slump beside the hearth, allowing him to approach their master’s wife.

Gervase had been impressed; he was seriously considering getting Madeline a similar pair of guardians. Despite Charles’s excuse that he’d brought the hounds to be company for Penny, it was plain-at least to Gervase, and he suspected Penny-that Charles felt much more comfortable having the hounds to guard his wife while he went trawling through the dockside taps.

Thinking of how his and Madeline’s life would be once she moved to the castle-especially if and when any children came along-although he had no intention of leaving her side for any length of time, having two such large and loyal beasts to guard her while he rode out around the estate…he could appreciate Charles’s thinking.

He clattered through Coverack and turned for Treleaver Park. The mystery of the brooch still nagged at him, but when he’d told them the story, Charles and Penny, both of whom, like him, had long experience with local smuggling gangs, had inclined to the same conclusion as he. The brooch was most likely from some ancient wreck.

Indeed, as Penny had pointed out, echoing his own thoughts, it was hard to imagine why smugglers would have been ferrying such a cargo.

Yet that nagging itch between his shoulders persisted. He’d decided to get Harry, Edmond and Ben to show him where they’d uncovered their find, just in case the precise location suggested anything else-any other possibility.

The Treleaver Park gates were perennially set wide; he trotted through and up the drive. The westering sun was lowering over the peninsula when he drew rein in the forecourt.

Dismounting, he waited, then running footsteps heralded a stablelad, who came pelting around the corner to take his reins.

“Sorry, m’lord.” The youth bobbed his head and grasped the reins. “But there’s a right to-do indoors. We was distracted.”

“Oh?” Premonition touched Gervase’s nape, slid coolly down his spine. Unwilling to gossip with the stablelad, he nodded and strode swiftly up the shallow steps and through the open front door.

There was nothing odd about the open front door; most country houses, especially those with younger inhabitants, especially in summer, left their doors wide. What was odd was the absence of Milsom.

Gervase halted in the middle of the hall; voices-including Madeline’s-reached him.

He was too far away to make out the words; he followed the sound down the corridor to the office.

Milsom was standing just inside the door, his countenance a medley of shock, concern and helplessness.

Madeline was perched on the front edge of her desk, leaning toward her brothers-Harry and Edmond-both bolt upright in chairs facing her.

One look at her face-at the bleak fear therein-had Gervase striding into the room. “What’s happened?”

She looked up; for one instant he glimpsed relief, then her face, her expression, tightened. “Ben’s…” She gestured helplessly, plainly torn over what word to use. “Gone.”

The tremor, the underlying panic in her voice, shook him.

Harry had swung around; he met Gervase’s eyes as Gervase halted beside Madeline, taking her hand, holding it, not releasing it. “We don’t know what’s happened. Ben’s disappeared, and we don’t know where he is.” Anguish colored Harry’s eyes and voice.

Years of experience took over. Gervase dropped his other hand onto Harry’s shoulder, gripped. “Take a deep breath, then start at the beginning.”

Edmond’s eyes, too, were wide, his expression stricken.

Drawing in a huge breath, Harry held it for an instant, then said, “We rode to Helston midmorning. We thought we should check whether there’d been any more rumors about the tin mines. We went down to the Pig & Whistle-it’s the best place to learn things like that, and we knew we’d meet some of the other lads there, the ones who tell us things.”

Gervase nodded. “It’s a rough but useful place.” The Pig & Whistle was one of the taverns along the old Helston docks.

Relief washed through Harry’s eyes. “Exactly. But, of course, because it’s so rough we didn’t want to take Ben into the tap with us-and anyway, Old Henry, the innkeeper, doesn’t like ‘nippers’ brought in.”

“Perfectly understandable.” Madeline leaned forward, meeting first Harry’s, then Edmond’s eyes. “I don’t blame either of you in the least for leaving Ben outside.”

She’d had a moment-a moment Gervase’s arrival had granted her, his stalwart presence had allowed her-to assimilate what she’d learned. A minute to grasp the implications as well as the horror, and focus on what had to be done. Having Harry and Edmond sinking under unnecessary guilt was the last thing she needed.

“So you left Ben outside,” Gervase said. “Where, exactly?”

“He was sitting on the bench along the front of the tavern when we went in,” Edmond said. “He was happy as a grig, swinging his legs and watching the boats on the river. He didn’t want to come inside-he doesn’t like the smoke and the smells.” Edmond’s voice quavered. “That was the last we saw of him.”

Harry swallowed, nodded. “When we came out, he was nowhere in sight.”

“How long were you in the tavern?” Gervase asked.

Harry and Edmond exchanged glances. “Half an hour?” Harry looked up at Gervase. “Forty minutes at most. We came out with Tom Pachel and Johnny Griggs, and Ben was gone.”

“We searched-all four of us,” Edmond said. “The others helped when they realized we were worried.”

“The more we searched, still others joined in.” Harry took up the tale. “We covered the entire docks, but there was no sign of Ben anywhere. That’s when Abel-Johnny had fetched him-said we should ride home while the rest of them kept looking.” Harry glanced at Madeline. “Abel said we should find you and tell you.”

She gave mute thanks for Abel Griggs. She glanced at Gervase. “They arrived only a few minutes before you.”

He nodded.

She tensed to rise from the desk, but through his hold on her hand Gervase halted her. He met her gaze briefly, then turned again to the boys. “Through all the searching, did anyone say anything at all about seeing Ben wander off, or seeing someone approach him, speak with him-anything like that?”

Harry glanced at Edmond, then looked at Gervase. “Old Eddie was the only one who said he saw Ben, but, well”-Harry grimaced-“you know Old Eddie. You can’t trust anything he says after midday, and he was well away by the time we talked to him.”

Old Eddie was one of the town drunks.

“Never mind his state,” Gervase said. “Tell me what he said.”

“He said a flash cove came up to the bench and spoke with Ben, not just a hello-they had a conversation. Eddie said it was all sunny and happy as you please. And then Ben upped and went off with the man.”

Gervase frowned. “A flash cove? Eddie used those words?”

Harry nodded. “I suppose he meant a flashily dressed gentleman.”

Gervase didn’t reply; Madeline glanced at him in time to see the muscle in his jaw clench. Glancing sideways, he met her eyes, hesitated as if he wanted to explain, then he shook his head infinitesimally and turned back to Harry and Edmond. “No other sighting, nothing at all?”

Harry shook his head.

Edmond wriggled. “Mrs. Heggarty said she saw a man and a boy walking up her street-the one past Coinagehall Street-but she couldn’t say if it was Ben or not. She’s blind as a bat, so it could have been anyone. She couldn’t say anything about the man.”

Madeline had heard enough. She looked at Milsom, waiting by the door, opened her mouth to ask for Artur to be saddled-only to hear Gervase say, “Before we go haring back to Helston there’s things we should do-arrangements which will make finding Ben easier, quicker and more certain.”

She glanced at him, saw the seriousness in his eyes. “What arrangements?”

Gervase drew breath, swiftly reviewing the list that had formed in his head. He didn’t want to tell Madeline, let alone Harry and Edmond, what a ‘flash cove’ was. Old Eddie had been a London gentleman’s gentleman until he’d become too fond of the bottle; to Eddie, as to Gervase and anyone with knowledge of London’s underworld, a ‘flash cove’ meant a swindler or trickster usually based in London who made a living by leading others astray-usually into the clutches of some more powerful and nasty villain.

No matter how inebriated Old Eddie had been, if he’d said a flash cove, that was what he’d meant. But what such a person was doing in Helston, let alone why he’d approached Ben…despite all the possibilities, instinct screamed that Ben’s disappearance had something to do with the other inexplicable thing that had recently come into his young life. The brooch.

Gervase met Madeline’s eyes. “We need to assemble a search party, one big enough to scour the town more or less in one fell swoop. You need to gather the men on the estate, all those you can mount. Also send a note in my name to Sitwell at the castle asking him to do the same with my people and send them to Helston to wait for us there.” He paused, thinking, then nodded. “That should give us enough men.”

Madeline blinked, then nodded; rising from the desk, she moved around it to her chair. She frowned. “Should we-”

He held up a hand. “While you write those notes, I’ll send one of your grooms to Falmouth. I was there earlier today and ran into a friend-another member of my club-Charles St. Austell, Earl of Lostwithiel. I’ll ask Charles to do two things. First, to talk to the mayor and the governor of Pendennis Castle and get a roadblock set up on the London road.” When alarm crossed her face, he forced a reassuring smile. “A precaution. Let’s hope there’s no need for it, but it won’t hurt to have that in place just in case.”

That he was considering “just in case” seemed to calm her; she nodded and sank into her chair.

He held her gaze. “The other thing I’m going to ask is for Charles to meet us in Helston. He has his dogs, two wolfhounds, with him, and I recall him mentioning that they’re excellent trackers.”

And Penny would accompany Charles; nothing was more likely. Gervase hoped the arrival of another lady of similar standing would help distract Madeline, and stop her from imagining the worst.

He was able to imagine far worse scenarios than she, but he knew it was pointless and likely self-defeating. Neither he nor she could afford to allow panic to deflect them, not if they wanted Ben back, safe.

To her, he said, “I’ll leave you to write those notes.” Then he looked at Harry and Edmond. “I’ll need a groom to take my message to Falmouth-you two can help me with that.”

He glanced back at Madeline.

She was reaching for paper and pen. “Send Fanning-he’s reliable under pressure.” She looked at Harry. “Send all the other grooms to me-I’ll have notes ready for them soon.”

“Milsom can stay and assist you.” Gervase locked his gaze on the boys. “Come on-let’s get my message off.”

With last glances at Madeline-who already had her head bowed over a note-Harry and Edmond rose and followed Gervase into the corridor.

They found Fanning in the stables; Gervase recited his message to Charles, had Fanning repeat it, then sent him off. Leaving the other grooms saddling up to take Madeline’s notes to the castle and surrounding farms, Gervase beckoned the two boys to accompany him and headed back to the house.

Pausing outside the side door, he turned to them. “Where’s a safe place to talk?”

Harry exchanged a look with Edmond, then volunteered, “The library.”

Gervase waved them ahead of him; he followed them along a corridor and into the library.

Closing the doors behind him, he faced them. They’d turned and fixed big eyes on him.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“Does Ben know where you found the brooch? Was he with you when you found it?”

Both nodded. “It was he who tripped over it in the sand,” Edmond said.

Harry’s eyes had widened. “Do you think he’s been kidnapped over the brooch? By the wreckers?”

“No.” Gervase spoke quickly to dispel the looming horror. “Not the wreckers, that much seems certain. However, I told you I’d check again in Falmouth to see if there was any missing ship listed-that’s why I was there today. I learned there definitely isn’t any legitimate ship missing.”

He caught Harry’s gaze. “As we discussed before, that leaves only two reasonable explanations for that brooch. Either it’s from a long-ago wreck-or from a smugglers’ vessel that went down on the Manacles in that bad blow two weeks ago.” He felt his lips thin. “As there have been no local smugglers’ vessels lost, until half an hour ago I was tending to the ancient wreck as explanation. Now…” He paused, then looked at them. “I can’t imagine any other reason for someone to grab Ben-can you?”

Both boys’ eyes had grown round. Both thought, then shook their heads.

“You think-” Harry’s voice squeaked; he cleared his throat and tried again. “You think someone wants the brooch and…” He frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“No-not if they’re after the brooch. But…” He’d never used two schoolboys to test his reasoning before, but he had enough respect for their mental acuity, and their involvement, to try. He moved to sit on the arm of a nearby chair, bringing his face down to Edmond’s level.

“Consider this. If a ship did go down in that gale, then if it wasn’t one of our smugglers’ ships, it had to be one from the Isles of Scilly or from France. French captains especially wouldn’t necessarily know that it’s impossible to beat up the coast to the Helford estuary in a wind like that-that it would blow them onto the Manacles. Let’s say that’s what happened-a French smuggling vessel was wrecked two weeks ago.”

He caught the boys’ eyes, first Harry’s, then Edmond’s. “If a French vessel was heading for the Helford estuary, then someone had arranged that-the ship had to have been carrying a cargo some person here, in England, didn’t want the authorities to know about. A cargo that had to be kept secret. But that person waited, and no ship arrived. Let’s say he knew-as most do-that these coasts are haunted by local smugglers and wreckers. So when his ship didn’t come in, he starts searching-”

“For any evidence of his cargo,” Harry said.

“And he saw the brooch…when?” Edmond frowned. “It’s not as if Madeline was wearing it at the festival where anyone could have seen it. How would some blackguard have sighted it-especially enough to recognize it?” He focused on Gervase’s face. “That’s what you mean, isn’t it? That someone saw it and knew it was from his lost cargo.” Edmond looked at Harry. “But we didn’t show it to anyone-not even Aunt Muriel-before we gave it to Madeline. And she only wore it at her party-”

“And then at Lady Felgate’s ball.” Solemn and somber, Gervase nodded. “You’re right. We know everyone who was at Madeline’s party-we’ve known them for years. It wasn’t anyone there. But Lady Felgate’s ball was attended by almost everyone on the peninsula-”

“Including people who aren’t from around here,” Harry put in. “People who are visiting for the summer with local families.”

“Exactly. There’s no saying who might have noticed the brooch, and the person involved might not even have attended the ball-someone might have mentioned the brooch to them later.” Gervase grimaced. “It’s such a unique piece, even a vague description would be enough for someone who was familiar with it to recognize it.”

“But we told Madeline we bought it from that peddler,” Edmond said. “No one but you knew we’d found it on the beach.”

“And I didn’t tell anyone.” Gervase frowned, then pulled a face. “The person looking for the lost cargo was at the festival, of course. He would have checked with all the peddlers-the most obvious source for recently washed-up items. When asked where she got the brooch-and untold ladies at the ball did ask-Madeline said you’d given it to her for her birthday and that you’d found it at one of the peddlers’ stalls at the festival. But our man knew that wasn’t true, ergo you three were lying-which to his mind would mean you had found his lost cargo.”

“So…” Harry’s voice died; he stared at Gervase. “Is it someone from London who’s kidnapped Ben?”

Pure instinct had prompted him to suggest the barrier on the London road; Gervase wryly noted his instincts were still sound. “Most likely, but we can’t assume they’ll take him to London. I just wanted to ensure they don’t take him out of the area-at least not easily. The London road was the obvious one to block. The authorities will search all carriages and conveyances of any sort, so if they do try to take him away…hopefully, we’ll prevent that.” Given the time lapse between when Ben was seized and when the roadblock would go up, if the villains had started for London immediately, they might slip past before the barriers were in place.

Gervase pushed the thought aside; he had to concentrate on what he could do, what he could achieve. And Ben being taken to London was a long shot.

“Let’s try to think like our villain. He’s lost his cargo, sees-or learns of-the brooch, realizes you three found it somewhere. He wants to know where, so he grabs Ben-or arranges to have him seized-reasoning that being the youngest, he’s the most likely to tell him what he wants to know without fuss.”

Harry snorted. “He’d have been better off grabbing me. Ben’s the most stubborn of us all.”

Edmond nodded. “He’ll probably lie-send the man off to some other beach.”

Gervase blinked. If Edmond had so immediately thought of that, there was a good chance Ben would, too. “All right. Let’s say Ben tells the man he found the brooch somewhere-either the right beach, or another.”

“What will they do with Ben?” Harry rushed to ask.

Gervase hid his reaction, but then he thought further… “Actually, it’s most likely they’ll set Ben free. They won’t consider him any real threat. They’ll leave him somewhere out of the way, far enough so he can’t raise any dust until they’ve recovered the cargo and are long gone. There’s no reason they should harm him-easy enough to make sure he doesn’t know anything that might identify them, not once they get away from here.”

The easing of Edmond’s and Harry’s tension was obvious. They breathed more easily.

“How is our villain going to recover his lost cargo?” Gervase posed the question. One flash cove, most likely from London, was in the neighborhood, most likely in the pay of their villain. How many more of his ilk might be around? Regardless…“Once Ben tells him a location, he’s going to go searching, digging in the sand.”

Gervase rose, glanced around. “Are there any maps in here?”

“Yes.” Edmond hurried to a low shelf, pulled a large folio free, then lugged it to the desk.

Gervase and Harry gathered around as Edmond opened it and spread out a large map of the peninsula. “Show me which beach it was,” Gervase demanded. “How close to Lowland Point?”

“Right there.” Harry put his finger on a spot immediately north of the headland.

Gervase glanced at the Manacles, marked as a line of jagged teeth to the right of the beach in question. “All right. If Ben tells them the truth, our man will go to that spot. He might well bring others with him to do the digging and any carting, but he will come himself-he’ll want to see his cargo retrieved.”

For a moment, he stared at the map, then he glanced at Harry, caught his eye. “We need to keep a watch on that beach. If Ben does send them there, we need to catch whoever comes to dig up the lost cargo. I’m going to put you in charge of a group of your men-all from here so they’ll look to you for command. I want you to take the men to the right stretch of beach and keep a watch over it-you know how to hide in the caves, and along the cliffs. Stay out of sight unless our villain or his henchmen arrive-they’ll almost certainly not be locals. Then…you’ll have enough men to capture them.”

Harry swallowed. He held Gervase’s gaze, then nodded. “Yes. Of course.”

“Don’t worry.” Gervase clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll have your head stableman and others you know with you.” He turned to Edmond. “You’ll need to ride with Madeline and the rest of us to show us exactly where Ben was when last you saw him.”

Gervase glanced one last time at the map, then turned to the door. “Right-let’s get going.”

The boys fell in on his heels. They returned to the front hall; swiftly, Gervase made arrangements with Milsom, with the older man’s help selecting experienced men as well as a few eager young stalwarts for Harry’s “troop.”

Milsom retreated to dispatch a footman to ferry his orders to the stables. As Gervase turned back to the boys, Edmond asked, “Ben is going to be all right, isn’t he?”

Madeline hurried down the stairs in time to hear the question. After dispatching her last note-the one to the castle-she’d rushed upstairs to pull her riding trousers on under her walking dress-no time to change gowns-then she’d stopped in Muriel’s room to explain. Her aunt napped in the afternoons when she could; she’d been horrified, but had borne up under the strain, relieved-as Madeline was-to know that Gervase was there and helping.

Now, hearing Edmond voice her own fearful question, she felt her heart contract, felt herself wait, breath bated, for Gervase’s answer.

He’d heard her footsteps; he turned, met her eyes, then smiled gently, reassuringly. He turned back to Edmond, looking down into her brother’s face. “The most likely thing to happen is that after Ben gives them a location for where you found the brooch, they’ll leave him somewhere, trussed up so he can’t raise the alarm while they come to search for the rest of the lost cargo. There’s no reason for them to harm him. Once we catch them, we’ll be able to learn where they’ve left him.”

Madeline felt her eyes widen. “Brooch? Lost cargo? ” Clearly she’d missed something major.

Gervase met her eyes. “I’ll explain all on our way. We have to get moving.” He glanced at Harry. “Harry’s leading a band of your men to keep watch on the beach where they found your brooch.” He caught her gaze, clearly willing her not to slow them with more questions, to trust him. “Can you fetch a shirt of Ben’s, or a neckerchief? Not something washed but something he’s recently worn next to his skin. It’ll give the dogs his scent. Two pieces would help-Charles has two dogs and we might want to send them in different directions.”

Drawing in a huge breath through the vise clamped about her lungs, lips thin, she nodded. “I’ll get them.” Turning, she hurried back up the stairs.

Behind her she heard Gervase repeating orders to Harry, calm and certain, reassuring in his clarity.

She swept into Ben’s room; it took but a moment to sort through the pile of dirty linen flung in a corner. Selecting a shirt he’d worn the day before, and his nightshirt, she rushed back into the corridor, paused, then, bundling the linens up in one arm, she ran to her own room.

The brooch-how the devil was it linked with all this?-lay on her dressing table. She swiped it up, stared at it as it lay on her palm; she couldn’t believe it was worth anyone’s life, certainly not Ben’s, but…if the men who had kidnapped Ben were after it, she’d trade it in a blink.

Stuffing it into the pocket of her dress, feeling it heavy against her thigh, she raced out of the door and headed for the stairs.

She clattered down to find Gervase and Edmond waiting for her. Muriel had come down and was standing with them.

“Take care-all of you,” Muriel said. “And bring Ben back.”

Madeline swooped and kissed her cheek as she passed. “We will.”

She met Gervase’s eyes. He nodded. “Let’s ride.”

Outside they found a milling crowd, all mounted. She saw Harry conferring with Simpkins, their head stableman, then Harry called the group about him to order. He glanced back, once, at her, raised his hand in a salute, nodded to Gervase, then led his small band off.

Madeline stared at his back as he rode down the drive.

“Here. Mount up.”

She turned to find Gervase holding Artur’s head. “Oh-thank you.” Shaking her wits into order, she stuffed Ben’s clothes into the saddle pocket, then shoved her boot in the stirrup, grasped the saddle and swung up to Artur’s back.

The instant she had her reins in hand, Gervase turned to his gray and mounted. He nudged the huge horse close, then lifted his head to address the others. “Straight to Helston by the best route. If we get separated, we’ll meet outside the Scales & Anchor.”

Murmurs of acknowledgment sounded all around.

Gervase nodded at her. “Lead off.”

She swung Artur’s head for the gate and loosened his reins.

They were galloping by the time they cleared the gates at the end of the long drive; glancing around, she noted Gervase keeping an eye on Edmond, but he soon saw there was no need and pushed forward to ride alongside her.

“They can ride as well as I do,” she called.

He nodded. “So I see.”

“So what’s going on?”

He glanced back, then called to her, “You and I are going to outdistance everyone else. We’ll be waiting for them in Helston-I’ll explain everything then.”

Regardless of all else, even her own understanding, she wanted Ben rescued as soon as possible. So she nodded, and looked ahead. And urged Artur on.