Regency Vows: A Gentleman 'Til Midnight / The Trouble with Honour / An Improper Arrangement / A Wedding By Dawn / The Devil Takes a Bride / A Promise by Daylight

“The picture is bleak now,” she snapped.

“Lord Croston is very powerful. Highly acclaimed.”

Lord Croston. Captain Warre. That she should need him, be dependent on his goodwill, was terrifying—never mind her plan to use him for exactly this purpose. Using him and needing him were two very different things.

“There is, I suppose, one other option,” Mr. Allen said.

Her heart leaped. “What is it?”

“You could marry.”

“Marry!”

“A strategic alliance. Doubtful the Lords would attaint you then, as they’d be unlikely to take another man’s rightful property. If you’ll forgive me, as highly esteemed as your father was and as vast as your estates are, it should be a simple matter to find an acquaintance of your father’s who’s willing.”

Her mind rejected the idea the way her body might reject a bit of rancid meat. “Absolutely not. Marriage is out of the question.” Even as she said it, Captain Warre’s face rose in her mind. “As you said, Father was well loved. Odds are against the bill passing.” The ball of rage and fear in her stomach testified otherwise. “And now that I’m here, I can work to curry favor among society.” To exploit her connection with Captain Warre, in other words.

“You can,” Mr. Allen said, too reasonably.

“I’ll not marry a stranger for convenience’s sake—someone who cares nothing for me, or worse, for Anne.”

“I was thinking Lord Deal might be an agreeable possibility. He is hardly a stranger.”

Lord Deal. Her memory conjured up a kindly old face and a ready smile. “He would be Father’s age. At least.”

Mr. Allen shrugged. “There are plenty of well-situated young dowagers who might tell you that’s not such a terrible thing.”

Good God. It was a sickening plan. She could never go through with it. Would never need to. Would she?

“Marriage is not the answer,” she said sternly. “At least, not until it becomes clear the only way to keep Dunscore is to take a husband.” And if that day ever came...well, she would marry an ancient bachelor with no backbone and learn how to administer hemlock.

She stared at Mr. Allen, and he observed her passively in return.

Just then, Dodd appeared in the doorway with a note on his silver tray. She met him halfway across the room. “Thank you.” She tore through the seal and quickly read the contents. “Speak of the devil,” she said to Mr. Allen, and read aloud.

“Your return to Britain brings me much joy. Of course, I will do all I can for you in your dear father’s memory. You must do me the honor of attending an intimate gathering at my home this evening—my annual Musicale and Confectionery Extravaganza. Indeed, this will be perfect.

Yours, etc.—”

She looked at Mr. Allen. “Perfect?”

He smiled behind steepled hands. “I daresay I am inclined to agree.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#ulink_d0634ce3-0763-5c0f-984f-bf7b2ca326e9)

“WE’RE DAMNED GLAD to see you, Croston, but we’ve got one of His Majesty’s ships at the bottom of the ocean and a damned infidel on the loose in London, and I’ve got no patience for evasive answers.”

James leaned back in his chair and stared across the table at Admiral Wharton, whose abrasively loud voice was swallowed up in the vast chamber. He’d thought walking the halls of the Admiralty might give him a new perspective. Make him feel something.

It hadn’t.

“I’ve seen no evidence that Captain Kinloch’s become an infidel,” he told them.

“Devil take it—”

“And do enlighten me as to which points I have evaded. I’ll be happy to clarify.” James shifted his gaze to Admiral Kenton and raised a brow. The three of them had been seated at this table for the better part of an hour, accomplishing nothing.

Admiral Wharton exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Damn me, but we should have taken the Henry’s Cross off the line.”

“Now is a bloody useless time to admit that,” James bit out. And nearly six hundred men were dead because of it. But he wasn’t here to repair the navy—he was here to be finished with it.

Admiral Kenton shifted impatiently in his chair and checked the notes he’d scratched. “Did you have an opportunity to inspect the hold?”

“For Christ’s sake, Kenton, we’ve been through this already. I won’t sit here and repeat myself.” No, the Possession hadn’t taken any ships while he was on board. No, there was no contraband in the hold. No, he hadn’t taken any jam with his rolls at breakfast. This was bloody ridiculous.

Wharton drank deeply from a glass of brandy, set it back on the table and looked at James. “With all due respect, Croston, you’ve done a damned sorry job of taking that woman to hand.”

“There’s been no reason to take her to hand,” James said.

“No reason!” Kenton exclaimed.

“Listen here, Croston. We cannot have a ship of questionable legality captained by a...a female renegade loose on the waters of the Mediterranean doing whatever the hell she bloody pleases. You were supposed to put an end to it.”

“If I’d seen her do anything illegal, anything even remotely contrary to the interests of the Crown, I would have.”

“For God’s sake, Croston—”

James leaned forward. “If you thought she was a pirate, you would have had her arrested by now. Someone would have come forward. Filed a complaint, made accusations. The Mediterranean is hardly a remote body of water. But you have nothing, because there is nothing.”

“Did you get a look at her papers?” Kenton asked. “Bills of lading?”

“And how would I have done that? Asked to see them? She would have laughed in my face. Understand, sirs, that I was little more than a guest on her vessel.” Quite a bit less, in fact, but the admirals did not need to know the details.

For a moment the only sound was the scratching of Kenton’s quill, and then he snorted. “Suppose there’s been more than a few guests in her vessel, eh?”

James’s fingers tightened reflexively around his glass.

Wharton noticed, and his eyes narrowed slightly. “Was she truly in command of her ship? Did she have the loyalty of her crew?”

“Yes. Hell, the Possession ran with better efficiency than any ship of the line I’ve ever seen.”

Wharton tucked his chin.

“And without a single unseemly activity on her captain’s part that I was aware of,” James added. “And I don’t have to tell either of you that on a ship that size everyone is aware of everything.”

One of Wharton’s bushy gray brows edged upward. “Defending her virtue, Croston?”

“Virtue!” Kenton exclaimed. “Rumor says she’s got some Moor’s bastard daughter.”