examinations. Lang seemed disturbed by a letter he received but would say nothing about it. He left soon afterward to . . . to answer the call of nature, Lieutenant Norris thought. He never saw Lang again.”
Gavin took a seat on the boudoir chair next to the incredible glittering treasure laid out on the bed, resulting in a surprised flaring of Christina’s expressive green eyes. He’d shocked her again, and still she did not protest his presence. She was not quite the stiff and reserved viscountess his mother had been. And she was nothing at all like her mother-in-law.
He was not sure exactly what to make of her. She had more audacity than any society wench he’d ever known—taking her husband’s pistol with the intention of dealing with her blackmailer alone . . . And yet she’d allowed old Lady Fairhaven to belittle her mercilessly before Gavin’s arrival in the dining room.
He’d have told the old battle-ax to go hang.
“Sailors don’t generally stop for one drink,” he said, ridding himself of the unexpected wave of empathy for the woman who was impeding his plans. “How long were they together in the tavern?”
“I don’t know,” she replied with a small frown. Her voice was rich and smooth, like his father’s best brandy, which was a timely reminder that she belonged to his father’s class—she was the widow of a viscount.
“They were joined at the tavern by another man . . . an acquaintance of mine . . . a former suitor, actually.”
It probably meant nothing. “Who was this suitor? Your father questioned him, of course?”
“It was Viscount Brundle,” she said, and Gavin noticed a little shudder of distaste at the mention of his name. “His estate is near Plymouth. And yes, my father questioned him, but Brundle left before Lang, so learned nothing new.”
Of course not. They’d probably gotten soused, and when Lang Jameson left the tavern, he’d obviously gotten caught up in the mishap at the warehouse. And paid for it with his life. “How long after your brother left the tavern did the explosion occur?”
“Lieutenant Norris was not sure . . .” Her eyes shimmered slightly, and Gavin realized she was holding back tears of distress. “They . . . I believe they’d been drinking quite a bit.”
“As sailors are wont to do,” Gavin said to himself.
There wasn’t any point in prolonging her anguish, because it was hardly likely that Lang had survived and gone on to commit some kind of offense for which his family could be blackmailed.
But he’d promised to escort her to London and see what they could learn. Unfortunately, he knew the news was not going to be good.
“ The Defender is at sea once again.” Her voice quivered. “Would it help if you spoke to Lieutenant Norris yourself? Or perhaps Lord Brundle?”
Gavin hardened his heart against any feelings of sympathy. The woman had shot him! And now she wanted him to travel with a treasure that most men would kill for. His task for Windermere had become absurd.
“We could detour to Plymouth first. Before London,” Christina suggested.
That was all he needed. One more bloody destination, carrying a cache of valuable jewelry with them.
“But no, there won’t be time to do both,” she said, frowning in thought, answering her own question.
“No. One destination or the other, but not both.” Gavin stood. It was time to get out of there, before his urge to touch more than her springy curls overcame his better judgment. “We’ll go to All Hallows by the Tower on the appointed day and see if we can find your extortionist.”
“And if we don’t see him?”
“I agreed to go to the church with you, Lady Fairhaven. Not solve your problems for you.”
C aptain Briggs barely greeted Christina the following morning, but she approached him before he mounted his horse. “Captain Briggs.”
He removed his hat and tipped his head slightly.
“Your shirt.” She handed him the shirt she had mended and Jenny
Gavin took a seat on the boudoir chair next to the incredible glittering treasure laid out on the bed, resulting in a surprised flaring of Christina’s expressive green eyes. He’d shocked her again, and still she did not protest his presence. She was not quite the stiff and reserved viscountess his mother had been. And she was nothing at all like her mother-in-law.
He was not sure exactly what to make of her. She had more audacity than any society wench he’d ever known—taking her husband’s pistol with the intention of dealing with her blackmailer alone . . . And yet she’d allowed old Lady Fairhaven to belittle her mercilessly before Gavin’s arrival in the dining room.
He’d have told the old battle-ax to go hang.
“Sailors don’t generally stop for one drink,” he said, ridding himself of the unexpected wave of empathy for the woman who was impeding his plans. “How long were they together in the tavern?”
“I don’t know,” she replied with a small frown. Her voice was rich and smooth, like his father’s best brandy, which was a timely reminder that she belonged to his father’s class—she was the widow of a viscount.
“They were joined at the tavern by another man . . . an acquaintance of mine . . . a former suitor, actually.”
It probably meant nothing. “Who was this suitor? Your father questioned him, of course?”
“It was Viscount Brundle,” she said, and Gavin noticed a little shudder of distaste at the mention of his name. “His estate is near Plymouth. And yes, my father questioned him, but Brundle left before Lang, so learned nothing new.”
Of course not. They’d probably gotten soused, and when Lang Jameson left the tavern, he’d obviously gotten caught up in the mishap at the warehouse. And paid for it with his life. “How long after your brother left the tavern did the explosion occur?”
“Lieutenant Norris was not sure . . .” Her eyes shimmered slightly, and Gavin realized she was holding back tears of distress. “They . . . I believe they’d been drinking quite a bit.”
“As sailors are wont to do,” Gavin said to himself.
There wasn’t any point in prolonging her anguish, because it was hardly likely that Lang had survived and gone on to commit some kind of offense for which his family could be blackmailed.
But he’d promised to escort her to London and see what they could learn. Unfortunately, he knew the news was not going to be good.
“ The Defender is at sea once again.” Her voice quivered. “Would it help if you spoke to Lieutenant Norris yourself? Or perhaps Lord Brundle?”
Gavin hardened his heart against any feelings of sympathy. The woman had shot him! And now she wanted him to travel with a treasure that most men would kill for. His task for Windermere had become absurd.
“We could detour to Plymouth first. Before London,” Christina suggested.
That was all he needed. One more bloody destination, carrying a cache of valuable jewelry with them.
“But no, there won’t be time to do both,” she said, frowning in thought, answering her own question.
“No. One destination or the other, but not both.” Gavin stood. It was time to get out of there, before his urge to touch more than her springy curls overcame his better judgment. “We’ll go to All Hallows by the Tower on the appointed day and see if we can find your extortionist.”
“And if we don’t see him?”
“I agreed to go to the church with you, Lady Fairhaven. Not solve your problems for you.”
C aptain Briggs barely greeted Christina the following morning, but she approached him before he mounted his horse. “Captain Briggs.”
He removed his hat and tipped his head slightly.
“Your shirt.” She handed him the shirt she had mended and Jenny
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