Julia London - 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

Yours, etc.—”

She looked at Mr. Allen. “Perfect?”

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

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“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.”

“Irrelevant.”

“Not to her virtue, it isn’t. Don’t believe all that stork business, do you, Croston?”

James quashed an urge to lunge across the table and grab Kenton by the throat. Instead, he reached into his coat and drew out his resignation letter. “I think we’re finished here, so I shall give you this.” He tossed the letter in front of Wharton. “My resignation.”

Wharton’s chin disappeared into his fleshy neck. “That’s preposterous. You’re in line for commodore.”

“Let someone else have it.”

“No.” Wharton shook his head, staring at the letter. “No. We need you.”

“What in God’s name for?”

“We need that woman under control! If she’s attainted, there’s no doubt she’ll leave England for good. We cannot let that happen—she’s been a nuisance long enough.” Wharton drummed his fingers tensely on the table. “She needs a husband.”

James’s heart sped up. “I’ll not accept that commission, either.”

Kenton blanched. “Good God!”

“I’d never suggest anything so preposterous,” Wharton thundered. “I have no fear of finding someone willing to acquire Dunscore through marriage. It’s her willingness that concerns me.” Now Wharton pinned his aging eyes on James. “We need you to arrange a marriage she will accept.”

James let out a laugh that felt like a strangle. “You’re trying to get me killed.”

Wharton scowled. “Are you saying—”

“What I’m saying, Admiral, is that Katherine Kinloch will accept nothing less than her birthright, free and clear.” And that I’ll kill any man that touches her.

No. God. He didn’t give a bloody damn who touched her.

“I plan to have her activities in London carefully observed.” Wharton leaned back in his chair, studying him intently. “The slightest hint that her loyalties do not lie squarely with the Crown, and she will be arrested.”

“What the devil for? She’s done nothing.”

“So you’ve reported for three years.” He looked at James meaningfully. “And yet we know that during that time she overran at least one Barbary ship. Likely two.”

“I reported those incidents when I learned of them.”

“And a fine gloss you put on them, too,” Kenton said. “An investigation into what you saw or didn’t see is not beyond the realm of possibility.”

James stared at him. “There’s no need to threaten me, Admiral.”

“Afraid we won’t like what we learn, Croston?”

“Not at all. I simply have business to attend to—” business that involved cognac and solitude and no tempting female sea captains “—and I dread the idea of anything interfering with its immediate commencement.” But already it was clear that there would be no immediate commencement.

An investigation. It could drag on for months—years—while they called his honorable service into question and accomplished nothing.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. Bloody hell. Perhaps the admirals’ plan wasn’t so off the mark. Perhaps if Captain Kinloch married the right man—a peer, and one in good favor—then she would have Dunscore, and he could be done with this entire bloody business.

Right. As if she would ever consent to marry simply because it was expedient. As if any man in London could possibly deserve her.

“By all means,” he said irritably, “let me keep watch on Captain Kinloch while she’s in London and use my best efforts to barter her on the marriage mart.”

Wharton narrowed his eyes. “This is serious business, Croston.”

“You’ve made that clear.” James stood up. “Now. If you have nothing else, I must take the helm of my new command.”

* * *

BY THE TIME Katherine’s coach rolled up in front of Lord Deal’s that evening, fear had begun to take root.