A Gentleman's Honor (Bastion Club 2)

He stared back. “What about the ships?”

Three pairs of eyes focused in brotherly admonition on Alicia. She waved in exculpation. “There’s been so much happening”—she exchanged a glance with Tony, the memory of their drive around the park and all it had revealed high in her mind—“I haven’t had a chance. But now you can tell him yourselves.”

They did, in a chorus of statements and explanations that left him dazed. “Prizes? Sixteen of them? You’re sure?”

Tony studied the list Alicia had fetched from her escritoire. The boys had gathered about him, David leaning over his shoulder, Matthew and Harry balancing one on each chair arm. Scanning the list and the inscribed “P”s, he listened as they explained how they’d gleaned their information.

All the ships were still registered, therefore presumably still afloat, as they would be if they’d been taken as prizes and subsequently ransomed by their owners.

Alicia sank back on the chaise. “Jenkins can tell you more if need be. And Maggs—he went, too.”

He glanced at her, then looked around at the boys, meeting their eyes. “This is excellent.” He didn’t have to fabricate his enthusiasm, the sincerity of his thanks. “You’ve shown us which direction to pursue. Thank you.” Solemnly, he shook each boy’s hand.

They grinned, and continued pelting him with information about the ships. One part of his mind listened, cataloging useful details; most of his mind was racing, assessing, formulating.

When the boys’ observations slowed, then stopped, Alicia rose, clearly intending to gather them and send them upstairs. He stayed her with an upraised hand. “One moment.”

One glance at Geoffrey’s face, and Adriana’s, assured him neither would let him leave without a comprehensive explanation of what was going on; they were merely biding their time. His professional habits urged secrecy—information shared only with those who needed to know— yet this time other instincts, deeper instincts, were increasingly suggesting that sharing knowledge was a wiser, infinitely safer way to proceed.

His gaze came to rest on Alicia’s brothers, on the three tousled, silky brown heads, currently bent close as they again examined the list of ships.

If he were on the “other side” in this affair…

They’d already targeted Alicia, not once, but twice. They knew where she lived. Anyone watching the house and her would quickly realize what her strongest instinct was—and therein lay her greatest weakness. It would be remarkably easy to engineer, and her reaction would be one hundred percent predictable…

Raising his gaze to her face, he waved her to sit. Puzzled, she sank down on the edge of the chaise. He glanced at Geoffrey and Adriana, then looked back at her. “This household—Adriana and Geoffrey, and the boys, too, and Jenkins, Maggs, and any other servants you have—all need to know the basic elements of what’s going on.”

Concern filled her eyes. She frowned. Before she could voice any protest, he glanced at her brothers; all three had come alert at his words and were now looking expectantly at him.

He smiled slightly, then raised his gaze and met Alicia’s eyes. “It’s the best way to protect everyone. They all need to know.”

Geoffrey and Adriana were quick to voice their agreement.

Alicia glanced at them, then looked again at the boys. A moment passed, then she lifted her gaze to meet his, and nodded. “Yes. You’re right. The basic facts so they understand why they need to take care.”

He inclined his head. “If you’ll summon the others?”

She rose. He watched her, inwardly acknowledging his ulterior—ultimately his primary—motive: keeping her safe. Keeping her brothers safe was part of that, but it was she who stood in the line of fire. Conscripting her household in her defense was clearly in everyone’s best interests; each of them needed her in their own way.

Within a few minutes, the entire household had assembled. He hadn’t previously met the cook and their old nursemaid, Fitchett; both women bobbed deferentially, then retreated to sit on the straight-backed chairs Maggs and Jenkins fetched for them. Maggs had warned him of the small number of staff, so that came as no surprise; given what he now knew of the family’s finances, the fact even made sense.

When everyone had settled, the boys seated in a semicircle before his chair, despite the hour alert and eager to hear of his investigation, he told them, simply and concisely, all they needed to know.

ELEVEN

HE STARTED BY TELLING THEM OF FINDING RUSKIN’S body, omitting to mention that Alicia had been there. Her gaze touched his face; he met it, held it, continued explaining who Ruskin had been, and what they now believed he’d been engaged in—selling information on ship movements that had led to at least sixteen ships being taken as prizes by the enemy.

The boys exchanged significant—excited—glances. Tony noted it; he bore their reaction in mind as he admitted to being an agent for the government, stressing that he was in charge of the investigation regardless of the Watch’s and Bow Street’s imaginings. The boys were, predictably, even more impressed, their approbation edging into awe.

From there, it was a small step to explaining that the investigation, while no longer strictly secret, would progress more surely if pursued with discretion to avoid alerting the mysterious A. C. He asked that they all continue as usual, but if anyone noticed anything out of place, no matter how small or mundane, they should tell Maggs or, if that wasn’t possible, send word immediately to him or, failing that, to Geoffrey.

Able to read behind his careful words, Geoffrey, his expression impassive, nodded, accepting the unstated commission.

Finally, he came to his peroration, specifically intended to impress on his audience, especially the three boys, that the matter was serious—deadly serious. It required tact to walk the line between frightening the boys and fixing it in everyone’s heads that in no circumstance were they to court any risk whatever. He alluded to Alicia’s recent trauma—a trauma her siblings and the household had shared—as an example of how A. C. might play his game, but he also cautioned that whoever he was, A. C. would not balk at more violent deeds—it was assuredly he who had murdered Ruskin.

From the looks on the boys’ faces, worry, concern, but also determination all present in their expressions, he succeeded in his aim.

He glanced at Alicia, faintly raised a brow; she met his gaze, read his question, nodded almost imperceptibly.