My Heart's Desire (Barrett 1)

“Enough!” Drake’s eyes were chips of green ice, his tone tense with anger. “I have no time for verbal warfare, Sebastian. My coach awaits.” He strode out of the town house, his buff pantaloons hugging his muscular legs, his brown wool coat fitted snugly across his broad shoulders. The footmen beside the gleaming coach snapped to attention as Drake approached, for the future Duke of Allonshire did not like to be kept waiting.

Drake paused, one foot in the carriage, then turned back toward the doorway where Sebastian stood impassively watching his departure. “Good-bye, Sebastian. I am certain we will continue this discussion upon my return. We always do.”

Sebastian did not reply, watching as the team of grays moved off, carrying Drake toward his destination.

On its heels a second carriage appeared, halting before the great house. Sebastian remained where he stood, his face expressionless, as an expensively clothed gentleman alighted from the carriage. Nodding to his coachman, the silver-haired man glanced nervously about before hurrying up to the entranceway where Sebastian waited.

“Has he departed?” the older man asked, his features taut, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Sebastian smiled slowly. “Mere moments ago, Reginald, my friend,” he replied. “Your timing is impeccable.”

The visitor nodded, shifting from one foot to the other. “Please … let us be done with it.”

Sebastian shrugged. “As you wish.” He stepped aside, allowing the man to precede him into the hallway. “Come.” He gestured toward the library. “We can speak privately in here.”

Once the door had closed behind them, the two men stood facing each other, neither bothering to sit down.

“Well?” Sebastian demanded.

“I did what you asked. It has been delivered.” The words were wrenched from his mouth, casting his soul into a hell of its own creation.

Relief was evident on Sebastian’s sharp features. “And without a moment to spare,” he muttered, half to himself.

“My debt has been repaid,” the elegant gentleman reminded him in an anguished voice.

Sebastian chuckled, the icy sound echoing throughout the room. “So it has,” he agreed. Turning, he strode over to the desk, reaching into the drawer that held the promissory note. He placed it in the man’s trembling hand. “Here is the document you are so impatient to receive.” His eyes were cold, his smile tight-lipped. “It has been a pleasure doing business with you.”

The other man did not smile, nor did he reply. As soon as the hated paper was in his possession he turned and fled, desperate to escape his torment.

“God, forgive me,” Reginald whispered as he hurried to his waiting carriage.

But he knew there could be no forgiveness, nor was there any escape. Men could die, and he was responsible.

The guilt would be with him forever.

Chapter 2

“NOT T’ WORRY; HERE’S THE cap’n now, Smitty.” Thomas Greer, the youngest sailor on La Belle Illusion, stepped back from loading cargo into the hold of the ship and gestured toward the dock. In response, his portly companion pushed a thick shock of white hair off his face, his weathered features relaxing.

“Thank goodness,” Smitty muttered, half to himself, as the tall, raven-haired captain loped down the wharf and swung himself effortlessly onto the bustling ship.

Drake’s emerald eyes missed nothing as he quickly scrutinized the activity around him, then turned to the older man who now regarded him with a mixture of concern and annoyance. “Is everything under control, Smitty?” He didn’t wait for a reply. He already knew what the answer would be. Whether at home as Drake’s valet or at sea as his first mate, Smitty was the epitome of organization and capability. Drake cast an eye to the river. “Fortunately the fog lifted early this morning,” he continued, ignoring Smitty’s expectant stare. “Otherwise, we would never be able to sail.”

“I was beginning to wonder if we were going to sail.” There was no missing the meaning of Smitty’s pointed comment.

Drake grinned. “I apologize for being so late. I had no idea that the meeting with the War Department would take this long. It turned out to be ra

ther important.”

Smitty’s expression changed. “Is there some problem, my lord?”

“I have a message to deliver to Major General Brock when we arrive in York.” Drake frowned. “At least I am not the only one who believes that a war with the Americans is imminent and that another war could cripple England. Regrettably, many of our politicians ignore these truths. I do not.”

“But it appears that others share your view,” Smitty put in.

Drake leaned back against the railing of the ship. “Yes, but not enough to form a majority. I fear it will be too late before enough people realize what a war in North America would mean for England. Napoleon is isolating us from our resources in Europe; therefore we badly need Canada’s timber. If, for any reason, we lose access to that as well, things will become quite bleak.”

“And your message to General Brock?”