What an idiot he’d been to tell Kendra about his shipping company. He’d thought it would help to come clean with as much of the truth as he could, to relieve her mind where the children were concerned, at least. But he’d gravely miscalculated. He’d seen the doubt and confusion come into her eyes, and it had made him sick inside.
He had no experience with being in love, and he was doing it all wrong.
The foundations they’d built in Scotland were crumbling out from under him. He could only hope this mission would come to an end before those foundations eroded entirely. Hope there would still be enough left upon which they could rebuild trust.
Hope his loyalty to the king wouldn’t cost him his future.
Trick had sent a messenger before him, so Pendregast was waiting in back of the blacksmith’s shop where Charles’s men had arranged for his temporary employment. He suggested they walk in the fields behind the town’s High Street shops.
“I hope it’s good news you bring,” Pendregast said, dropping his proper Puritan speech the moment they were out of earshot. He was tall and lean, dark haired with a long, hollowed-out face. The blows of hammer on anvil rang in the background as they paced together. “I’m stinking bored in this swiving establishment.”
“It’s sorry I am for the delay. I was called out of the country. In any case”—Trick pulled the roll of papers from his surcoat—“I have your descriptions.”
They pored over the pages together, Pendregast asking questions and Trick answering as well as he could remember.
“So do you know these men?” Trick finally asked.
“I’ve attended enough secret meetings to last a lifetime, I’ll warrant you that. This description here”—Pendregast stabbed a finger at one of Trick’s pages—“seems familiar. And one other. I’ll ask around, see what I can find. I’ll be in touch.”
Trick walked him back to the smithy, where they shook hands. “I’ll be glad to have this behind me.”
“No more than I,” Pendregast grated out through the fake smile he put on his face as he reentered the shop.
SIXTY-EIGHT
KNOWING HE’D have to leave Kendra home alone soon, Trick spent a tense couple of days tiptoeing around her, avoiding her hurt gaze while wracking his brain for a plausible explanation that wouldn’t cause even more pain and distrust. Mostly he kept out of the house, acquainting himself with his estate—which was a fair use of his time, since he now planned to be here more than he’d once thought.
Life near the docks in London had rather lost its charm. His new plan was to manage the company through correspondence along with occasional jaunts to the City to check up on matters, bringing Kendra along with him. Perhaps Niall might become involved as well. Having discovered a family, Trick found himself entertaining grand ideas. Expanding his company to include ships based in Scotland was just the start.
Both nights he delayed coming home until Kendra was in bed, when the darkness would save him from meeting her eyes. In those wee hours, he tried to tell her physically what he couldn’t say with words. And if there was a new uncertainty in her response, if she seemed to be holding something back, he could only remind himself that things would be better soon.
Finally, a terse message arrived: Meet me seven a.m. Saturday at the home of John Garrick. Z.P.
John Garrick? Trick wondered. Was he working for Charles, too? Well, at least this would give him a solid excuse to spend the weekend away. Kendra shouldn’t question a card party at Garrick’s—a house party her own brothers regularly attended. With any luck, she’d happily send him off.
Evidently, however, luck wasn’t on his side.
“So soon?” she asked when he found her going over menus in the kitchen. She turned to the cook. “Will you excuse me a moment, Mrs. Brown?”
Dejection dulled her eyes as she led Trick to the butler’s pantry, then, finding it occupied by two maids polishing silver, all the way into the deserted two-story dining room. One foot tapping on the black-and-white checkered marble floor, she stared up at the plasterwork ceiling, studying the painted scenes there as though they might hold the answers to her problem.
Her problem being him, of course.
“We’ve been home less than a week,” she said.
As she lowered her gaze to meet his, he shifted on his feet. “The card weekends have become tradition. It’s been months since the last one, ever since our wedding. The men have been impatient for my return.”
She ran a fingertip along the carved and gilded mantel. The old duke had really outdone himself gussying up this chamber. “Trick, I’m…” He watched her draw a deep breath. “I feel like I’ve lost you since we returned home.”
“I’m right here.” He forced a smile.
“You’ve been out and about doing heaven knows what. Why can’t we spend some time together? Shouldn’t our marriage come before a card game?”
“It’s already planned,” he said, wishing he could find a way to make her feel as loved and secure as she deserved. He wanted that more than he wanted to breathe.
But first he had to complete the mission. He was so close. He’d already sent a message to King Charles saying the time had arrived to set their final plans into motion.
Soon he would be free.
The next morning found him leaving his lovely wife abed with a gentle kiss to her forehead. Wincing at her disappointed sigh, he tried to remember his duty.
These counterfeiters were undermining the economy, threatening the newly restored monarchy. He owed this to his country; he’d made promises to his king.
If a tinge of unease stayed lodged in his gut, he was determined to ignore it.
An hour later, he arrived at Garrick’s estate to
