Undercover Cavaliere Read online

  * * * *

  Gabe propped his feet on the low table in front of his chair and looked across them at Jonathon Hetherington, acting head of the Coalition. "Why me? I've never been to Paris. Wouldn't someone familiar with the situation there be better?"

  "Your unfamiliarity with Paris is the very reason we want you to go there. Father believes that someone high in government is involved in this." He paced the length of the room and returned, to frown down at Gabe. "Unfortunately, most of the Coalition agents are well known to upper-level bureaucrats." His mouth twisted. "Damn that Beignet! What the devil he thought he was doing..."

  Privately, Gabe had always believed that Beignet had sold the list of Coalition agents to the French government, but he'd never said as much. The man was dead and the damage was done. "You're sure my name wasn't on the list?"

  "I don't see how it could have been." Jonathon paused by the tier table and picked up a small porcelain figurine. He turned it over and over in his hands. "Ugly thing," he said at last. "Can't see why people buy trash like this."

  "Because it's Sevres, I imagine. Look, Jonathon, I've no objection to going to Paris, but my French isn't all that good, and I don't have any contacts there."

  "All the better. Guglielmo Basilio goes to Paris on business, mentions in certain company that he's interested in women he can sell for a profit in Istanbul and points east. You won't need to go looking for them. They'll find you."

  Steepling his fingers, Gabe tapped them against his chin. "Somehow, Jonathon, that strikes me as too easy." He stared past the other man, seeing the girls he'd grown up with. Remembering one young woman who'd been taken by white slavers. She'd been fortunate. So many others weren't.

  "If it were easy, you'd be bored. Or are you getting old, Gabriel? Have you lost your taste for the game?"

  "No. I just..." He shook his head. "Don't mind me. I'm in a mood." Leaning back, he forced himself to relax. "Tell me more. What makes you think I'd learn any more in Paris than in Rome or Athens?"

  Jonathon sat across from him. "This particular gang is centered in Paris, we're certain. We've identified over a hundred missing girls, and by far the majority disappeared there. Others have gone missing in Brussels and Amsterdam, but those could be isolated incidents. If they're connected--and I am reasonably convinced they are--those abductions outside of Paris were more opportunistic than systematic. In Belgium, for instance, two girls disappeared from each of three churches, and in Amsterdam both incidents happened at Sint Nicolaaskerk."

  "That's stretching coincidence, isn't it? Does anything else make you think they might be connected?"

  "Who the girls were and the manner in which they disappeared." Jonathon sipped at his brandy, cradled the snifter in both hands. "Most of the missing girls are young, fifteen to eighteen, all are fair-haired, and all are believed to have been virtuous." He paused, as if in thought.

  "What?"

  "About half of them were orphans."

  Gabe leaned forward. "Orphans. So no one missed them?"

  "In most cases, not at first. Those who were in service were assumed to have taken French leave, and one, who was a shop girl, had been talking of emigrating."

  "And the others? The ones with families?"

  Jonathon's shrug was eloquent. "Poor families, to whom a girl child was simply one more wage earner, or a potential dowry. Most considered the loss a nuisance, those who weren't glad to be rid of the responsibility."

  "But not all," Gabe said, knowing the answer.

  "No. Not all. A few of the families are devastated. They are sure their daughters were taken for immoral purposes. Some have offered rewards." Another shrug. "Not much, but all they can afford."

  "We wouldn't take their money!"

  "Of course not, but it is a measure of their concern. Now then, will you do it?"

  "Was there any doubt?" Gabe quelled the uneasiness he'd felt ever since Jonathon first mentioned Paris. Probably a result of the brandy he'd consumed last night. "You know my sentiments concerning slavery of any sort. When do I leave for Paris?"

  * * * *

  They were still unpacking when she heard the knock. Regina left the girls to their task, thinking as she crossed the wide expanse of carpet that she'd never have chosen so palatial a suite had she been traveling alone. Minerva clearly expected no less, but Pamela was still a little awed, as she had been during their nine-day crossing. Of course, the Britannic was more than just a ship; it was one of the great passenger liners.

  As her hand closed on the knob, she hesitated. How could she know who was outside?

  Idiot. This is a fancy hotel. You're in no danger whatsoever. Open the door.

  The military officer who stood there, wearing an elaborate uniform liberally festooned with gold braid and epaulets, was tall, dark, dangerous. "Gabe. What... What a surprise."

  "Hello, Gina. May I come in?"

  A giggle from the bedroom reminded her of her companions. "No, I don't think you'd better. I'm sorry."

  "Then can you come out? I want to talk to you." His expression was serious, his gaze intent.

  "Well, I--"

  "Please. It's important. Can you meet me somewhere for dinner?"

  "Not dinner." She thought quickly. The girls were worn out. They'd likely go to bed early. "Later. About eleven? I'll come to the lobby." I do not want to do this, but if I don't he'll keep pestering me until I do.

  "Eleven, then." He started to turn away, then paused. Over his shoulder he said, "It's good to see you. I never thought..."

  "Never thought I'd be here? Neither did I. And I'm not sure yet if coming was a wise decision." A squeal from the bedroom reminded her of her duties. "I've got to go. I'll see you tonight." She shut the door, but didn't immediately go to see what Pamela and Minerva were bickering about this time. Instead she leaned against it, letting the cool wood take away some of the heat in her face. I should have asked Buff not to tell him I was coming. It's too soon. By Rome I'll be ready, but not now.

  Not yet.

  * * * *

  He was sitting at a table in the darkest corner of the lounge. Feeling like a strumpet--this was certainly no place for a lady--Regina threaded her way among the small tables.

  "Since when have you been a soldier?" She took the chair he held for her. "And in what army?"

  "Greek." He touched her nape, lightly, with electrifying results. "But it's only honorary. People see the uniform, not the man. I'm not in England."

  "You're not-- Gabe, what the dickens are you up to?"

  "Don't go to Paris."

  She stared across the small table at him, mouth open.

  "Gina?"

  "Are you crazy? Of course I'm going to Paris. That's where I'm meeting the Tomlinsons. Where I'm delivering the girls."

  Well, hell. "Delivering? What do you mean?" All Buff's coded cable had told him was that Regina was escorting two of her students to Europe. He'd been amazed, knowing her dislike of travel. He'd also been furious. She'd come to Europe with a couple of silly twits, but had refused to come over with the man she loved.

  She was silent while the waiter set wine glasses on the table. When he lifted his glass in a silent toast, she glared at him without touching her own goblet.

  "Well?"

  "I am chaperoning the girls until we meet their parents in France. The Tomlinsons are paying all my expenses, plus a fairly generous stipend. It was too good an offer to resist." As if needing time to think, she lifted her glass and took a small sip. "I was planning to contact you if I decided to go to Rome. It's still up in the air. I'd really like to see Vienna, and to come back and explore England without the girls. Pa was born here, you know."

  He nodded. His own papa had no idea where he'd been born, and no memory of a father at all. "I may not be in Rome until August. In fact, I'm going to be traveling all summer. Buff will know how to get hold of me, so if you do decide, I'll do my best to meet you there. I'd like to show you around." Hell! What are we doing, making polite conversation?.
He leaned forward. "Gina, when are you meeting the..."

  "Tomlinsons."

  "Yes, them. When?"

  "The fifteenth of July. Mr. Tomlinson has business meetings all over Europe, something to do with his banking."

  Gabe's belly clenched. "Paris is restless this summer. There's a lot going on, with Boulanger... Never mind. I'd really rather you'd stay away. Can't you meet the Tomlinson's here in London? Or anywhere but Paris?"

  She sat back and stared at him levelly across the table. "Gabriel King, if you think I'm going to miss seeing Paris, you are out of your mind. It's the only city in Europe I've ever wanted to see. This is my only chance. Besides, the girls would be terribly disappointed. They are so looking forward to it."

  Clenching his jaw, he held back the angry words. Almost. "You would never come here with me. Damn it, Gina. I would have shown you Paris. I would have taken you to Rome, to Athens, to anywhere you wanted to go. But you always said no."

  "You wanted me to live over here. I can't. I have a home, a place where I belong. So do you. Why won't you see that?"

  To give himself time to cool, he knocked back the rest of his wine and carefully set the glass on the table, instead of slamming it down. When he felt in control, he said, "You have no sense of adventure. There's a great big world out there, and all you want to do is stay where you grew up."

  "Horse feathers! You've always cared more about adventure than you did about me. We were too young--"

  "Not two years ago. We weren't too young then." He leaned across, caught her hands before she could retreat. "Were you just using me, Gina? Were you starting to feel like an old maid and it scared you?"

  She shook her head and the motion dislodged a tear from her swimming eyes. It traced a shiny path down one pale cheek. "Let me go."

  "Not until you give me an honest answer. Were you using me, Gina? Did you give yourself to me because you were afraid you'd die an old maid?" The question had haunted him, ever since the morning he'd ridden away from the Lachlan house, on his way home to Cherry Vale. It had been the reason he'd taken the steamer to Portland, rather than the train to the east. He hadn't had to go back to Boise city, where Gina was.

  "I loved you! Damn you, I loved you with all my heart, with all my soul." Again she tried to pull her hands free.

  This time he let her. "Then why? Why wouldn't you marry me?"

  "It would never have worked, Gabe. Not in a hundred years. I'm a homebody, and you're an adventurer. What I decided was for the best. For both of us."

  He studied her face, tear-streaked and splotchy. She never had been one to cry prettily. If only he could see past the surface, she what she was thinking. Because he wanted to believe he was wrong, that there was still hope for them.

  Chapter Three

  Traveling was hard work, although fortunately her stomach had turned out to be a better sailor than rail and carriage passenger. Now, after more than two weeks of travel, Regina was ready for a long rest. It hadn't been so much the journey, although she'd found the long sea voyage a trifle boring, despite that there had been little time to sit quietly and relax. Minerva and Pamela were exhausting companions. Neither had the knack of amusing herself, and so Regina's ingenuity had been taxed, despite the many social opportunities aboard the Britannic.

  Of course, the fact that every single--and some who weren't--man on board had flocked to the girls like ants to a sugarbowl had only added to her worries. Neither girl was the slightest bit aware of the dangers. Or perhaps they were sublimely uncaring. Was there a young woman alive who wouldn't glory in being the center of masculine attention?

  More than once she had wished for eyes in the back of her head.

  Her hopes of a rest were dashed when she opened the note from Mr. Tomlinson that was delivered the morning after their arrival.

  I've made arrangements for a guided tour. The concierge has all the information. You'll leave on Monday the 28th, and return to London on July 7th with two days for the girls to shop before you leave for Paris on the 10th. Your tickets will be delivered to your hotel a day or two before you go. I've reserved a suite at the HÔtel de Ville (the girls will enjoy that) in Amiens. Be sure and show them the cathedral. Mrs. T. was quite taken with it. You'll have a suite at HÔtel de Vendome in Paris. I've made arrangements for you to move to a single room on the 15th, when we will arrive. Watch your purse. Mrs. T's had hers snatched twice.--A.J. Tomlinson

  For once the girls were prompt about their toilettes, and shortly after breakfast they were on their way to the Tower of London. By the end of the day Regina wasn't sure she could have recounted their subsequent travels.

  The next day they shopped, because of course neither Pamela nor Minerva had brought the proper clothing. Regina purchased an umbrella. Having lived in a dry climate all her life, except for her college years, she'd forgotten about summer showers. While the girls were exclaiming over which expensive gewgaws their friends should be sent, she chose a dozen picture postcards.

  I am being crabby. But shopping isn't my idea of how to see a new place.

  Everywhere they'd gone, the girls, with their youthful beauty and their friendly manners, had garnered attention, particularly from young men. One fellow, a Scot from his slight burr, was a little older than most. He had shown up in their entourage of admirers twice. Coincidence, or was he smitten?

  She decided he was simply another tourist, when he didn't seem particularly interested in doing more than admiring from afar.

  The guided tour group was small, only twelve people, and mostly older. Regina wondered if Mr. Tomlinson had given any thought to what his daughter would enjoy, or if he'd simply talked to a travel agent and chosen the most expensive tour. To give Minerva and Pamela credit, they did their best to enjoy themselves. Their fellow travelers seemed to like them, all but one stuffy gentleman who seemed intent on depressing their high spirits.

  Being part of a tour group was, she found, far easier than shepherding the girls alone. The guide had an uncanny ability to keep track of everyone in the group and to keep them moving along. She relaxed her vigilance and began enjoying herself. On her own she would have foregone many of the places they visited, but she admitted that they were indeed impressive.

  Was he following them? The snub-nosed fellow with the derby? After Oxford, she'd started watching for him. He didn't appear at Salisbury, but at Bath she saw him in the streets outside of the baths. She was sure he'd been at Donnington Castle, too, but Regina admitted to herself that she could have been mistaken. You're shying at shadows. Why on earth would anyone follow you?

  They separated from the tour at Coventry, taking a train to Lincoln while the rest of the group went on to Nottingham. To Regina's surprise, Mr. Tomlinson had made special arrangements for them to visit the home of the Earl of Hetherington.

  "Heatherwood is not one of the great houses of England," the tour guide said as he saw them off, "but it does have a certain charm. We will rendezvous with you in Lincoln in two days. It is a pity you will miss Buxton, but one cannot fit every attraction into a fortnight's tour."

  "Why do you suppose Fa arranged for us to go to Heatherwood?" Minerva had made no bones about being bored silly with historical places and grand vistas. The only time she showed much interest was when they had had a half-day in Bath to shop. Otherwise she languished gracefully, her expression one of complete ennui. Pamela had shown more enthusiasm, but even she was showing symptoms of a surfeit of English history.

  "I imagine it's because the Earl is my godmother's godfather." How Mr. T had discovered that fact was a small mystery. Unless... No, Pa would never have said anything.

  "Your godfather? An earl?" Minerva sat upright. "And you never told us?"

  "Not my godfather. My godmother's. He is no relation to me, even in a spiritual sense."

  "Oh, but still, Miss Lachlan, there is a connection." Minerva was practically bouncing on her seat. "Is your godmother English?"

  "No, she's--" Regina bit off the sentence. Given
the Tomlinsons' sense of self-worth, revealing the exact relationship between the Lachlans and Flower King would be...inappropriate. "She is my mother's best friend, and she is an American by birth."

  "An earl! Imagine. Will I have to curtsey to him?"

  "It would be polite, but I doubt it's required. You may not even meet him. I understand his health is not good. It's more likely that his son, the Viscount Bidens, will act our host." She hadn't been able to resist mentioning Jonathon Hetherington's courtesy title. The girls were so obviously impressed by the prospect of meeting some real live British noblemen.

  They chattered like a couple of little magpies, until she felt battered by their constant questions. By the time they pulled up to the entrance to Heatherwood, she was ready to banish them both to their rooms until morning.

  The man standing on wide marble steps outside carved double doors was tall and slim, with thinning fair hair and a narrow face. As their carriage slowed to a stop, he descended to the driveway, smiling widely. He was there, holding out his hand, as soon as an elegantly unformed footman had opened the carriage door and let down the steps. "Miss Lachlan? Regina? How wonderful to meet you at last."

  She let him assist her to the ground. "Lord Bidens?"

  "Jonathon, please. We're all but family. "He turned to look into the carriage. "Miss Tomlinson? Miss Witherspoon? Please consider this your home away from home. We will do our best to make you comfortable here."

  The girls all but tumbled forth. Pamela dropped into an immediate curtsey, and as if reminded, Minerva aped her.

  Jonathon's bow was graceful and elegant. The girls looked as if they were going to swoon, but before they could thus embarrass her, he said, "My housekeeper will show you to your rooms, ladies. Please forgive me if I steal Miss Lachlan for a few moments. I have messages for her from her family."

  The girls were unusually silent as they followed the housekeeper into the house. "You have awed them," Regina said. "In fact, I confess to a certain awe myself. It's a grand house."

  "It's a great barn of a place, but it's home." Jonathon guided her into a small reception room to the left of the front door. "I do have messages for you, but that wasn't why I wanted to speak to you alone. I wanted to warn you."