Thirty-eight
Evangeline’s sobs were like a kick to Jonathan’s chest. He doubled over, hands on his thighs, as he tried to catch his breath. It was over. He’d lost her.
“What did you do to my sister?” Red-faced, Regina planted herself in front of him and assumed a fighting stance.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Margrave said.
She glared at him. “And why not?”
He shrugged sheepishly; she dropped her fists at her sides. “Are you saying he’s one of yours?” she asked.
Margrave nodded. “Hackberry is a Regent’s man, but the question is ‘Why is he in Greece?’”
“Leave him be,” Wedmore said. “He saved my skin, and he loves my niece. That’s all that matters.”
“Charles.” Margrave walked across the courtyard to gather Wedmore in a rough hug, smacking his back. “What the hell were you thinking leaving without reinforcements?”
Wedmore chuckled and shook his head. “If you want to scold me, take your place at the end of the queue. My nieces are ahead of you.”
Regina’s husband entered the courtyard. His attire was dusty as if he’d been out. “Ma chérie, why are you in this heat? I found loukoumades at the market like you requested.”
Honey fritters. Jonathan was suddenly ravenous.
“Let’s all go inside for refreshment,” he said. “Mr. and Mrs. Vistoire, will you show Lords Wedmore and Margrave to the drawing room? I’ll speak with the cook.”
Regina cocked her hip, her hand landing on it. “I will be with my sister.”
Her husband nodded. “I will bring the loukoumades to you, darling.”
Jonathan headed for the kitchen outbuilding.
As soon as he was out of sight, he sagged against the stucco wall.
His legs were like bags of wet sand, and drawing a deep breath felt like too much effort.
He was exhausted, his spirits broken. But he needed to be sharp when he met with Wedmore and Margrave.
He was on the same team with the men, but that didn’t make them friendly.
The two men were seated in matching gilded armchairs and talking quietly when Jonathan entered the drawing room.
“Will Mr. Vistoire be joining us?” he asked as he walked to the sideboard to pour himself a finger of brandy.
“He stayed with the ladies,” Margrave said. “To give us privacy.”
“Why do we need privacy? Clearly, you’ve already told them about the Regent’s Consul. How else would Regina know I’m, as she said, one of yours?”
Margrave shrugged. “There is nothing to hide anymore. The Regent’s Consul is done.”
Jonathan froze with the tumbler of brandy midair.
“At least it isn’t functioning like it used to be,” Margrave said. “Farrin is wanted for treason, and any remaining Regent’s men are hunting him and Wolfe.”
Wedmore shifted toward the edge of his seat. “Evangeline told us Farrin was dead.”
“Sophia thought so too,” Margrave said, “but he survived the fall into the river. He sent Garrick after Sophia, but Garrick is no longer a threat.”
Wedmore’s eyebrows shot up. “Sophia? Are you on a first name basis now?”
Margrave flushed. “I realize we’ve done this out of order, but she has accepted my proposal. I know you’re opposed to her marrying a Regent’s man, but—”
“You have my blessing,” Wedmore said, smiling broadly. “You always have.”
The brandy burned in Jonathan’s gut as the men heartily shook hands, and Margrave accepted congratulations.
After a moment, Jonathan smacked his empty tumbler on the sideboard. “If Farrin is no longer in charge and he’s wanted for treason, there’s no reason to stay in Athens.”
Without making a sound, Dom entered the drawing room, directly behind Margrave.
“Good afternoon, Lord Dominic,” Margrave said without turning around. “You still wear the same cologne, I see.”
Dom scowled as he joined Jonathan at the sideboard.
“Where is your proof about Farrin?” Dom asked. “I’ve received no official word from the Consul. You cannot claim a man is a traitor without evidence.”
“Will a declaration signed by the King suffice?” Margrave gestured toward the door. “I can retrieve it from my bedchamber.”
Jonathan met Dom’s gaze. “I believe him, but I’d like to see the declaration.” He had to be sure he was free.
Margrave hopped from the chair and saluted Jonathan.
“Sarcastic arse,” Jonathan mumbled as Margrave left the room.
The servants had brought in refreshments and were setting up the table in the adjoining dining room by the time Margrave returned. He passed the paper to Wedmore first. Evangeline’s uncle scanned the document and held it out to Jonathan and Dom. They read it together.
“Is that good enough for you, Lord Dominic?” Margrave asked.
Dom blanched, still staring at the declaration.
“Are you all right?” Jonathan asked under his breath.
Dom’s lips thinned, and without a word, he strode from the drawing room.
Margrave held up his hands in mock surprise. “Is he always a gracious host, or did we arrive on a good day?”
Jonathan chuckled under his breath. “When did you get a sense of humor?”
“I spent four weeks trapped on a ship with Beatrice’s hellhound,” Margrave said. “You either develop a sense of humor or upset the love of your life.”
Jonathan tipped his head. Margrave cocked an eyebrow.
“Sophia doesn’t like it when I’m grumpy.”
“It sounds like she’s good for you,” Jonathan said. “I thought you were hopeless.”
“So did I, but here we are.” Margrave pointed toward the dining room. “Can we eat now? And I want to know what Wedmore means by you being in love with Evangeline.”
Jonathan sighed. “Speaking of hopeless.”