“I happen to know he’s not here.”
“Yes, I suppose you would know that. You must have spies.”
“Yes, I do.” He looked at her in frustration, controlling his anger at her arid tone. It seemed he’d solved one puzzle, only to be faced with another. “Is that part of what makes me so wrong for you, Olivia?”
“You said yourself you’re no gentleman. You don’t act by the rules of honor,” Olivia said slowly.
“Is that what this is about?” he demanded. “It never seemed to trouble you before.”
“In the dream, such a thing as acting honorably didn’t seem to matter,” she said. “But now I’m awake I find that it does.”
Honor! His father had dishonored his mother. Their child had been born in dishonor. His father’s family under the shield and buckler of honor had rejected the dishonored infant, abandoned him without a qualm to survive or not.
Anthony said bitterly, “Honor is a luxury not everyone can afford, my dear Olivia. And when I see how much dishonor is perpetrated in the name of honor, I’m glad it’s beyond my reach.”
“My father is honorable,” she said in a low voice. “He would not do a dishonorable act.”
Anthony looked at her bleakly. There seemed nothing to say to this unspoken comparison.
“I will leave you here,” he said, his voice without expression. “I will take care of Channing and see what I can discover about this Brian character. Spies have their uses,” he added with an ironic smile. He turned and mounted his horse, riding off down the driveway without a backward glance.
Olivia went slowly back to the house. She had accused Anthony of dishonor. But what other word was there for a wrecker? The most despicable, cowardly act of thievery. Piracy and smuggling-they were swashbuckling, daring. Piracy certainly was thievery; smuggling was not considered such. Smugglers merely deprived the loathed revenuers of their equally loathed taxes. Even her father took delivery of smuggled cognac.
She thought of the taking of the Dona Elena. That had been stealing, no question. But he had stolen from barbarians. He had freed the slaves, given them the ship. It had seemed at the time like a fair fight, a legitimate cause.
She sat on the window seat, looking out through the open window at the sea. She felt emptied of all emotion; even her fear of Brian had faded somehow. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. The day was sunlit and yet it seemed gray. The sea sparkled and yet it seemed dull. Everything was lifeless and pointless.
Chapter Fifteen
Brian Morse set down his wine cup as someone banged on the door of his chamber in the Gull at Ventnor. “Who is it?”
“Channing.”
“Come in, dear boy, come in.” He didn’t rise from his chair as Godfrey entered. An eyebrow lifted as he took in his visitor’s appearance. Lord Channing looked less than immaculate for once. Dust coated his boots and coat; his stock was twisted; the plume on his hat was seriously windswept. He had blood on his cheek.
“You look as if you’re in something of a hurry,” Brian observed, leaning forward to pour wine for his visitor.
Godfrey drained the cup and then refilled it before saying, “I rode hell for leather. Something’s happened.”
“Oh?” Brian’s eyes sharpened. “Your pursuit of the fair Olivia has met a snag?”
“She’s a whore,” Godfrey spat out.
“Oh, no, dear boy. You must be mistaken. Pure as the driven snow, I’d swear it.”
“Then you’d be forsworn! She has a lover.”
“You begin to interest me,” Brian said. “Tell me all.”
He listened, meditatively rubbing his aching thigh, as Godfrey poured out his tale, repeating when he’d finished, “She ran from me. Ran straight into the bastard’s arms.”
“Why did she run from you? Did you frighten her? I told you to tread carefully with her.”
“You also told me she was a virgin!”
“Mmm. I’m surprised, I must confess. She was always such a timid creature.”
“She said your name,” Godfrey remembered. “Just before she ran, she said your name.”
Brian’s expression lost its air of mild amusement. “Why would she do that? What did you say to her? Did you tell her I was here?”
“No, of course not. I’m no fool.” Godfrey shook his head. “I was trying to soften her up, tease her a little. You told me she had a pet name as a child. I called her ‘little rabbit’ to make her feel at ease.”
“You did what? ” Brian got to his feet, wincing as his leg took his weight. His face was suffused with rage. “You idiot! I didn’t tell you to say that. Did I?”
Godfrey had a temper of his own and it was running high already, but instinctively he backed away from Brian Morse, who had his stick in his hand and looked as if he was about to use it. “What harm could it do?” he muttered sullenly.
“What harm? It was a private name. One only I used,” Brian said furiously.
“She could have forgotten. It was a long time ago.”
“She wouldn’t have forgotten that,” Brian said with grim conviction. “You’ve ruined everything with your blabbing tongue.”
He sat down again, staring into the empty fireplace, trying to work out if he could salvage anything of his master plan. “If we get rid of Caxton-”
“That’s easily done,” Godfrey said eagerly. “I came to you first but as soon as I return to Carisbrooke I’ll have Caxton arrested.”
Brian turned skeptical eyes upon him. “How so?”
“Because he’s not what he seems. He’s the man who bought my culling. And Granville is going to be very interested to know that Edward Caxton is playing a part,” Godfrey said. “He’s the man they’re after, the one who’s plotting to rescue the king. He has to be. When I tell them what I know of him, they’ll throw him into Winchester jail. They’ll break him, force the truth from him, and then, if there’s anything left to hang, they’ll hang him.”
“I can see that might appeal,” Brian observed. “But don’t forget that Caxton knows a few things about you that won’t bear the light of day.” He raised an ironic eyebrow.
Godfrey shook his head. “I’ll spin a tale that explains how I know about him. I’m trusted, well respected-”
“Thanks to me,” Brian interjected gently.
Godfrey ignored this. “They won’t take Caxton’s word over mine. He can scream ‘wrecker’ till he’s blue, they won’t believe him, I’ll make certain of it.”
Brian nodded. “So we get rid of the rival, but you still have to win the lady.”
“I don’t know that I want a whore,” Godfrey said savagely.
“So she’s secondhand. Why should that worry you? She’s still wealthy and she’s still tasty. A little bit of experience can be an advantage in a man’s bed.”
Godfrey said nothing. To take another man’s leavings would hurt his pride, but then, it would be an even greater revenge on Caxton.
“If Cato could somehow learn that his daughter is damaged goods, seduced by a traitor, then he might be quite eager to accept an impeccable offer for her,” Brian mused. “You find a way to tell him, then you present yourself as the rescuer of his daughter’s reputation. You love her, have loved her from afar. You’ll take her as she is.”
He picked up his cup again and drank. “It might work. But you’ll have to tread carefully. Cato won’t easily accept tales against his daughter. Maybe you can get that truth forced out of Caxton, so that Cato hears it from his own lips.”
“During the interrogation.” Godfrey’s eyes gleamed. “I could spring it on him during the interrogation. Granville will attend. He’ll have to.”
Brian gazed moodily into the grate. If Olivia suspected he was alive, then he had his own problems. Cato hadn’t made sure he was dead after the duel in Rotterdam; he’d certainly be most interested to know that he was still alive.