injured.
But how could he? This was the closest he had ever come to his prey. If he did not strike now, the opportunity would be lost, possibly forever. ’Twould be foolish indeed to back off when victory was within his grasp.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Parker said contritely. “I did my best. I bored holes in several places on the bottom and sides of the rowboat, just as you told me. I assumed the vessel would start taking on water immediately. I never expected the wood to be so weak that it would splinter.”
Roddy drew in a steadying breath. There was no cause to blame Parker. “Serves us right for trying to stage a rescue on the water. We are cavalry men, Parker, not sailors.”
“Yes, sir.”
Roddy sighed. It was not Parker’s fault that things had gone awry. He, and he alone, must bear the burden of this afternoon’s near disaster. Once again, he thought of abandoning his mission. He was young, capable, and now, thanks to his war record, a man with a few influential friends.
Opportunities for financial gain abounded in India. Even in the American colonies. Perhaps it was time for him to make a move, to go somewhere far away, where he could have a fresh start, a new beginning. Yet as tempting as it seemed, Roddy knew himself too well. He was not ready. There was more to be done, more to accomplish. He could not look toward his future until he settled his past. Here, in England.
“From now on we must be especially diligent and careful,” Roddy told his servant. “We cannot afford any more mistakes. The stakes are simply too high, Parker. Too damn high.”
Chapter Seven
The dinner invitation from the Marquess and Marchioness of Dardington arrived later that evening, a few moments before Carter was set to leave for the Lancasters’ musical soiree. Written in Lady Dardington’s own hand, it was graciously and informally worded. Carter thought it totally unnecessary, but he understood the Dardingtons’ desire to tangibly express their gratitude for his assistance at the lake this afternoon. His only hope was that it would be, as the invitation promised, a small, family affair.
“The footman is waiting for an answer, my lord,” his valet, Dunsford, said.
“Tell him to inform Lady Dardington that I shall be delighted to attend,” Carter instructed.
The valet bowed and exited, but returned a few minutes later.
“Is there a problem, Dunsford?” he asked as the servant held out Carter’s evening jacket. “Does the footman require a written reply instead of a verbal one?”
“No, my lord. Lord Dardington’s servant has gone.” The valet adjusted the collar on the jacket, then stepped away, lifted his chin, and thrust his shoulders back. “His Grace, the Duke of Hansborough, has arrived. He wishes to speak with you.”
“My father is here?” Carter’s amusement at his valet’s stiff formality disappeared. His father never came to his bachelor apartments. Something must be wrong. “Does he appear upset?”
The valet shook his head. “His Grace maintained a proper, even temperament upon arrival and while being shown to the sitting room. He expressed no urgency in seeing you, but did however insist upon it.”
Of course. His father rarely displayed any sort of emotions in public, saving his anger and displeasure for those private moments between himself and his son.
“Very good, Dunsford. Please inform the duke that I shall be with him shortly.”
Carter picked up a brush and slowly applied it to his already groomed hair. He waited until he was sure his valet had enough time to deliver the message before striding across his bedchamber, through his dressing room, and into the spacious sitting area of his home.
His foot had barely stepped onto the Aubusson rug when a figure moved forward from the corner of the room. “Good evening, Carter.”
“Hello, sir.” Carter struggled to hide his surprise. The duke never came toward anyone. Much like a king with his subjects, the duke always waited for people to approach him. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”
“Can’t a man stop in and say hello to his son?” the duke asked gruffly. “Does there have to be a reason?”
“When the two individuals in question are you and I, sir, there almost always is a specific reason.”
The duke cleared his throat and took another step closer. For an instant, Carter had the strangest sensation that the duke meant to embrace him, something he seldom did when Carter was a boy and never once after he had reached his tenth birthday.
Seeking to defuse the odd tension swirling about the room, Carter headed for the crystal decanters of spirits on the credenza. He poured them both a glass of whiskey, then slowly crossed back to his father, taking note of the older man’s appearance.
The duke was dressed formally for an evening out, confirming that nothing initially seemed amiss. Yet as Carter looked closer, something did seem different about his father. His hair appeared to have several additional gray streaks, his broad shoulders were slightly stooped. It must be a trick of the light, Carter decided. The duke was never anything but invincible.
The duke accepted the glass, then pulled himself up to his usual rigid stance. “A salute to your good health. May you never take it for granted.”
“To your good health, sir,” Carter replied automatically, and then he stopped short, his whiskey glass not yet at his lips.
Was his father ill? Was this the real reason for this unexpected visit? Carter’s stomach turned to lead. He took but a small sip of his whiskey.
“I can see that you are dressed to go out for the evening, so I shall be direct,” the duke began as he sat down. “I heard there was a bit of a commotion at Banberry Park today. Something about you taking a dunk in the lake?”
Carter waved his hand dismissively. “It was nothing.”
“There was also talk of an incident in front of the Bull and Finch tavern last week where some thug pulled a knife on you and nearly succeeding in burying it in your chest.” The duke took another swallow of his drink. “In light of this troubling information, I feel compelled to ask, is this merely a string of bad luck or are you deliberately courting danger?”
“To spite you?” Carter laughed at the ridiculous question, feeling almost giddy with relief. His father’s health was not in jeopardy. This time when he tipped the glass to his lips, he was able to take a long, enjoyable swallow.
“I asked you a question,” the duke said, his voice sharp.
Carter’s smile faded. The duke was serious. “It was too outrageous for a response,” he countered. “If I wanted to injure myself, there are far easier and less painful methods than drowning or getting knifed.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” Carter downed his whiskey in two swallows. “These were two unrelated, random events in which I was an unwitting participant. Nothing more.”
The duke sat up, adjusting his lean frame in the elegant chair. “I am relieved to hear this is not a deliberate pattern of behavior. Yet these harrowing experiences serve to further illustrate my position. Time is of the essence. If anything fatal had occurred, you would have left this world without an heir.”
Ah, so now they came to the heart of the matter, the reason for the visit. His father was concerned about the continuation of the family line. “If I promise that I shall endeavor to keep myself alive long enough to father a legitimate heir, will that set your mind at rest, sir?”
The duke slammed his half-full whiskey glass on the nearby side table. “God Almighty, Carter, you are my only child. Do you not think I would be devastated at your loss, out of my mind with grief and pain?”
Carter simply stared at his father, too stunned to think of a response.
“I was at my club this afternoon when I heard that you had been in the lake and nearly drowned trying to rescue Dardington’s girls,” the duke continued. “I assumed there was some exaggeration to the tale, but it sounded dire. Most dire.”
“Of course I dove in to save the children. I daresay you would have done the same, had you been there, sir.” Carter rubbed his forehead. His father was clearly distressed, obviously concerned. It was completely…unexpected.
