She felt rather than saw him go still. Then Lucian shook his head abruptly, as if recollecting who she was. “They aren’t tales for a lady’s ears.” His tone had turned suddenly grim, but she could sense his despair.
Perhaps they were ugly tales, yet Brynn would have liked to hear them, to better understand this surprisingly complex man she was bound to for life.
She fell silent, contemplating his unexpected revelations. When the carriage drew up before the Wycliff mansion, however, she was filled with a disturbing new awareness. Thus far the evening had been disquietingly pleasurable, but what would the remainder of the night bring? Most pointedly, did Lucian intend to share her bed again and resume claiming his rights as her husband?
Her heart quickening with nervous anticipation, she entered the house on Lucian’s arm and surrendered her satin cloak to the butler. Yet, just as on their wedding night, a visitor was waiting for his lordship.
Informed that Mr. Barton was in the study, Lucian gave Brynn a brief glance, knowing it could only be bad news this late in the evening. “I’m sorry, my dear, but I must speak with him.”
She returned a slight smile that actually seemed relieved. “Of course,” she said quietly.
Lucian watched her ascend the grand staircase, her back slim and straight, hips swaying gently beneath her elegant ivory-silver gown. He had never regretted an interruption more.
Cursing the poor timing, he strode quickly to his study, where Philip Barton rose immediately to his feet.
“I regret the intrusion, my lord, but I knew you would wish to hear the news. The last shipment of stolen gold reached France, there is no longer any doubt. It landed in Boulogne.”
Lucian cursed again. “Where was it taken?”
“That isn’t known, for the trail ended abruptly. It seems to have disappeared into thin air.”
“How can an entire wagonload of bullion,” he demanded with angry rhetoric, “simply disappear?”
“Perhaps it was split up. Regardless, my men lost track of it. I am very sorry, my lord.”
Lucian clenched his teeth, forcing back his anger. “You aren’t to blame, Philip.”
“It is the work of Lord Caliban, most likely.”
“Was he sighted?”
“No, not this time. I thought you might wish to travel to France to investigate yourself.”
Lucian hesitated, considering. He wanted to apprehend Caliban so fiercely, he could taste it. But he wanted to remain in England just as badly. Leaving Brynn now just as he was trying to cultivate a new relationship with her was out of the question. He couldn’t possibly woo his bride if he was slinking across France in search of illusive contraband and its treacherous thief. In any case, by now the gold had most certainly reached Napoleon’s coffers. Even sending Philip to France might be pointless; the cunning Lord Caliban would be long gone.
Then again, they might learn some vital crumb regarding the traitor’s identity.
“No,” Lucian replied, “I won’t be going to France this time. But I would like you to go in my place, Philip.”
“I, my lord?”
“This is one of our few leads to Caliban. We can’t risk letting even a scrap of information go unsought. And I cannot leave London just now.”
An eager light brightened the young man’s dark eyes. “Very well, my lord. I will make arrangements to depart at once.”
Seeing his enthusiasm, Lucian added a pointed warning. “Philip, don’t be discouraged if you unearth nothing. You will likely hit another dead end.”
“I understand. And it is quite possible Caliban never went to France at all, but left the gold to be delivered by his lackeys.” Barton frowned, looking disheartened once more. “It’s damned galling to know he is right under our very noses, performing his treason.”
“Indeed,” Lucian agreed darkly. “That’s why I have been thinking… perhaps it’s time to modify our course and begin searching for him here.”
“Here, my lord?”
“London society. Lord Caliban could be any of a hundred men. All we know is that he’s wealthy and that he possibly possesses a title. But when the Little Season starts, he may well take part in the activities. I’m considering asking Wolverton to help us discover Caliban’s identity.”
Barton frowned. “I realize Lord Wolverton is a close friend of yours, but he does not strike me as the sort of man who cares a fig about anything but-” He came to a stammering halt, his features coloring at his boldness.
“But his own pleasures?” Lucian finished.
“Yes, my lord. Forgive my bluntness, but can Wolverton really be entrusted with matters of such importance as espying a traitor?”
“Dare can be trusted, believe me. He doesn’t seem serious, but he moves about the ton with ease-goes everywhere, sees everyone. He could help us narrow down the field of suspects at the very least. And while he will doubtless consider it a lark, it may give him a sense of purpose he’s been lacking thus far.”
“Then I suppose it would be wise to employ his assistance,” Barton said, though sounding reluctant.
Lucian bit back a grim smile. This would not be the first time Philip had questioned his unorthodox methods, but they’d been proven right far more often than not.
He saw his visitor to the front entrance, then slowly mounted the stairs, finding it hard to dispel his suddenly bleak mood. The report that the stolen gold was now in French hands was a taunting reminder that he had failed in his duty, that men had died because of his negligence while he was off seeing to his own personal affairs, acquiring a bride…
Tearing off his cravat angrily, Lucian entered his bedchamber, then came to a halt, remembering that bride. The doors that connected their apartments were ajar, with soft lamplight coming through.
To his surprise, he found Brynn in her sitting room, still fully dressed, as if she had purposefully waited up for him.
When she looked up from her book, her eyes met his, giving him the same jolt of sexual excitement as always. Yet the emerald brilliance was more subdued than usual, her wary gaze questioning.
“I trust the news was not too bad?” she murmured.
Here was a chance to extend their intimacy, Lucian knew. Yet he hesitated, his instincts at war with his longings.
On the one hand, if Brynn understood the reasons for his dark moods and his necessary absences, she would likely be more yielding toward him. She was already softening a finite degree, Lucian could feel it. But he couldn’t totally ignore the possibility that she might be involved with her brother’s nefarious activities. If so, he would be taking a dangerous risk to say anything at all. Sharing information with the enemy could be deadly.
Are you my enemy, Brynn?
Still, he could sound her out about her knowledge without divulging any crucial details.
“Bad enough,” he answered, keeping his tone even.
He settled in the wing chair across from her, casually stretching his long legs out before him. “A shipment of stolen contraband was recently smuggled to France.”
“Contraband?” Her eyebrows rose politely as she waited for an explanation.
“This isn’t the usual trafficking in black-market goods, but gold belonging to the British government. For some months now a band of smugglers has been stealing shipments of gold bullion and clandestinely transporting it to France.”
“Why France?” Brynn frowned, looking genuinely perplexed, Lucian noted with keen interest.
“Because Boney needs gold to fund his armies. French paper currency has been virtually worthless for years.” Lucian felt his mouth twist humorlessly. “These thefts are doubly galling. Not only does it deprive our government of the gold needed to pay our troops and allies, which is vital to Britain’s war effort, but Boney uses it to finance their slaughter.”
She digested this intelligence in thoughtful silence.
“This smuggling ring is particularly vicious,” Lucian continued. “They don’t hesitate to kill to achieve their ends.” He gave Brynn a pointed glance. “You grew up in Cornwall. Surely you must be familiar with the Free Trade.”