The Lady By His Side(86)
He turned all the aspects—all the disconnected elements of the situation—over in his mind. “I keep coming back to the apparently inescapable truth that, in light of Ennis’s last words, the question of whether Ennis and Cecilia were killed because of this plot or for some other reason is entirely beside the point.”
“It’s impossible to make sense of the motive for their murders—even to be sure that they’re connected—without knowing who the murderer is.”
“True, but why they were murdered doesn’t change the fact that we came here with a specific goal in mind—to receive Ennis’s message for Drake. We have that message, such as it is. Gunpowder. Here. That’s all we have, and given the effort Ennis made to give me those words, it’s most likely those words are, in fact, the gist of what he wanted to communicate. So we’ve done what we came here to do.” In the mirror, he met her gaze. “We could leave tomorrow—Sir Humphrey and Crawford won’t try to stop us. We could return to London and put everything we’ve learned into Drake’s hands.” He grimaced. “Assuming he’s back, but even if he isn’t, we could place our information into the hands of his masters in Whitehall.”
Antonia set down her brush, swiveled to face him, and rapidly searched his face. After a moment, she said, “We could…but we’re not going to, are we?”
His gaze shifted from hers. All she got was a faint grimace in reply.
She went on as if she hadn’t noticed, feeling her way through his thoughts, “You’ve already sent word to Whitehall. Wellington’s imprimatur would have ensured the message got delivered with all speed to the right people.” She studied Sebastian’s expression, what little of his feelings she could read from it. Frustration, disgruntlement, disappointment, yes—but not defeat. Never that. She made an educated guess. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but there aren’t that many of you, are there? Gentlemen like you who occasionally work for Drake—who step in when, for whatever reason, he can’t do something.”
His gaze returned to her face. Several seconds elapsed, then he shrugged. “As far as I know, Drake relies on only a handful of…sons of the nobility.”
“Exactly.” Knowing Drake, she hadn’t imagined anything else; high-handed selectiveness was entirely in keeping with the Marquess of Winchelsea’s character. “And Drake left for Ireland when?”
He had to think back. “On the sixteenth or seventeenth.”
“So five or six days ago. And I also assume that he isn’t swanning about Ireland as the Marquess of Winchelsea.”
“I seriously doubt it.”
“So even if he’d been able to travel rapidly on this side of the Irish Sea, even if he’s been able to complete his business over there in just a few days—which I take it is unlikely—then he wouldn’t return to London until tomorrow, or the next day, or more likely some days after that.”
He held her gaze levelly. “There’s nothing in your assessment with which I disagree. However—”
“Bear with me.” She tried to see what lay behind his pale green eyes. What was driving this—a wish to take her back to London, leave her there, and then return? That, she could believe. “Your letter to Whitehall would have been received this morning. As I understand matters, it’s highly unlikely they can or will send anyone else down to look for this gunpowder. Yet gunpowder is a word that conjures up destruction. And just attempting to convey that word to Drake was enough to get Ennis killed. As Wellington said, having received Ennis’s message, our goal now must be to locate the gunpowder.”
She paused, continuing to hold Sebastian’s gaze. “Ennis died to get those two words to you—to Drake. To people who would care enough to do something about it—to stop whatever destruction is planned. You can’t turn aside.” Finally, she caught the flash of something she recognized in the back of his eyes—offended pride, which he immediately buried. Sure, at last, on what ground she stood, she let her lips curve, just slightly. “And you’re not going to convince me that you ever would. And I’m not about to sit meekly and let you wrap me in cotton batting and tuck me away somewhere safe while you continue to search for the damned gunpowder.”
He sat up and uncrossed his arms.
Before he could growl a word, she rose and caught one of his hands. “I’m now a part of this, too—you involved me, and so did Drake. You can hardly complain over the outcome. Now”—she tugged on his hand; she didn’t want him dwelling on that for too long—“stop being such a grump. We still have the northern half of the estate to search tomorrow. And yes, I will be searching it with you.”