Page 72 of One Thing Leads to a Lover

She cared not a jot about Langley and Mrs. Drummond’s flirtation—innocent or otherwise. She cared that Langley now sat, eyes screwed shut, pinching his nose beneath the bridge of his spectacles, lost in the tortures of his thoughts. Was he comparing present circumstances to past missteps? Was he now recalling with something less than pleasure the hours they had spent together before George had taken the boys?

Well, she did not intend to let him. She did not intend to be consigned in his mind to either a distraction or a flirtation.

“Surely, Colonel Millrose, you must realize that neither Major Stanhope nor Mrs. Drummond is responsible for what happened to her husband.”

Just as neither she nor Langley was responsible for what had happened to Jamie and Philip. And here, if such was required, was proof of the damage misplaced blame and guilt could do. Good Lord. No wonder Langley had wanted her safely out of this mess.

“I do,” Colonel Millrose readily agreed, folding his arms across his chest. “And I’ve told both of them as much. But I can’t make them forgive one another—or themselves. Worst of all, since that night, Stanhope doesn’t trust himself. And that makes it well-nigh impossible for his fellow intelligence officers to trust him.”

Amanda drew a deep breath, calling up the mental image of that morning’s fencing lesson on the Hurst’s lawn, the smiles on Jamie’s and Philip’s faces. Her sons had put their faith in this man. So could she.

“I trust him,” she said firmly. “And I do not want him removed from this case.”

Langley spun and looked at her, blinking as though stunned, unable to believe what he’d heard. No stern schoolmaster. No devilish rogue. Just him, raw and vulnerable, utterly without disguise. His lips parted, but no words came, in any of his voices.

Amanda met that bewildered look with a steady one of her own. She could not see beyond the present moment. She did not know how they would find and rescue her sons. But she had to believe they would succeed, just as she had to believe there would be a time, afterward, when she and Langley could share another private moment. A sunny hour in which she might bare not just her body to him, but her heart.

But for now, as they sat in this secret lair, together but not alone, she would have to be content with the unexpected discovery that she wanted such a moment—wanted many other adventures with him.

“Now, Colonel Millrose,” she said primly, dropping a lump of sugar into her cup before taking a fortifying sip, “about my boys…”

“I’ve sent agents to scout Jacobs’s whereabouts.” He lowered his head, looking apologetic. “Until they return, however, I’m afraid there’s not much to do but wait.”

His words roused Mrs. Drummond, who had been staring thoughtfully at the floor. “If you’d like, your ladyship, I’ll take you to my quarters. More pleasant surroundings in which to take your tea,” she said, standing and picking up the tray. “I suspect you could use a rest.”

“Rest? I couldn’t possibly,” Amanda began. She felt no less frantic than she had when they’d set out from Richmond, yet also strangely paralyzed, uncertain how to move, what to do. “Surely there’s something we can—”

Colonel Millrose broke in. “There is no we, my lady. Despite the involvement of your sons, this is not a civilian matter.”

She had been told as much before. But this time, her pleading glance at Langley was to no avail. He had the nerve to answer her with one of those stern, knowing looks. With a huff of impatience and a frown for the colonel, she rose and followed Mrs. Drummond from the room.

Mrs. Drummond’s room was far less spartan than Langley’s had been, with a real bed covered by a pretty quilt and a paneled screen to divide the sleeping and dressing space from a little sitting area made up of two upholstered chairs and a round table between them. On that table, Mrs. Drummond placed the tea tray.

“Thank you,” she said after Amanda had seated herself on the far side of the table. “For what you said about who’s to blame. I think all this time I—I’ve taken a selfish sort of joy in the guilt Langley’s felt.” The faintest blush rose on her pale cheeks. “Because I was angry. And because I didn’t want to admit my own fault in the matter.”

She sat down in the other chair, poured a fresh cup of tea, and held it out to Amanda. Amanda considered taking Fanny’s hand instead, offering some gesture of consolation. But the other woman’s stiff, wary posture did not invite such familiarities. So she accepted the cup and said simply, “Fear and grief can make us strangers to ourselves, Mrs. Drummond. Sometimes a wound must be cleaned before it can heal.”

Mrs. Drummond nodded, rose, and began bustling around the room, gathering towels and a hairbrush. “I’ll put these on the washstand, behind the screen. You’ll feel more yourself after you’ve washed your face and combed your hair.”

Amanda felt positively grimy next to Mrs. Drummond, with her neat black dress and perfectly coifed blonde hair. “Thank you.”

When Fanny reappeared from behind the screen, she stood and looked at Amanda for a moment, her head cocked to one side. “May I give you a piece of advice, Lady Kingston?”

“Please.”

“Don’t let these men persuade you against your own judgment.” She cast a disparaging glance in the direction of the workroom. “They will persist in believing that women are fragile creatures with little but comfort and cakes to offer up to the cause,” she said, with an embarrassed gesture toward the tea tray, “whatever I say.”

Amanda knew firsthand the frustrations of feeling overprotected and undervalued. She wondered whether Mrs. Drummond might have been quicker to forgive both Langley and herself if she had been given some meaningful work to do. If she had been allowed to exercise more than her feminine charms.

“Thank you, Mrs. Drummond. I shall make certain Colonel Millrose knows I haven’t any intention of being kept in the dark about matters pertaining to my sons.”

At last, Fanny stepped toward the door. “I’m sure you could do with a little quiet, my lady.”

Though in truth she would’ve been glad of the company—any sort of distraction from thoughts of Jamie and Philip, or even Mama and the Hursts, who must be worried sick and probably blaming themselves—Amanda let her go. For the second time that day, she unpinned her hair, brushed it smooth, and coiled it up again, then washed herself as best she could. Finally, she sat down again, took up the now tepid cup of tea, and tried not to think of anything at all. Especially Langley.

Tried…and failed.

She loved her mother, no matter how they got on one another’s nerves. And she could not imagine a love stronger than the one she had for her sons, whose present peril was like a wild beast rending her heart, and she unable either to fight off the terror or stanch the wound.