Six
The next morning Jonathan remained in his quarters until he was certain Miss Darlington and her family had left the villa.
After the enjoyable evening spent in their company, he preferred to avoid lying if they asked about his plans for the day.
He felt bad enough that he was invading Miss Darlington’s space while she was away.
He also didn’t trust himself not to insist on accompanying her and her family around the city. Without any of them speaking Turkish or Greek, he worried about them finding their way back. But he had a task to complete and a duty to England.
Besides, there were plenty of British tourists and French nationals they could ask for directions.
With his lock-picking tools in hand, he hurried down the deserted back staircase and entered the guest quarters. Wedmore’s trunk was where he and Petros had left it last night, undisturbed.
The earl had chosen a plain trunk with three locks secured by thick leather straps. The sides were marked with chalk and partially scraped away customs seals, telling the story of his most recent travels—Alexandria, Cyprus, Rhodes, Smyrna, and Athens. Places where Jonathan had always been behind.
Kneeling in front of it, he made quick work of releasing the locks and lifted the lid.
Inside, he found neatly folded gentleman’s attire and a couple of simple ladies’ gowns.
Several books were stacked alongside the clothes, their spines faded and gilded titles illegible from frequent handling.
A green one looked familiar. He pulled it from the stack and sank to his haunches.
Rhythms of Ancient Life: A Study of Frame Drumming and Spiritual Transcendence by Sir Jonathan Hackberry.
He grew lightheaded staring at his only published book. Charles Wedmore, one of the most accomplished antiquarians in the world, had read his work. A smile broke across his face as he opened the well-worn cover. And it appeared that Wedmore had read it more than once.
Among the books, he found a leather-bound journal, but a brief flip through the pages revealed nothing of interest. Mundane observations about the weather, meals served aboard ship, how many whales were sighted along the voyage.
Either Wedmore’s journal was a decoy, or he was researching a cure for excitement.
Jonathan tossed it on the bed and ran his fingers along the trunk's edges, searching for irregularities.
There!
The slight gap between the bottom panel and the sides easily could have been missed.
He removed the trunk’s contents, laying the stacks in order on the floor so he could return them exactly as he’d found them.
The hidden latch clicked and the false bottom lifted without a sound. He peered inside, his pulse racing.
It was empty.
With a frustrated growl, he closed the hidden compartment.
“What now?” he murmured.
Clearly, Wedmore’s trunk had been designed to hide valuables—possibly sensitive information, given his profession. So why was it empty? Wedmore must have taken everything with him.
The urgency in finding the earl grew more intense. The Black Death was elusive, but if Wedmore had located the group of mercenaries and hired them to rescue Napoleon, there would be no stopping them.
His jaw tightened.
And Jonathan would be to blame.
A commotion at the front of the house jerked him to attention. Was Miss Darlington returning already?
Moving quickly, he replaced Wedmore’s belongings, secured the locks, and rushed into the courtyard.
“What are you doing?”
Hellfire!
Jonathan swung toward the end of the courtyard, meeting Lord Dominic’s perplexed frown as he stepped outside.
Jonathan lifted his hand in an awkward wave. “You’re back.”
“Is that a complaint?” Dom asked wryly.
His travel clothes were dusty, and a fine sheen of sweat dampened the ends of his dark hair. He nodded toward Miss Darlington’s bedchamber.
“You ran out of there like an angry husband was on your tail. Care to explain?”
“Not here,” Jonathan said.
He checked the foyer visible through the glass doors behind Dom. Thankfully, it was empty.
“You need to hide.”
Dom chuckled. “In my own house?”
“I’m serious. I will tell you everything upstairs.”
Shrugging, Dom suggested they speak in his study. “I want to change first. You can have a brandy while you wait. Looks like you need one.”
While he went to his bedchamber, Jonathan entered the study and poured two glasses of brandy. His tumbler was half empty when Dom joined him. Dark circles under Dom’s eyes hinted at a sleepless night.
“Rough assignment?” Jonathan asked without expecting any details.
“Inconvenient and annoying, but such is the life.”
He passed Dom a glass of brandy and said, “You look like you’ve been in the saddle a while.”
“Are you deflecting instead of answering my question? What were you doing in the empty guest quarters?”
“They are no longer empty.”
Dom’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline. “I was joking about running from a husband. Who, in God’s name, is in my house?”
“No one.” When Dom glowered, Jonathan added, “At the moment. They are touring the city.”
“Who?”
Jonathan smiled grimly. “Wedmore’s nieces and a nephew-in-law. They came to reunite with him.”
Dom let out a stream of curses. Despite their tendency to keep details to themselves, Jonathan had needed Dom’s assistance when he arrived in Athens. He was aware of the significance of Wedmore’s nieces’ arrival.
“I leave for one night, and hell breaks loose,” Dom grumbled. “You said Wedmore was dead. You were on your way back to England at the end of the month.”
“I’m sorry,” Jonathan said. “I know you were eager to see me go, but we both thought the earl died at sea.”
A man matching Wedmore’s description had been spotted at the ticketing office booking passage from Smyrna to Athens, but he’d never come ashore. For weeks, Jonathan had gone door to door in the city asking if anyone had seen Wedmore, and it was as if he had vanished.
Assuming he couldn’t walk on water and he’d used an alias, Jonathan and Dom had narrowed his identity down to a Mr. Littlejohn, who had sadly choked onboard and been buried at sea.
Dom growled under his breath. “Do you have any idea of the position you’ve put me in? It was one thing when I was accessing records for you. I want nothing to do with assassinating an earl.”
“Neither do I.”
“But it’s unlikely to come back to bite you in the arse. You will be resuming your travels after all of this is done, and someday I will inherit the dukedom and have to return to England. A title won’t protect me from murder charges.”
“I have already decided I won’t do it,” Jonathan shot back, only now realizing he’d made the decision as soon as he met Wedmore’s family. “I want to capture him and return with him. The courts can decide his punishment.”
“Then you need to use the nieces as bait.”
“I will, but I need your help. Follow them around the city, and when Wedmore approaches them, I need you to find out where he’s hiding. He might be disguised as a woman.”
Dom’s brow furrowed. “Come again?”
“Does the name Fanny Flibberquick sound familiar?”
“From the ship’s manifest?” Dom shook his head and chuckled. “Damnation, he’s a clever fox.”
“Too clever. He clearly knows he is being followed. He might even know it is me. I found a copy of my book in his trunk.”
“The only other copy sold?” Dom asked, tongue-in-cheek.
Jonathan ignored him. “You can see why I need you to stay out of sight. If Miss Darlington and her sister meet you, they will recognize you if they see you following them.”
“Do you expect me to hide in my quarters?”
“I know you’ve endured worse situations in service to the Crown. Look at this place.” Jonathan gestured to the luxurious surroundings. “And you have your personal cook at your disposal. I’ll tell them that you’ve returned with an illness that requires you to remain in your chambers for a few days.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know. Gout?”
“An old man’s disease.”
“But not contagious,” Jonathan said. “I don’t want to frighten them away.”
Dom sighed. “I have a better idea. Hold them here until Wedmore surfaces.”
“Absolutely not."
Dom drew back. The vehemence in Jonathan's voice surprised even him. He moderated his tone. “They are innocent in this.”
At least he hoped that was true. He couldn’t stomach the thought of Miss Darlington being a traitor like her uncle.
“It’s a waste of time tracking them around the city when we can ransom them,” Dom said.
“No, I won’t frighten her.”
“Her?”
“Them!”
A knowing smile spread across Dom's face. “You're sweet on one of the ladies."
“I’m being practical. Threatening his family could make Wedmore more dangerous.”
Dom’s jovial smile fell away. He took a sip of brandy. Wedmore had been a founding member of the Regent’s Consul. His reputation was not to be taken lightly.
“Also, I need you to use your connections to gain permission for them to visit the Acropolis.”
“You are too personally involved, Hackberry. This will not end well."
“I’m not—" Jonathan took a breath.
He barely knew Miss Darlington. How could he be too close to his assignment? “Will you help arrange the Acropolis or not?"
Dom studied him over the rim of his glass. “I will, but remember who you are. And who she is."
Jonathan nodded curtly. “And you will follow them in my stead?”
“You know I cannot refuse. Whether I like it or not, I’m involved now."