about to outline to you. There is one further key player with whom I must make contact, but that can wait for the time being. What we must do now is put our heads together and come up with some scheme whereby you may leave Bath again, and quite alone, in the very near future without arousing the least suspicion.’
A plump, middle-aged figure suddenly appeared before Katherine’s mind’s eye. ‘That, Sir Giles, might prove more difficult than you imagine!’
Chapter Four
Major Daniel Ross laid his head against the back of the chair, and stretched out his long legs in order to rest his feet upon the fender. His time here in Curzon Street, enjoying the hospitality of his good friend Harry Danvers, must soon come to an end. These past few weeks had proved to be highly pleasurable, and some recompense, he supposed, for the many privations he had perforce to endure in recent years.
Undeniably London had much to offer any bachelor of comfortable means. He would have been the first to admit that he had been content to while away the hours in the company of many of those who, like himself, had known the hardship of life out in the Peninsula. There was no denying too that the highly satisfying association with that delicate vessel, short on brains but infinitely skilful in other ways, had assuaged his physical needs and provided a most pleasurable way of passing several evenings and nights. None the less, a totally idle existence was not for him. It was time he returned to his Dorsetshire acres to put into effect those improvements he planned for his house and lands.
After sampling the contents of his glass, he began to contemplate a future that would be in stark contrast with his past. Yet he had no regrets about the decision he had taken to sell his commission and leave the army. He believed he was more than ready now to take charge of his inheritance. The love of the land had taken time to come to him, but it was there now. Which was perhaps just as well, he mused, for there was precious little else in his life at the moment upon which he might shower attention and affection, least of all a woman.
A wry smile tugged at one corner of his mouth before he reduced the contents of his glass still further. Although he certainly hadn’t lived the life of a monk in recent years, no female had succeeded in capturing his heart since Julia had held a place there in his youth. Even now, after all these years, he could well remember how utterly devastated he had been when he had discovered that his childhood sweetheart, the female whom he had considered so perfect in every way, had betrayed his love and trust by marrying his cousin. Had the bitter experience left him hard and cynical, and disinclined to trust another member of her sex? He could not help wondering. Or was it merely that he had searched in vain for a replica?
A slight frown creased his brow. If that was so, why then had he felt nothing within him stir when, after so many years, he had seen Julia again, a few months ago? He would have expected to feel something more than just a faint twinge of nostalgia for the happy hours they had spent together in their youth. Undeniably, time had been kind to her and she was still very beautiful. Graceful and serene, she remained for him the epitome of womanhood. Not like that damnable little shrew who had crossed his path just a few weeks ago! He inwardly fumed, his frown deepening dramatically as the pleasing image of golden locks and limpid blue eyes was unexpectedly thrust from his mind’s eye by a set of quite different features, framed in a riot of deep auburn curls.
He shook his head in a vain attempt to dispel the vision which had too frequently plagued him during his stay in town. That unpredictable little virago typified everything he most despised in her sex! Contrary and sharp-tongued, she was just the type to lash out at a poor, unsuspecting male without the least provocation. Any man who was ever stupid enough even to contemplate taking that ill-mannered minx to wife would deserve all he got! he told himself, wondering why on earth he had been singularly unsuccessful in forgetting her very existence.
The door-knocker echoing in the hall brought these less than charitable musings to an abrupt end, and a minute later his friend’s very correct manservant entered to apprise him that he had a visitor. A quick glance in the direction of the mantel-clock informed Daniel that the hour was well advanced. He had an appointment early in the morning, and had no intention of delaying too long before he sought the comfort of his bed.
‘Did the caller give a name?’ he asked after a moment’s deliberation.
‘He did not,’ a smooth voice answered from the open doorway. ‘But he felt certain that our long and—er—not uneventful association would be sufficient to grant him admittance.’
‘Oh, you did, did you?’ Daniel muttered, before dismissing the servant.
In one lithe movement he rose from the chair and moved towards the decanters. ‘So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit? I thought you had returned to Hampshire?’
‘I did … briefly,’ the caller responded, accepting the glass of wine, before seating himself in one of the chairs by the hearth. He then waited for Daniel to settle himself in the seat opposite before adding, ‘But I have been back in town for nearly three weeks.’
Frowning suspiciously, Daniel studied his companion over the rim of his glass, before demanding somewhat abruptly, ‘Spit it out, Osborne! Why are you here?’
The baronet’s thin lips curled into an appreciative smile. ‘Always so delightfully brusque!’ he quipped. ‘Surprisingly enough, I consider it to be one of your most endearing qualities, my dear fellow. One always knows where one stands with you, Ross.’ A faintly menacing gleam hardened his grey eyes. ‘You are so refreshingly different from so many of those with whom I have been obliged to associate in recent years.’
‘Nobody forced you to take up such work,’ Daniel reminded him. ‘It was done through choice.’
‘Through necessity,’ Sir Giles corrected, ‘though I cannot deny that I have always displayed a certain aptitude. But my task is not yet complete.’
‘But mine is,’ Daniel returned, unable to prevent bitterness from edging his voice. ‘Years of conflict … thousands dead … and for what?’
‘So that we in these islands would continue to speak the King’s English, and not French. Which you, of course, do so remarkably well … And that is precisely why I’m here, Major Ross. Once again I find myself in dire need of your undoubted talents. I am here in an attempt to persuade you to take charge of a little commission which has already begun across the Channel.’
‘No!’ Daniel’s response, sharp and uncompromising, cut through the air like a knife as he rose once again to his feet. ‘My war’s over, Osborne. You cannot order me to go, not this time.’
A sigh escaped the older man as he stared intently at the impassive figure, solid and resolute, now standing before the hearth, staring intently down at the burning coals. ‘No, I cannot order you to go, Major,’ he concurred. ‘But should you agree to do so, you might attain some justice for those many friends who needlessly lost their lives throughout the campaign.’
‘Damn you and your spying games, Osborne!’ Daniel exploded, unable to quell the bitter resentment and anger which had steadily increased throughout the years of conflict, and continued to fester even now, like some open sore that refused to heal. ‘Justice for whom? Curse you!’
Daniel cast a glance over his shoulder in time to see the baronet’s bony fingers tighten fractionally about the stem of his glass. ‘Whose death are you so determined to avenge—your son’s? He was a soldier and, like so many others, was prepared to die for his country. He’s just another of those poor wretches who now lie buried in nameless graves scattered throughout Spain and Portugal.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Or is it perhaps
