God, where was she?

Gervase crushed the handkerchief in his fingers and stuffed it into his pocket, glad that no one had witnessed his moment of weakness. Sir John had organized the prompt removal of Elizabeth's desk and no further hint of her vital personality remained to taunt him. As his composure returned, Gervase glanced at the clock and frowned as he registered the lack of his normally prompt secretary.

A folded piece of parchment addressed to him lay on Sir John's desk. On opening the missive, Gervase found a note from Sir John apologizing for his absence, citing family problems. Gervase squinted down at his secretary's crabbed script. He hadn't even known Sir John had a family. He needed his secretary here! To his further annoyance there was no mention of when Sir John expected to return.

"Damnation!"

Gervase crushed the parchment into a ball and threw it toward the empty, coal-blackened fireplace. It bounced off the edge of the grate and, with a curse, Gervase went to retrieve it. A glimpse of white brought his attention to another crumpled letter that had failed to burn properly. Recognizing the official seal of the Foreign Office, Gervase picked it up and smoothed out the charred edges.

When he broke the seal he had to read the contents twice before he could make any sense of it. It seemed that Elizabeth and Llewelyn had spoken the truth. The Foreign Office had provided details of the pitiful pension it paid to Lieutenant Michael Waterstone, a wounded veteran of Wellington's Peninsula campaign. The address given as his residence was the Foresters'.

Gervase stared at the letter for a long time as dread coalesced in his stomach. Hadn't Sir John confirmed that Michael Waterstone was dead? His eyes went to the top of the letter. It had been sent two days ago.

Had Elizabeth dumped the letter in the wastepaper basket, fearing its contents, or had Sir John done it? His secretary's convenient disappearance seemed more sinister by the second.

Gervase jumped when Standish knocked on the door. His butler informed him that the carriage was at his disposal. He was due at the Foreign Office for a final discussion of the security measures for the victory parade. There was no way he could avoid the commitment.

With a growl of frustration, he retrieved his gloves and hat from Standish and headed into the rain. He could only pray that Elizabeth was at least safe somewhere and resolve to follow up Jack Llewelyn's suggestion for an early visit to the Foresters' on the morning of the parade.

Chapter 32

Gervase squinted through the haze of cigar smoke and shifted impatiently as the Ormolu clock on the mantelpiece struck seven. He tried not to breathe in the stale smell of overcooked roast beef and treacle pudding that drifted in from the dining room next door. For some inexplicable reason, the Foreign Secretary had decided to go over, in mind-numbing detail, everything they'd already determined. Unable to bear another second, Gervase cleared his throat and got to his feet.

"My apologies, gentlemen, but I've another urgent matter to attend to. I hope you will excuse me?"

Without waiting for an answer, he strode out of the grandiose government building and into the deserted cobbled street where his carriage waited. His certainty that Elizabeth had sought shelter with Angelique had only increased during the interminable meeting and he decided to go see for himself.

Half an hour later, just before a delicate porcelain figurine smashed into the back of his head, he managed to slam the front door of Angelique's house behind him. Breathing hard, he listened as Angelique continued to shriek profanities in gutter French at his invisible form. Despite her vociferous objections, Gervase had searched the whole house.

Elizabeth wasn't there.

Gervase wasn't totally despondent. Angelique had unwittingly revealed another potential avenue of investigation when she had threatened to run off with his cousin Vincent.

How could he have forgotten Vincent? Gervase jammed on his hat and directed his coachman toward the Pelican Inn. If Vincent was indeed in residence, Gervase intended to ask for his help in preventing Elizabeth from leaving England or, if she had already fled, in tracing her passage to France.

The obsequious clerk at the front desk of The Pelican escorted Gervase up the stairs to Vincent's rooms. The clerk left after bowing so low that his long nose almost connected with his knee. Gervase knocked once and, ascertaining that the door was unlocked, let himself in.

"I'm sorry for calling on you at such an odd hour, Vincent, but..." Gervase stopped speaking as he took in the sight of his cousin and Elizabeth comfortably ensconced on a couch before the fire, playing cards. Vincent had discarded his cravat and coat and Elizabeth wore a man's embroidered dressing gown. Her hair hung down her back in a thick braid. For a furious moment, Gervase was tempted to strangle her with it.

Something of his desire must have shown on his face because Elizabeth edged toward Vincent and his cousin put a protective arm around her shoulders. Gervase's sharp relief at seeing Elizabeth disappeared into a spiral of emotions that threatened to consume him. Before his brain consciously formed the desire to kill them both, his fingers were already groping in his coat pocket seeking his pistol.

"Cousin," he snapped. "It seems that the questions I wished to ask you have been answered by Miss Waterstone's presence here."

Vincent rose, his face a cool mask, his deliberate shielding of Elizabeth another insult that Gervase struggled to bear.

"I understood from Miss Waterstone that you had cast her aside, Gervase. Am I mistaken?"

"No, by God. You are welcome to the lying little jade. Did she tell you that she makes her living out of betraying those around her?"

Fierce joy coursed through Gervase as Elizabeth jumped to her feet, eyes flashing.

"I did not betray you, Your Grace. I suggest you use your much vaunted intelligence and look around you for the true culprit."

Gervase gave a harsh laugh. "Why should I, when you so admirably fit the bill?"

Elizabeth took a hasty step toward him, but Vincent grasped her elbow and spun her around to face the door connecting the rooms of the suite. "Go to bed, Elizabeth. I will sort this out with Gervase."

With a sniff, Elizabeth came up onto her toes, wrapped her arms around Vincent's neck, and fastened her mouth onto his. Gervase's hands curled into fists as Vincent enjoyed a leisurely embrace with Elizabeth, then released her with a pat on her rounded bottom.

Elizabeth fluttered her eyelashes and smiled, ignoring Gervase completely. "I will wait for you in bed, my lord."

Gervase remained silent until Elizabeth shut the door between the two rooms, then turned his attention to his cousin. "You didn't have to enjoy her kisses so much, Vincent. And who the hell told you to call her Elizabeth?"

"She did." Vincent shrugged. "When you ordered me to keep an eye on her, you said you had no interest in her any longer, Gervase. I happen to think very highly of Elizabeth. When I've fulfilled my obligation to you, I will be more than willing to help her in any way I can."

Gervase gritted his teeth. Why did everyone, apart from Sir John, continue to see Elizabeth as an innocent? "Just keep her safe and away from the parade tomorrow," he ordered gruffly.

Vincent swept him an exquisite bow. "Of course I will. I gave you my word that I would protect her, and I've no intention of breaking it."

"You were supposed to be a last resort. I had no idea she would turn to you," Gervase retorted grimly as he pulled on his gloves.

Vincent grinned and picked up his wine glass. "And you don't like it much, do you cousin? Especially the thought that Elizabeth is sharing my bed?"

Gervase opened his mouth to pour scorn on any such notion and then closed it again with a snap, pushing away the unwelcome image of Elizabeth and Vincent tangled in the sheets. He pulled open the door and slammed it behind him with a satisfying crash as Vincent's laughter followed him down the stairs.

*** *** ***

"Well!" Elizabeth folded her arms and paced in front of Vincent, who sat on the side of the bed. "He didn't even give me a chance to explain myself. He doesn't deserve to find out the truth."

She rounded on Vincent when he had the temerity to chuckle. "I wish that I hadn't told Jack Llewelyn to give him my message. I wish that I had borrowed your dueling pistols and shot him!"

"You sound remarkably like Gervase at the moment, my sweet." He pretended to shudder. "I thought I was about to breathe my last when you decided to lavish your kisses on me in front of him."

Elizabeth held out her hand. "I'm sorry, my lord, I was so enraged that I didn't think. He didn't hurt you, did he?"

Lord Vincent kissed her fingers and strolled toward the door. "No, luckily, my cousin decided not to call me out. It took all his energy to convince himself that he didn't care for you, didn't you notice?"

Vincent waited while she absorbed the implications of his remark. "Are you sure you wouldn't like me to stay?" He gestured toward the bed. "I blush to admit it, but I'm told I'm every bit as accomplished in the bedroom as my cousin is. You are more than welcome to compare us."

Elizabeth shook her head and Lord Vincent departed with a wink and a resigned shrug. She got into bed and allowed herself to savor the tantalizing hope that the duke did indeed care for her, until she rolled onto her front and recalled his horrid expression when he had called her a jade. It would have been so much easier if she could succumb to Lord Vincent's charms. He had been a perfect gentleman ever since she had knocked on his door the previous evening.