Chapter 30
Without Ruby’s sister, Penney’s butler would never have let them in. Archer had given his name, his former rank, his long association with Penney, and still the man had only looked bored and dismissive. Archer’s chest had gone tight with anxious dread.
But Cassandra—the Viscountess Dearne—had slipped the butler her card, and the man’s expression had gone dubious. When she’d tipped her head toward her crested carriage, he’d consented to go and see if Rear Admiral Lord Penney was receiving.
Cassandra had grinned and stepped back to rejoin their waiting crew.
Ruby had taken Archer’s hand and looked up into his face. “Are you certain you wish for me to go in with you?” she’d whispered. “You could take Cass instead. I do not . . . excel. At these sorts of things.”
He cupped her cheek, then leaned in very close so she could see him clearly. So she would know he meant what he said. “I want you with me,” he murmured. “All the time. If I had to lead a ship into battle, Ruby Ballimore, I would want you at my back. Armed, I hope, with your mortar knife.”
Her lips curved crookedly up. “Archer,” she whispered.
“Yes?”
“No, I meant—” She broke off to put her hand over his, finding the lines between his fingers, brushing lightly against his ring. “Not Ballimore. Archer.”
He was just on the point of kissing her witless when Penney himself came around the corner.
Penney’s gaze almost passed over them—then paused, abruptly caught on Archer’s face. Archer watched his expression transform with shock and recognition. And then he watched Penney smile.
“Archer!” Penney was nearing fifty now, but his face was still boyish, his thick chestnut hair barely touched by gray. He reached out and took Archer’s hand in his. “I thought you well settled in Cornwall, my boy. What are you doing here?”
It was impossible to look at Penney and not remember . . . everything. Maps and cannons, sailcloth rippling in the sun. An inn with a fiddle. A cliffside chase. The rending of a ship.
“I am settled in Cornwall,” Archer said. “I’d like to be.” He touched Ruby’s shoulder. “Jack—this is Lady Ruby. My wife.”
Penney’s brows shot up. “Your—good God, son. Felicitations!” He took Ruby’s hand in his. “Lady Ruby?”
Ruby let him press a kiss to her knuckles before she spoke. “My father is Earl of Hangleton and ambassador to Monfalcone.”
Penney glanced from Ruby to Archer and back again.
“Hangleton’s daughter?” He clapped a hand on Archer’s shoulder, then turned the embrace into a pivot as he led them both away from the front door.
“You have come up in the world. I told you—didn’t I always tell you that you’d make good?
” He laughed a little, warm and unvarnished, and then swept a hand toward the corridor.
“Come. Come with me to my office. We’ll sit down, have some Madeira for old time’s sake.
And you can tell me exactly what’s brought you here. ”
Swept by the tide of Penney’s bluff enthusiasm, they went.
Presently, they found themselves seated across from Penney in a small, lavish study.
The evening was warm, and Penney did not pause to stoke the coals in the grate before settling himself behind a large rosewood desk.
Behind his head, the wall was lined with books and decorative plasterwork; the sconce in the wall shone with gaslight.
“Archer,” Penney said again, turning a pleased smile on them both.
“What a sight for sore eyes. And now Mrs. Archer too.” He put his hands on the arms of his chair as he leaned toward them—a gesture so familiar it made Archer’s eyes burn.
“Tell me everything that’s happened since I got you that job at the end of the world. How’s the Cornish holiday house?”
Archer reached out and caught Ruby’s hand in his. The kidskin leather of her gloves was butter-soft. He wished, painfully, for the warmth of her skin.
He took a breath and told Penney everything. He recounted the story of Signor Neri’s arrival at Pomeroy House and the princess’s attempted assassination. He told Penney about the kidnapping of Tamsin and Serafina, their discovery of Verdura’s ship, their recent marriage.
And when he was done, he hesitated.
He felt helpless—an awful, unbearable emotion. He’d spent the last eighteen years trying never to feel that way again.
They needed Penney. Archer did not know where else to turn. And if Penney rebuffed them—if Archer could not accomplish what he’d promised Ruby—he had no defenses left to shield himself.
His gaze flicked to Ruby and then back to Penney’s face. “I’m hoping you can aid us,” he said. “You know the Monfalcone royal family—and that includes Verdura. Hangleton says Verdura has fled England, but we’re not willing to give up yet. We want to track the duke down.”
He paused a long moment, not certain how hard to press. But it was Penney—and Penney knew what Archer had done for him.
“Please,” he said finally. “We need your help.”
Penney sat back in his chair. “My God,” he said. “Of course I’ll help. Only let me think what to do.”
Relief blossomed inside Archer’s chest, so fast and hard his head spun.
It was going to be all right. He clutched at Ruby’s hand, harder than he meant, and he tried to make himself stop, only—
Penney was going to help them. Archer thought of the Swallow and the cold regret on Penney’s face. He thought, painfully, helplessly: I did the right thing.
Penney was going to aid them. Archer had not thrown his life away for nothing.
“Do you know anyone who might be able to tell us where Verdura’s gone?” Ruby asked. “My father suggested the duke had fled, but did not know his destination.”
Penney drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “I believe I can put my connections to use to track Verdura, yes.” He looked sharply at Ruby. “What else did your father tell you? Anything we can use to our purposes?”
She shook her head. “Very little.”
“Anything of Verdura’s conspirators? Any persons who might have had a hand in the attack?”
“Nothing of the kind.” Ruby’s lips compressed. “I wish he had.”
“That’s all right,” Penney said. “We’ll figure this out.” He turned to Archer. “You still have your little sloop at the docks?”
“For now,” he said, “yes.”
“Good.” Penney leaned forward again. “If I can work out where the duke’s headed, I can send some of my men—my sailors—with you. I assume you want to track him yourself?”
“Yes,” Archer said instantly. “Of course. I’ll go anywhere.”
But Ruby was shaking her head. “Wait,” she said. “Do you not think that overhasty? Ought we not investigate Verdura’s London residence before we fly off to heaven knows where?”
Penney smiled approvingly at Ruby. “Yes,” he said, “you’re right. I knew my boy would pick a clever woman when he settled down. Of course we should investigate the townhouse. You two prepare Archer’s old tub, and I’ll go there myself.”
“To Verdura’s house?” Ruby asked.
“That’s right.” Penney grinned at Archer, a familiar lopsided flash of mischief. “This damned name of mine ought to be worth something after all these years. I suspect I can persuade the duke’s butler to let me in.”
“Thank you,” Archer said. Relief was still shuddering through him. He’d known. He’d known Penney would not let them down.
“And you’ll tell us?” Ruby pressed. “If you find anything? You’ll send word before we go?”
“Of course,” Penney said. “With any luck, I’ll turn up your princess and your friend and even that absurd little dog before the two of you break anchor.”
There was a hiccup of silence as Archer’s brain caught on what Penney had just said. Read it back, as if engraved in ink.
With any luck, I’ll turn up your princess and your friend and even that absurd little dog before the two of you break anchor.
Only Archer had not, at any point in his recital, mentioned Zenobia.
Archer made his lips curve up. He schooled his expression in neutrality. It was easy. It was the habit of a lifetime. But his mind galloped ahead, spun, and then raced back again.
What else did your father tell you? Penney had asked. Anything of Verdura’s conspirators?
Archer had taken the words on their face. He had thought Penney meant what he’d said—meant only to help them. But Penney had no reason to know that Zenobia had been taken too.
His head spun. Was it possible that Penney had some involvement in this scheme? His mind—his stupid, foolish heart—wanted to shy away from the notion, and yet—
Penney had got Archer the job at Pomeroy House in the first place. Penney knew the Monfalcone royals. When confronted with news of Verdura’s scheme and their determination to track the duke down, Penney’s first thought had been to send them out of the country.
Penney had not even told them where he wanted them to go, and Archer had leapt to do his bidding.
There was some thin panic fluttering in his chest. Some desperate desire not to see—to turn away, to pretend he had not caught the import of Penney’s words.
He tried to find something to say. Something easy, something that did not reveal his nauseous, mounting suspicion.
But Ruby spoke before he could. “The—dog?” she said unsteadily. “How do you know about the dog?”
Archer’s whole body went cold, as though he’d plunged into an ice-choked sea. Ruby—ah God, Ruby, who could not lie to save her own skin. Who had no defense against the truth.
Penney sat back in his chair. “Oh, my dear,” he murmured. “I had hoped you would not notice.”
Ruby’s voice pitched up. “You hoped I would not notice? What are you trying to say? You already knew that they were missing? Do—do you know where they are?”
Her eyes blazed. Archer could see her with a mortar knife in her hand; he could see her, blunt and fierce and heartbreakingly loyal as she protected him from her own father.
“Archer,” Penney said softly, “tell her it’s all right.”
Archer looked at Ruby. And then he looked at Penney. His throat felt tight. His hands were numb. “I—” His voice jerked. Stumbled to a halt. “I don’t . . .”
“You know you can trust me,” Penney said. The words came out low. Persuasive. “You know I care for you, don’t you, son? I got you a ship when no one else in the navy would touch you. I got you the position at Pomeroy House when you had nothing left.”
“Don’t,” Ruby snapped. “Don’t you speak to him that way.”
But Penney wasn’t looking at Ruby. He was looking at Archer with an expression of cool intensity.
“I’m trying to help you,” he said. “I put you there at Pomeroy House because I knew we might be in this spot one day. That there was a chance Verdura might rise to the throne, and we could position ourselves in such a way as to assist him. I made you an officer once, didn’t I, my boy?
Only think what I can make you with a king on our side. ”
The revelation was hot and cold at once. Searing.
Penney had got him the position at Pomeroy House not because Archer deserved the job or because Penney regretted what had happened to the Swallow.
He had done it because he knew he would someday need Archer to look the other way. He believed that Archer would turn a blind eye to his misdeeds, and he had reason to think so. Archer had done exactly that already.
He couldn’t—hear clearly. There was the sound of water in his ears, rushing, screaming, stinging his skin.
“You think Verdura will reward you for helping him?” Ruby demanded, her eyes fixed on Penney’s face.
“Don’t be a fool. He’s made you his sacrificial lamb.
He’s fled the country—you are the one remaining here to take the fall if the princess is found dead.
” She leaned forward, her expression ferocious and defiant.
“Were those your sailors who attacked the princess’s ship?
Whom we spotted prowling the cliffs? We saw them—and the princess did too.
Do you truly believe House di Sangro will not uncover the truth? ”
Penney’s jaw flexed. “Princess Serafina does not concern me. Verdura will be the future of Monfalcone.”
“Well, she ought to! We ought to concern you. We—” Ruby broke off. She sent Archer a glance of agonized confusion, and he knew it was because he was still sitting—frozen, motionless. Silent.
Penney too turned back to Archer. “I know I can trust you to do the right thing,” he said evenly.
“How many years did I keep you at my side? How many years did I invest in you—raised you up from brig trash to the sailor you became? I made you a man worthy of an earl’s daughter, Archer.
You know I did. Tell your wife I would not lead you astray. ”
Still—helplessly—Archer wanted to believe him.
He had chosen Penney once. More than once. He had been alone and afraid, and Penney had given him a way out. Penney had made him. Penney had looked at a cocky loudmouthed little convict and seen . . . something worthy. Someone who might, someday, be a good and honorable man.
If Penney did not deserve his loyalty, then what did that say about him?
He had the sense of water in his ears, in his mouth. An old terror rose in him: He was lost; he was vulnerable; he was going to drown, abandoned under the waves.
And then he looked at Ruby, her hair falling down around her shoulders, her gloved hands locked together in her lap. Her eyes—clear and blue and steady on his face.
He had thought to prove himself to her by charming her father. By finding the princess and restoring his good name. By showing her that his loyalty to Penney had not been in error.
And Christ—again and again he had failed.
But she was looking at him now, and she trusted him, and this—this was the moment of decision. This was the test he could not fail.
He had chosen wrongly before. But he could choose differently this time. He could change.
“No,” he said hoarsely. “No, Jack. Not again.”
“Son,” Penney said, and it . . .
Hurt. That word.
“I don’t want to do this,” Penney said. “I hope you know that.”
For just a moment, Archer didn’t know what he meant.
And then he did. Penney had eased open the drawer at his desk, and something glimmered there, a tiny refraction of light, like stars on water. Like metal glittering under gaslight.
Somehow Archer was on his feet. “Jack,” he said. “Don’t.”
Penney closed his hand over the pistol.
For the space of a heartbeat, Archer thought of Ruby. Her eyes, her laugh, the thin gold band on the fourth finger of her left hand.
And then he threw himself across the desk.
He heard the gunshot—loud, close—and felt heat blister the side of his face.
Wait, he thought. Ruby—