Page 4 of Against the Wind

Pouring them each a glass of the rich brown liquor they’d often shared in Paris, Ormond cast him an assessing look. “You seem well, old man—though a bit tired around the eyes, I daresay.”

Martin ran his hand through his hair, a nervous habit picked up in France, a lingering vestige of the stress from his occupation. “I do not always sleep well, as you know.”

Ormond’s dark eyes were sympathetic. “Mary and I were glad to hear of your return to England. The change will do you good. Is it to be permanent?”

“It is,” Martin said, accepting the proffered glass. “When the Prince Regent bestowed on me the Order of the Bath, I agreed to one last assignment, this one in England. So, here I am.”

“Ah, yes, the assignment. But what then?”

“I am certain Prinny would have another task, should I want one. But my plan is to return to the family business. I’m retiring as a spy. It’s been a long time since I took a ship to sea, and I find myself curiously anxious to get back to a moving deck—at least for a while. My father was so delighted his rebel is coming home that he welcomed my order for a new schooner when I placed it some months ago. Then, after a few sailings, perhaps I shall take up the business side of Powell and Sons.”

“I’ve never seen you near a ship, though I knew your family owned them. Paris has only the river.”

“I’ll not be missing Paris.”

Ormond raised a brow. “The war?” When Martin did not reply, he added, “Elise…?”

After all these years, hearing her name still brought a bitter pain, as did the memory of their last night together; Martin’s nightmares were testament to that. “You were wise to remain a bachelor then, Ormond. Ours was a dangerous business. A spy’s wife is never safe. She’d be alive today if I’d not married her.”

Before his friend could respond, the door to the study flew open. Mary, Marchioness of Ormond, burst upon them like a storm cloaked in sapphire silk, her skirts crackling like lightning. Martin had forgotten how beautiful she was, with golden hair and piercing green eyes. Her presence filled the room. She carried a bundle held tightly to her chest.

“Sir Martin! You’re here! Hugh told me you would be arriving sometime in the next few days. How wonderful it is to see you. I understand you’re here for a new assignment.”

“Just Martin, please. I’m not used to the added title and prefer not to use it in the company of friends. To answer your question, my lady, yes, I’ve returned for the last of Prinny’s tasks. What’s that in your arms—the young heir I’ve heard about?”

Lady Ormond smiled proudly and held out the sleeping baby for Martin’s inspection. He reached for the bundle, cradling it in his arms.

“Another like his father, I see. What a glorious head of dark hair. Are his eyes dark brown?”

“They are,” said Lady Ormond, beaming with pleasure. She gave her husband a knowing glance. “They were blue for a brief while and then turned the color of brandy. Henry will be the very image of his father.” The proud papa had come over to peer at the sleeping baby as if to verify her conclusion.

“He is a handsome boy, Ormond,” Martin said, handing the baby back to his mother. “The first of many, I assume.”

Lady Ormond blushed as she took him. “Well…at Christmas little Henry should have a new brother or sister.”

Ormond put his arm around his wife and drew her close, kissing her temple. “I am very pleased at Mary’s recent news.”

Lady Ormond returned her husband a warm look, and Martin was suddenly envious of the two, of the love they shared. Without thinking, he let out a long sigh. He had lost not just Elise on that cold December night but the babe she carried.

“Darling, I was just coming to tell you it’s time I leave,” said Lady Ormond. “Henry’s nurse is waiting for me.” She gave her husband a quick kiss and turned to go, then glanced at Martin and added, “I’ll see you tomorrow. You are joining us for dinner, yes?”

“Dinner would be fine. Most gracious of you to ask.”

“Perhaps you will consider staying with us, too? Hugh and I would welcome your company. It would give us a chance to hear the news.”

Martin opened his mouth to protest, but Ormond answered for him. “I will see if I can talk him into it, love.”

“Wonderful!” came Lady Ormond’s reply. She then departed in a rush of silk, and Ormond refreshed their brandies and gestured to the two chairs in front of the fireplace.

“Stay with us, Martin, or my lady will be gravely disappointed. We have servants aplenty to tend your needs.”

“All right,” Martin agreed, taking a seat. It was an easy enough demand. “Some time with you and your lady before I face the task ahead would be welcome. My belongings are still on the ship. I’ll have them delivered here.”

“Good. And tomorrow we will all discuss the new assignment?”

“Of course. By the by, that reminds me. I heard two old salts arguing on the dock about something involving Prinny. Did something happen to him?”

“Yes. It was a scare, but he’s fine now. I’ll spare you the details until tomorrow when we can all discuss it together. I imagine you need a break.”

“All right. You can expect John and me about six o’clock, as I’ll have some other errands to run during the day. Tonight I just want to forget my work. As you say, I need some time away from Prinny’s problems.”

“What you need is a good woman, Martin. Mary has made all the difference in my life. Suddenly living is very enjoyable. Of course, she tries my patience at every turn”—he stared out the window as if remembering a particular event—“but I can’t imagine life without her. She and little Henry are very dear to me. You need a wife, if you don’t mind my saying so. It’s been too long.”

Martin grimaced. “It had not occurred to me to marry again. But a woman’s warm body just now would be pleasant.” He peered over his brandy at Ormond, and his lips quirked up in a grin. “Know any good bawdy houses?”

“Not I. Even before Mary entered my life I did not frequent them. I had mistresses in those days, and the last one brought me much trouble.” Ormond seemed to think for a moment. “I did hear Eustace remark one evening at the Club about a place called Willow House. Something about them catering only to gentlemen and their guests. As Eustace told it, the women are supposed to be quite fine. Some have even become mistresses of his friends. I can ask him to recommend you.”

“Times must have changed in London if a recommendation is needed for a brothel.”

“Apparently one does for Willow House.”

Raking his fingers through his hair, Martin chuckled. “Well, I agree it has been awfully long. Too long, in fact. Yes, I think I will take that recommendation.”