• • •
“Any news?” Emm came to a standstill as she and Cal asked the same question simultaneously—and realized in the same instant what the answer must be. Cal had just arrived home. It was almost midnight, but Emm, though tired, had been putting off going to bed. Just in case . . .
“They didn’t go to France,” Cal said wearily, pulling off his soaked greatcoat and gloves and dropping them on a nearby chair. “Not from Dover, at least. Storms in the channel prevented anyone crossing for the previous two days. All the ships were still tied up. I checked every one of them, and every hotel and inn—as well as inquiring at every post inn on the way; there was no sign of either of—” He broke off as he took in his surroundings. Under the spatters of mud, his face paled. “What the devil are all these flowers for? Emm?”
Emm hurried forward and hugged her husband tightly. “Hush, it’s not what you’re thinking. We put it about that Lily has the influenza, and the flowers are from her well-wishers. We’ve also been inundated with fruit.”
He kissed her, a kiss full of rough desperation, then wrapped his arms around her and held her close for a long moment, rocking slightly. His weariness, his despondency were palpable. “Don’t worry, I’ll find her.” He released her, smoothed a curl back off her face, and gave her a rueful smile. “Sorry, I’ve made that pretty piece of nonsense you’re wearing all wet and muddy.”
As if she cared about the state of her dressing gown. Her husband was worn to the bone. He’d ridden from London to Dover and back, and from the wrung-out look of him he hadn’t had a wink of sleep in days.
“It will be Gretna, then.” He passed a hand over his stubbled jaw. “I just need a change of clothes and something to eat and I’ll be off.” He was swaying with exhaustion.
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Emm said firmly. “You’re going to have a hot bath, then a hot meal, then sleep.” She tugged on the bellpull.
“I don’t need—”
Burton, the butler, arrived, still in his day clothes and neat as a pin. He picked up the discarded clothing, saying, “You rang, m’lady?”
“A hot bath and a hot meal for his lordship, please, Burton.”
The butler bowed. “At once, m’lady.”
“I’ll take the bath and the meal, but I can’t wait around—” Cal began when Burton had gone.
“How long is it since you slept?”
He shrugged. His beautiful gray eyes were bloodshot, with dark rings beneath. She said softly, “The night before the Mainwaring rout, was it not?”
He said nothing, but his expression confirmed it. Through cracked lips he said, “Do you think I can sleep while some bastard has my little sister in his power?”
“Do you think you can search for her effectively without sleeping?” she countered. “You told me once that a person who gets insufficient sleep does not think clearly. They make mistakes. Remember? We were talking about the war.” She gently rubbed his rough-stubbled cheek with her palm. “Be rational, my darling. Sleep tonight, and make clearer decisions in the morning.”
He hesitated, and she added, “If Gretna is the villain’s destination, the men you sent to search for her on the road will be there. They might even have found Lily by now.”
“But they might not, and—”
“Did you not tell them that if they failed to find her on the road, one of them was to remain at Gretna and watch for her until further notice while the other one returned with whatever news they had?”
“Yes, but—”
There was only one way to deal with such heroic stubbornness. “Very well, if you don’t go to bed and get some sleep, then I won’t, either.”
He gave her a shocked look. “But you must!” His gaze dropped to her burgeoning middle. “You need to sleep for the baby’s sake.”
She shrugged. “I couldn’t possibly sleep knowing you were riding off into the night, worn to the bone and not having slept for the last three nights. Besides, you know I sleep better when you’re in bed with me.”
There was a long silence. “Stooping to blackmail, love?”
She smiled. “You give me no choice. Besides, you know I’m right. You’ll do better after a sleep.”
He pulled her into his arms. “I’m going to muddy up this frivolous garment again.”
She held him tight and lifted her face to receive his kisses. “I’ll be taking it off soon anyway.”
Chapter Eight
But far more numerous was the herd of such,
Who think too little, and who talk too much.
—JOHN DRYDEN, “ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL”
Ned passed a cold, uncomfortable night on the stairs, sleeping fitfully and waking often. When he did sleep he was disturbed by dreams of owls and kisses and fur rugs that kept slipping off pale, silken skin, which didn’t help. Then at some ungodly hour, after he’d finally drifted off, Elphingstone tripped over him.
“What the hell—?”
“Sorry, sorry, sorry, needed to visit the privy and can’t find the poky blasted cubbyhole where they put me,” the man babbled, backing away. “Didn’t see you there in the dark, Galbraith.”
A likely story. The fellow’s curiosity was legend. Perhaps Ned should have let Elphingstone think he was traveling with his mistress, instead of whetting the man’s curiosity with a mystery. But if he had discovered Lily’s identity then, she would have been ruined for certain. This way, there was at least a chance.
For the rest of the night Ned dozed on and off, but he rose at dawn with a plan in mind. He went in search of hot water, shaved and made his ablutions, then went to find Mrs. Baines. Big, bluff and hearty though the landlord was, Ned had earlier decided that Mrs. Baines was the true general in that family. He explained his scheme to her.
The good lady took a little convincing, but he offered her a handsome payment and she finally
