Page 50 of Holding Onto Love

Shaking his head, Hazard handed over the missive. “One of these days, one of your brother’s blunderbusses will blow up in his face. I don’t wish to be there to see it.”

“I doubt it will be this one. Not when Crispin is so thoroughly right.”

“I’m surely not the first to say your brother is an impressive man. But if I may, I’ll be the first to say his moral outrage is wearisome. Don’t take it so much to heart.”

Jasper ignored that and started to break the seal.

“Jasper, a moment.” Hazard looked pensive. He held his hands low, in front of him, fingers entwined. “You know, I suspect he is here. Crispin. In London. Your letter was wrapped in mine, delivered by hand, not by post. He was here last night or early this morning. I can’t imagine why he would be sneaking around like this.”

It irritated Jasper to think Crispin might be in London. He could have done his scolding in person, without all this drama.

“Anyone could have delivered it.”

“Yes, but letters back and forth to the Peninsula do not move this fast.”

Jasper tried counting weeks in his head. Surely there had been time enough for Crispin to hear that Lord Taverston had taken a mistress, a pretty war widow. And for Crispin to fire off a one-word response to him and a letter to Hazard. Hadn’t there been?

“Maybe he is here. He carries dispatches sometimes.” Jasper swore under his breath. “If he’s here on Wellesley’s behalf, he’s busy. He won’t be thrilled to have to deal with me as well.”

Hazard made a sound through his nose. “He doesn’t have to deal with you.” He sauntered to the door, then muttered, “Makes me glad I’m an only child.”

*

J.—Never mind. What’s done is done. I understand you have marshaled your considerable forces and will soon erase H. from your world. Bravo. However. Your world is tiny and your weapons paltry. You don’t simply wound a dangerous creature. You must go in for the kill. (Metaphorically speaking.) You must destroy this letter. It is damning and you should not have it in your possession. Now—the army cannot function without rum. One hundred barrels, recently opened, were found to contain faintly rum-scented water. I suspect there will be more. You may guess how W. took the news. In short, there is a chain leading back to our friend. Use this. Frighten the blood from his veins. Mention his concerns in Ireland. Lest you shun blackmail, etc., don’t be an arse. We are dealing with treason. My dispatches are on their way higher up. Meantime—H. is nervous. Make him more so. He has gold and a cache of military secrets (ha!) that he will, should he be forced to leave England, take to France. If we try to arrest him here, there are those who will shield him. H. is too stupid to have concocted this alone. We need to catch him with both feet offshore. Make him run. Make him run and we will catch him.

—Yours very humbly, etc.,—C.

P.S. I do apologize for the Morning Post. It is piquing to see idols fall.

The devil. The very devil. Jasper dropped his head into his hands. What was Crispin digging himself into? Then he rubbed his face hard. If Crispin got himself shot…playing at espionage…

He rose and walked to the table, stuck the letter into the globe of the lamp, and watched it burn.

Make Hilyer run? What the hell, Crispin? Was this a game? Some sort of test? What if he failed? Crispin’s instructions were not very explicit.

And his irony. Bravo. Idols fall. Very humbly yours. Damn him! At least Jasper knew he was not, thank God, as arrogant as Crispin.

He sat a moment. Stewing. But then he could not help snickering, picturing his brother—face scrunched and tip of the tongue between his teeth, as when he used to attempt his abysmal poetry—in the midst of whatever all he was embroiled in, taking time out to compose an on dit for the Post. Jasper should have recognized the handiwork. Crispin was not good at everything.

But damn him. Damn him for dragging them all into this. They had all better hope he was good at whatever he was playing at now.

Chapter Sixteen

In the music room down the hall from where Jasper and Hazard were meeting, Vanessa played a mournful sonata much too loudly.

What a strange day. What a very strange day.

“Ouch! What did that pianoforte ever do to you?”

She looked over her shoulder to find Hazard slouched in the doorway.

“I am attempting not to eavesdrop.” She let the music soften appropriately.

After a moment, he said, “That’s very pretty.”

“Thank you.” She kept an eye on him, glancing back and forth. It was not a difficult piece and it felt rude to turn away completely.

“Jasper did say you were welcome to stay,” he pointed out.