Chapter Twenty-Nine
Hawk could not believe his ears. Sidmouth would put Lizzie in harm’s way so they could catch this culprit? He wanted to get his hands on the man behind the murder attempts himself for hurting Lizzie, but there was no question about her being involved in this fool plan.
Lizzie scrambled from her seat and took his hand, interlacing their fingers. “Hawk, please. This is the Home Secretary.”
Lizzie’s plea finally cut through the blood-red rage that had overtaken him at the Home Secretary’s suggestion. All he could see in his mind was Monica’s broken, muddy body as he laid her on her bed in front of their mother. He could not allow that to happen to the woman he loved.
She could be taken from him, leaving him with a hole in his heart, and life, so large he would never recover.
With Lizzie’s pleas in his ears, he dropped his hand and stepped back, his breath coming in gasps. He shook his head, trying to get himself under control. “I am sorry, my lord. Please forgive me.”
As Lizzie returned to her seat, he made his way across the room, his head down, fists resting on his hips, taking deep breaths. With shaky hands, he filled two glasses with brandy. He returned and handed one to the Home Secretary, who looked in dire need of the fortification.
After taking a rather large gulp, and rearranging his cravat, Sidmouth said, “Will you please allow me to lay out the entire matter?”
Hawk sipped his drink, the knots in his stomach tightening again. “The only plan I want to hear from you is the one where you capture your man without involving my countess.”
“Can we at least hear what his lordship has in mind?” Lizzie swung her head to the Home Secretary. “There is more to your proposal, is there not?”
The Home Secretary cleared his throat. “Yes, it has been well thought out, I assure you. As I said, we will put the word out about Lady Hawkins having the papers and willing to turn them over. We will set the meeting up at the Home Office, so her ladyship will be safe. When our man sees the exchange, which will be blank documents, of course, he will most likely attempt to steal them from my office. The office will be kept under surveillance and he will be caught red-handed. I will make sure men from Scotland Yard meet the countess at the Home Office when she arrives and later escort her safely home.”
Hawk took the last swallow of his drink and placed the glass on the table with a thud. “This is by far the worst plan I have ever heard. There are so many holes in this scheme of yours I could drive my phaeton through it.
“She could be abducted somewhere between here and your office. She could be shot while entering the building. Bloody hell, an urchin could be hired to snatch the false papers from her and run faster than my best mare, which in the confusion could result in my wife being run down in the street for the knowledge the culprit assumes she possesses. No. She is not doing this.”
“This is our best chance to catch the man who betrayed his country and got away with it. And the man who has threatened your wife. This is for her safety.”
“My wife and her safety is my responsibility. We will travel the continent for a while if we need to keep her safe. She will not—I repeat, not—set up a meeting and give this person who wants to kill her a clear shot.” He stood, indicating the meeting had come to an end. “If you will excuse me, my lord, I have other matters to attend to.”
Lizzie came to her feet and approached Hawk. “I want to do this.”
“No.”
She clutched his arm, staring into his eyes. “Don’t you understand? This is an opportunity to redeem my name.”
“There is nothing wrong with the name Hawkins.”
“Sarcasm doesn’t become you, my lord.”
“And death doesn’t become you, my lady.”
“But you can come with me.” Lizzie turned to Sidmouth. “Can’t he, my lord?”
“Yes, yes, of course.”
He and Lizzie stared at each other, until Hawk turned to Sidmouth. “If you will excuse us, my lord, as I mentioned, I have matters which require my attention.” As if to make his point he grasped Lizzie by the elbow and moved her forward. “My butler will see you out,” he tossed over his shoulder.
Lizzie pulled her elbow free once they left the house. “That was exceptionally rude, Hawk. Lord Sidmouth is the Home Secretary.”
“I don’t care if he is the Prince Regent. No one—and I mean no one—should put you in that kind of danger.”
It was a quiet walk back to Cam’s townhouse. Most likely Lizzie was upset with him for being so high-handed, but he had no intention of changing his mind. He would begin immediately to arrange transport for the two of them to travel to the Continent. Italy would be nice to visit for a while.
Once they arrived at their destination, Lizzie turned to him. “I believe I will take a dinner tray in my room. I feel the beginning of a megrim.”
He bowed. “As you wish, madam. I will send one of the maids up to assist you and have Cook fix a tisane.”
Lizzie gave him a stiff nod and climbed the stairs.
He watched her, the pain in his heart so strong it almost brought him to his knees. When had she become his entire world? He broke into a sweat just thinking about her body lying cold and stiff, her laughter forever quieted, the glint in her eyes when she teased him gone, and her moans when he pleasured her silenced.
No, she might view him as overbearing, but if he lost her, he would lose himself.
A few hours later Hawk slouched in Cam’s favorite chair in the darkened library, nursing his not-sure-how-many glasses of brandy when Cam returned. He entered the library and stopped abruptly. “Bloody hell, Hawk, I didn’t see you sitting there. What’s with all the darkness?” He grabbed a taper and lit several candelabras around the room.
“My countess is mad at me.” At least that was what he had intended to say. It sounded a bit garbled even to his ears.
Cam poured himself a drink and sat in the chair across from Hawk, the glass dangling between his spread legs. “Why is she mad at you?”
He looked up. “I thought you were headed to Scotland?”
“First thing tomorrow, and I repeat, why is Lady Hawkins mad at you?”
Hawk burped and sat up. “Because I won’t let her kill herself.”
“Hmm. That’s quite unkind of her. Care to flesh it out a bit?”
“That bloody Home Secretary had the nerve to ask her to meet with him.”
“That doesn’t sound quite like a reason to kill herself, yet.”
Hawk waved his hand, some of the brandy sloshing out of the glass and spilling onto his pantaloons. He stared at the growing stain for a moment, then looked up. “He wants her to turn over the papers with the name of the man who was working with her father. To him.”
“I thought there were no papers, and to ‘him’ who?”
Hawk sighed as if he were speaking to a young child. “The Home Secretary.”
“I thought there were no papers with the traitor’s name on it?”
“There aren’t.”
Cam stood and walked across the room to refill his drink.
“I’ll have another one.” Hawk held out his empty glass.
“I think you should keep a clear head—though, it’s too late for that—but no more brandy until you tell me something that makes sense.”
When Hawk scowled at him, Cam added, “You are foxed. I don’t remember ever seeing you quite this bad, my friend.”
“Bah. I haven’t had that much to drink. It’s that I don’t want to mess up my clothing with blood. And that would make Lizzie even more mad at me.”
“Blood?”
“Yes, when I beat Sidmouth to a pulp for suggesting putting Lizzie in danger.”
“Let’s get back to that situation. Tell me again about this plan of the Home Secretary that involves the countess.”
Hawk looked at his empty glass. “I don’t remember finishing that.”
Cam stood and moved to the brocade bell pull. When the footman presented himself, he ordered coffee and food.
Once settled back in his chair, he said, “You said something about her ladyship wanting to kill herself. I’m assuming you did not mean that literally, or you would not be sitting here drunk as a lord.” He grinned. “Of course, you are a lord. And drunk.”
“Don’t try to confuse me, Cam. I won’t allow her to do it, no matter what you say.”
Cam pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “What is it the Home Secretary wants her to do? Start at the beginning and tell me the entire story.”
“I need another drink.”
“You do not need another drink. Coffee and food are on the way.”
“Yes. I am hungry. I don’t think I’ve eaten dinner.”
“The Home Secretary?”
Hawk raised his fist in the air. “Blast it all, I’m her husband. I won’t allow it!” With those forceful words, he closed his eyes as his body pitched forward and he landed face-first on the floor with a thud.
…
The next morning, Lizzie sat in the drawing room, pretending to work on her embroidery. She attempted to keep herself busy while waiting for Hawk to descend the stairs and leave the house. He’d arrived in their bedchamber in the middle of the night, leaning against Cam. He had reeked of brandy and took off only his jacket, cravat, and waistcoat—with much fumbling and swearing—before falling onto the mattress alongside her. He’d sat up and attempted to tug off his boots, but eventually he’d fallen back when he had no success.
Before she could even take full stock of his condition, he was sound asleep and snoring to raise the dead.
This morning, however, he told her he would be leaving the house midmorning to take care of business. She had merely nodded, still angry with him. He’d looked at her at one point, as if he wanted to say something, but instead had touched her lightly on her cheek, then turned on his heel and left the room.
She did not want to alert Hawk of her plan to visit the Home Office and was afraid if he brought up the subject again, she would blurt out her intentions. She had always found it difficult to dissemble over things that were forefront in her mind. ’Twas a much better idea to tell Hawk after it had been done.
She looked up as Hawk stood in the doorway to the drawing room. “I will return for dinner.”
Oh, how she wished she could confide in him, but he was much too overbearing and arrogant. The blasted man hadn’t even listened to her yesterday when the Home Secretary had proposed his plan.
Hawk had no idea how much of a shadow she’d lived under for the past few years. It hadn’t been his father who’d betrayed his country. It hadn’t been his father who’d run off and left the mess behind. It hadn’t been his father who’d been dragged back ignominiously and shot in cold blood while attempting to kidnap a duchess.
No, it had been her father, and she needed to do a tiny bit to restore some honor to the Loverly name. Perhaps it didn’t mean much, considering what he’d done, but she would feel redeemed if she helped capture the traitor who had worked with her father.
“I will see you then,” Lizzie answered as she watched Hawk study her for a minute, then leave. Whatever it was he had tried to say to her, it was probably for the best she didn’t hear it. Her mind was made up, and nothing was going to dissuade her from her course.
She waited about fifteen minutes, then hurried upstairs to retrieve her bonnet, shawl, and gloves. As her foot landed on the entrance hall floor, she smiled at the butler. “Please have a carriage brought around.”
“Of course, my lady.”
Thank heaven Cam had left earlier and Hawk had taken his horse, leaving Cam’s carriage, which meant she need not hunt down a hackney.
“The Home Office, please.” The driver, dressed smartly in Campbell livery, bowed and opened the door for her. Two footmen magically appeared, taking their positions on the outside of the carriage in the back.
Lizzie folded her hands and placed them in her lap. Hawk would probably have apoplexy if he knew she had left the house without him, but she was doing the right thing. She raised her chin. She was not a child, but a woman fully grown. If she decided she wanted to do something so dear to her heart, she would do it.
Perhaps she was taking a chance, but it was a chance she had to take. He would have to accept that he could not command her.
The vehicle stopped in front of the building, and the carriage shifted as the footman left his perch and opened the door. He took down the steps and held out his hand to help her.
“I shall not be long.” He nodded, and smoothing her gown, she took a deep breath and entered the building.
“May I help you, madam?” A young man stepped up as she walked through the door.
Lizzie patted the fine sheen of sweat on her upper lip. “Yes, I am looking for the Home Secretary’s office.”
“Allow me to show you where it is.” The very polite young man pointed toward the end of the hall. She followed him, their footsteps echoing off the corridor walls until they reached a door with the words “Home Secretary” painted onto the glass part of the wooden portal. “Right here.”
“Thank you.” She smiled and licked her lips. It was at that point she realized the person who wanted her dead was probably somewhere in this building. She shuddered and hurried toward the desk where another young man sat.
“I would like to see the Home Secretary, please.”
He smiled at her. “Do you have an appointment?”
“Uh, no. I didn’t realize I needed one.”
Just then the door behind the young secretary opened, and a man exited, not paying her any attention. However, Lord Sidmouth rose from behind his desk when he saw her. “Lady Hawkins.” He rounded his desk and bowed. “Please, come inside and have a seat.”
Lizzie joined him, the young man closing the door behind them. She took a seat in front of his desk. A brief look around told her the office was in dire need of redecorating. The desk had to be at least fifty years old, the chairs worn, the carpet faded. Only a man would spend every day in such a place without noticing how run-down it was.
“Would you care for tea, Lady Hawkins?”
She patted her upper lip again. “No. Thank you.”
Sidmouth leaned his forearms on the desk. “May I ask why you are here? I thought Lord Hawkins made himself quite clear on his position regarding my plan.”
She took in a deep breath. “I want to do whatever it is you require. I want to help identify the man who aided my father in his treason.”
He leaned back and studied her, his thumb and index finger framing his face as he rested his elbow on the armrest. “Am I to assume that Lord Hawkins has had a change of heart?”
“Not at all. My husband has no idea I am here.”