Page 45 of Duke of Treason (Rogues from War 3)

It was long before he took his leave, promising the lady he would be prepared for the next soiree.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Annabel sat in her study, checking her household expenses, when Peter brought in The Times. Even though this type of newspaper did not figure among the lady-like reading in the ton, she did not care. It was important to keep informed when one worked for the government.

Her attention caught at once on the top headline.

NAPOLEON - it said–The defeated general made an attempt to escape the island of Saint Helena, promptly prevented by a group of intrepid men. It is said Lord Blackthorne had a pivotal role in identifying and stopping his allies from rescuing Bonaparte. Hail the Duke for one more heroic deed!

Head spinning, she must read the lines more than once to make sense of them. The blasted man was not helping the French general! He worked against him. In favour of King and Country.

A myriad of entangled emotions coursed through her at the knowledge. Relief, for he would never go to court martial. Stupefaction to know that he had been a war hero more than once, maybe several times. Shame, for her to believe him capable of treason. But the one that burned her as if a splinter of wood on fire landed directly from the hearth on her skin, was anger. Intense anger at the fact he did not trust her enough to tell her. At least, to signal that they stood on the same side! He had accepted her accusations and suspicions without countering them. Question was why? All evidence she gathered pointed to treasonous actions, and he did not have the decency to correct her. Darn him! If she never saw the blackguard again, it would be too soon.

That anger bloomed so blazingly in her that she feared if she saw him she would wrestle with the man until the death.

Thus, she avoided every possible social occasions and places where he might be. Even if she did not know how long he would remain in town. Apparently, he favoured the castle in Cornwall. For which she did not blame the Duke. She missed the place herself and often caught her nostalgic self daydreaming about it.

The opera seemed like a good idea to amuse a fresh evening and dispel her state of mind. She might even meet her friends, whom she did not see in ages.

* * *

It had been several days and Romulus did not detect a trace of Annabel. He suspected she must be fuming with the news. The need to explain everything to her escalated. Paying her a visit would be the most sensible, he thought as the footman brought his brandy at the club. He sat at a corner on a plush armchair, seeking not to be noticed.

Impossible, with the news on the most important newspaper in London.

Several gentlemen had already come to pay their compliments. He accepted them politely, inwardly feeling it was just his obligation as an English born and bred to engage in such missions. His vanity did not blend in the process, never had. The fact that his mother was French had nothing to do with this. He recognised the continental influence in his education and taste in food, drink and clothing. But they did not lead to changeable loyalties, especially because his father imbibed him with the love for this country.

“Brother!” As he lifted his head, Didier was walking to him.

Standing, he greeted his younger brother. Didier always had a smile for everybody and he regaled his elder brother with one. “Didier.”

A glass of brandy came for him. “To the most appreciated English hero of the moment!” He raised his glass, light-heartedly.

“Spare me, please, Didier.” He replied, raising his glass anyway. “I have been listening to this since the damned article came out.”

“Pardon me, brooding soldier!” Didier jested. “I never thought we would have such a solemn member in the family.” He smiled again. For both of them.

With a lighter shade of brown hair and pale blue eyes, he had been chased by many a debutante in his day, before he married an Earl’s daughter, a child on the way.

“How is Emma?” It had been a long time since he had seen his sweet sister-in-law.

“She is fine.” His expression assumed a dreamy, in-love aspect. “A little tired with her advanced stage in carrying our child.”

Romulus nodded, wishing he could still be naïve enough to believe in such a whimsical thing as love.

They drank in silence for a while. “There is one thing I wanted to ask you.” Romulus started.

“Anything, Fabien.” Strange, that he still called him by his second name, as he had done during all their boyhood. Of the three brothers, he had been the one closest to Mother and her Gallic heritage.

“I recently learned there were rumours of my death after I left for war.” He took another swig of his drink.

Didier’s expression became reminiscing-like. “Yes, I remember, now you mentioned it.” His glass resting on the side table, he continued. “News circulated briefly about your sudden disappearance, some saying you died.’

“You never told me.” He interposed.

“Why ever for?” He shrugged in a very Latin way that reminded of Amandine. “I was worried for a while, but decided to wait for concrete news before I did anything.”

“What if there was no ‘concrete’ news?” Many died in combat and never received a decent burial, much less a letter sent to their loved ones.

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