A Tip of the Cap (London League, Book 3) Read online

  At that moment, she would have sworn she heard Caroline snort with laughter, and she rolled her eyes as she grinned.

  “Well, yes, I know very well he has flaws, thank you,” she told the headstone. “They are not difficult to find. But… why couldn’t any of them have been truly insurmountable?” She snapped off a small leaf from the flowers and made a face. “And why do some of those flaws make him even more attractive?”

  She threw a derisive glare at the headstone. “You could have done something to improve him.”

  Again, she felt the imagined snort, followed by a blunt, “I did.”

  Beth smiled, shaking her head. Then she looked beyond the headstone, staring off into the distance. “I’m falling in love with him, Caroline. Or at least, I think I am. And he told me we would not have a marriage of affection. Am I a fool for desiring more?”

  Sadly, this time there was no response from Caroline, but Beth should have known better. Caroline would have never answered a question like that, not even for the woman helping her husband to raise their children.

  She decided to change the topic and give her usual report on the children when she heard footsteps in the distance behind her. She turned quickly, her eyes scanning the wooded area on the outskirts and the church beyond.

  Malcolm was approaching, his head down. It seemed he hadn’t noticed Beth there, which she found difficult to believe. At least he was too far away to have heard the gist of her one-way conversation. She rose to her feet quickly, glanced back at Caroline’s headstone with widened eyes, then faced her husband again.

  He raised his eyes. When there was no hint of surprise there, she knew her instinct had been correct. He had seen her and had intentionally come this way.

  “I did not mean to disturb you,” he told her in a soft tone.

  She shook her head quickly. “No, I was just finishing. I will leave you to your peace.”

  Malcolm glanced at the headstone and swallowed. “I did not come here for that. I came in search of you.”

  “You did?” Beth blurted out, forsaking all dignity.

  He nodded once, averting his eyes from Caroline’s grave. “Will you walk back to the house with me?”

  Beth took his offered arm, wondering at his slight formality. He had not been formal in some time, and she did not want him to return to that version of himself. They walked out of the cemetery, then past the chapel, and only when they approached the house itself did he speak.

  “I must return to London,” he said, glancing over at her.

  “Oh,” she murmured, not bothering to hide her disappointment.

  He surprised her by replying miserably, “I know.”

  It was strange how such small words could give her such comfort. “When must you go?”

  “Straightaway. It’s rather imperative, I’m afraid.”

  Beth nodded automatically, chewing the inside of her lip. Then she released it to ask, “And how long will you be gone this time?”

  He sighed heavily and disconnected their arms only to take her hand and entwine their fingers. “Not long, I hope. Certainly not as long as last time.”

  She believed him absolutely, but there was an odd hesitation to his tone that gave her pause. But what could she do? “Very well, then,” she responded, clinging to the warmth of his fingers between hers.

  Malcolm stopped them both and turned to her, letting his fingers stroke hers. “Don’t do that, I beg you. I can’t bear to have you turn submissive and biddable as if I have ordered it. You are my wife, not a servant. Tell me what you truly feel.”

  Beth’s heart swelled and ached as she looked at him. “How else can I respond, Malcolm? If you must go, then you must go. I don’t wish to fight about it or say anything to keep you from your duties.” She exhaled shortly and prayed for courage, then reached up with her free hand and touched his face, stroking his cheek with her thumb. “But I cannot pretend that I am not disappointed. Or that I will not miss you.”

  He closed his eyes, then took her palm and kissed it gently, turning it over to kiss the back of her hand twice, holding it tightly.

  Suddenly fighting tears, Beth asked, “Will you say goodbye to the children?”

  “I already have.” He touched her cheek as well, his expression serious. “I won’t be gone long.”

  “Do you promise?” she asked, trying for a teasing tone.

  Malcolm only nodded, then stepped forward to kiss her brow and moved past her, heading for the stables.

  Her mind in turmoil, Beth watched him go, just as confused as she was before, her emotions in disarray, her thoughts just as focused.

  She was falling in love with her husband. Would that change while he was away?

  Or would it only make things worse?

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was a good thing he had returned to London, Malcolm told himself.

  It was.

  Things were growing more complicated with their suspects, and he felt greater unease over Rogue. The reports he had received absorbed every waking thought. Well, every space in his mind that was not already occupied by thoughts of Beth, at any rate.

  Mr. Herschel had been behaving even more erratically, according to Gent’s street children who had been tailing him. Messages seemed to constantly go out while very few came back in, and the servants carrying them took great care to use stealth. Were it not for the fact that the Herschels’ house was under constant watch, that detail might never have been caught, and they would never have discovered that particular avenue to investigate.

  When it was discovered that the letters were going to known traitors and sympathizers, Malcolm had made the decision to come to London and take the reins.

  The League had begun intercepting letters sent out from Herschel’s residence, using a collection of thieves and pickpockets that could do so easily. They did the same with missives coming into the Herschels as well, though there were fewer of them. That was not surprising, even with Mr. Herschel’s official parliamentary work. He was not a popular member, but he did have some influence.

  Once they had the letters in their possession, the clerks furiously set to work copying their contents. Within an hour or two, the original documents had been slipped back into legitimate channels and on to their intended recipients. Back at the office, the contents were then analyzed. As yet, Malcolm hadn’t heard whether anything had proven to be of any interest, but the others had not known he was here. Or, more likely, they had not let him know that they knew. It was only a matter of time.

  But then, it had only been a couple of days. A miserable, tormented couple of days in which he had accomplished very little.

  A growing feeling of dread nagged Malcolm over the League’s current lack of progress. Without discovering the hidden objective of the traitors and their masters in the faction, there was not much for Malcolm to find satisfaction in.

  “Please tell me I’m not seeing you right now.”

  Malcolm glanced up from his desk, which was uncharacteristically disorganized and cluttered, and met Gent’s gaze rather mildly. “You are not seeing me right now.”

  Apparently, despite Gent’s words, that was not what he wished to hear. “Cap…”

  “What? Cap’s here?”

  “Is he out of his bleeding mind?”

  Malcolm sat back with a grimace and waited for the other two to appear, knowing it was useless to do anything else.

  Rogue’s icy eyes were wide as he appeared, while Rook looked more like he would like to put his fist in Malcolm’s face.

  “How long have you been here?” Rogue growled in a low voice.

  “Three days.”

  His jaw dropped. “Three days? How did we not know that? How did you come in without us knowing?”

  Malcolm’s brow rose in a hint of mocking surprise. “I’m a spy, Rogue.”

  Rook snorted, then covered it with several coughs to avoid being beaten by his colleague.

  But Rogue was still absorbed in Malcolm’s response
, unaffected by the sarcasm. “We’ve been sending you reports. Nothing is happening. There is no reason for you to be here.”

  “I believe that decision lies with me,” Malcolm snapped coldly, folding his arms. “And what do you mean ‘nothing’? You call Herschel’s sudden involvement ‘nothing’?”

  “It’s a development,” Rogue allowed, his expression never changing. “But there is no progress yet. You don’t need to be here.”

  Malcolm scowled at him. “You think it’s easy for me to be away while so much is unknown, and you could be in danger?”

  “It ought to be easy,” Rook muttered, snorting yet again.

  Malcolm opened his mouth to reply when he saw Rogue nodding. “What? You agree with Rook, do you?”

  “Of course, I agree. I’m always in danger, Cap. We are all in danger every moment of every day, including you.” Rogue shrugged, finally looking less shocked and more like himself. “This is not the first time I have come close to being compromised. I would not risk entering the office if there were any real danger we could identify. You know I’d have gone underground and followed the proper procedures and protocols.”

  Gent was nodding as well now. “And do you know where Rogue learned all of that, Cap?”

  Malcolm shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He knew full well that Rogue had learned that particular bit of insight and training from Cap. It was the same bit of insight and wisdom he passed on to the new trainees every time there was a new crop of them.

  “I just felt that I was needed here,” Malcolm said under his breath, averting his eyes. “You can’t deny that there is work to be done.”

  They said nothing for a moment, which told him that there was truth to his words, and he felt a brief surge of satisfaction in that.

  “There will always be work that needs doing,” Gent finally conceded, drawing Malcolm’s gaze with the smile in his tone. Gent’s eyes twinkled a little as his smile grew. “But I suspect your reason for being here at this time has nothing to do with the country across the channel, faction or otherwise.”

  The other two looked at Gent quickly, then back at Malcolm with far more interest.

  Malcolm bit back a growl and shook his head. “I don’t particularly like what you are insinuating, Gent.”

  “So, you are not here to hide from your bride, then, eh, Cap?” Rook suggested without hesitation.

  He ground his teeth together. “I don’t see how that is relevant.”

  “I don’t see how your being here is helping anyone,” Rogue pointed out. “If you’re too distracted by thoughts of your wife to focus on the work at hand, you’re more of a hindrance than a help.”

  Malcolm’s ire flared up, but it was quick to die down as he realized that Rogue was right. He exhaled slowly, which seemed to signal to the others that he would reveal something significant. Each made himself comfortable within Cap’s office.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he told them stubbornly, meeting the gaze of each.

  “And yet…” Rook replied, gesturing for him to get on with it.

  It was not in Malcolm’s nature to confide in his men about personal matters. Or to confide in anyone at all. About anything. Yet he suddenly felt the urge to confess everything pressing against his chest and throat.

  “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted with a groan. “Everything is shifting and changing so fast, and she is… She is…” The words did not seem to come to mind, and he struggled with how to describe just what he was experiencing. “She is lovely and charming and perfect for my children, and I find that I like her much more than I thought I would.” He swallowed with difficulty as an echo of desire struck him. “A lot more. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Well, Cap,” Gent said slowly, his voice ringing with amusement, “you see, when a man and a woman find themselves attracted to each other…”

  The other two snickered uncontrollably, and Malcolm tried to quell them with a look, but it proved useless.

  “I am attracted to her,” Malcolm heard himself confess, his voice hardly sounding like his own. “Far more than…” He shook his head quickly and forced his expression to clear. “At any rate, I decided it was best to stay away while I try to sort it all out.”

  No one said anything for a moment. No one moved. Then Rogue shook his head, his expression heavy with resignation. “Coward.”

  Malcolm stilled and felt his scalp tingle. “What did you say?” he inquired slowly.

  Rook cleared his throat. “I believe my esteemed colleague called you a coward, sir. And I quite agree.”

  He was on his feet before he could even blink. His rage reached unknown heights, and he could already feel his fists pummeling them both into a bloody oblivion. But the stunned expressions on his men’s faces reminded him who he was. His balled fists unclenched, slowly, and he pressed them hard into his desk.

  “Perhaps I am,” he murmured tightly. “I don’t know anymore.”

  The others chuckled, though he could find nothing at all humorous in his statement.

  “Poor Cap has a too-pretty wife,” Rook announced with a nudge to Rogue’s side.

  “Woe is him,” Rogue replied dryly with a mocking sigh.

  Malcolm threw them a derisive glare, but both smiled at it sweetly.

  Gent, who had been remarkably quiet by comparison, stepped forward and put a calming hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “Go home, Cap,” he urged gently. “Go home and stay there.”

  He wanted to argue, he wanted to toss orders at them, to shout at them, to deny that anything they’d said had any effect on him! But he found that all he truly wanted was… Beth.

  He wanted to go home.

  He stared into the eyes of Gent, his most romantic colleague, and found a greater degree of understanding than he had anticipated. That alone convinced him, and he nodded once.

  They left him alone after that, satisfied that he would do his duty. And as Malcolm had always been a man of his word, he had no choice but to do as he had agreed.

  The moment he had turned his horse back towards Hampshire the next morning, he wanted nothing more than to be there. Gone were his reservations about his men, about their tasks, about anything in London at all. The only thing he cared about was getting home to his wife and children, and he rode like the devil to get there. He only stopped when he had to, resting his horse only when he had to, and probably not long enough. But the animal seemed possessed with the same drive that Malcolm felt rising within him, and the pair of them raced on towards Knightsgate, towards… home.

  Hours later, sore and fatigued, he arrived, only grunting a word of greeting to the stable master. He made an impulsive decision to skirt the house in favor of a brief detour.

  The cemetery was silent, as usual, and as he moved towards the one headstone he tended to frequent, he saw the evidence of recent visitors, some of whom were young, their bouquets far less refined, but no less beautiful.

  Malcolm swallowed with some difficulty as he went to one knee before Caroline’s headstone, wiping his hand across the smooth surface.

  “I think you know why I’ve come,” he murmured as his fingers traced the letters. “More than that, I think… I think you would give your consent. I think you would agree with me.”

  He paused as if waiting for an answer, though he knew none would come.

  Still, he smiled. “I don’t quite know what I feel for her yet, Caroline, but I think I could love her one day. I think she loves our children, and I think she might be the best decision I’ve made since…” His throat closed briefly, and he swallowed. “I will always love and treasure you, Caroline. You know that.”

  A rough exhale escaped him, and he patted the headstone gently. “I’m going to give myself to this marriage, Caroline. I am going to let Beth in and move forward.”

  His hair suddenly ruffled on a breeze, and he looked up at the sky, smiling with more warmth than he expected in this place. “I take it you think it’s a good idea?”

  He l
aughed as though she had given him her usual blatant look, though no such answer came. He rose from his knee and looked at the headstone once more. “It’s time, Caroline. And I’m ready.”

  Again, the breeze came, and he closed his eyes for a moment, nodding.

  Then he turned from the cemetery and moved back towards the house, and the grounds beyond, sensing that Beth would have allowed the children out of doors on so fine a day. He could barely sustain the mad pace his feet set, his strides long and brisk, but he could not bring himself to slow them even slightly.

  His instincts were correct, as he saw them out behind the house. The children were rolling themselves down a small hill, laughing uproariously. His wife, though standing and watching, was rumpled enough that he knew she had done it once or twice herself.

  He slowed, at last, watching the antics with a smile he could not contain.

  Greer and Samuel wobbled and fell with obvious dizziness after their turns, laughing all the while as their older siblings attempted to aid them in their return to the top of the hill. He watched as Beth sank down to pick blades of grass from Greer’s hair and kiss Samuel’s brow as she smoothed his hair, her smile as warm as the day’s sun. He watched as she turned to Archer and Jane, who were obviously begging to have another go. She beamed at them, nodding her consent.

  Just as they were preparing to do so, Archer spotted him in the distance. “Papa!” he called, waving his arm.

  Malcolm felt his heart lift as he waved back enthusiastically, then felt it soar when he saw the radiance on Beth’s face as she recognized him.

  He couldn’t help it; he grinned at the lot of them.

  The hill was forgotten as his children raced towards him, and he ran quickly to meet them. Archer reached him first, slamming into his side as his arms wrapped around his waist. Jane matched him on the other side, her exuberance less pronounced, as was her nature, but the joy in her eyes prompted him to kiss her cheeks repeatedly, making her giggle. He scooped up Samuel and Greer with a mock groan and let them hug his neck tightly despite the choking sensation that brought.