Page 1 of Until I’m Safe in Your Arms

Prologue

London

August, 1860

“And this game is called what, Tom?” Captain Alexander Bancroft, of Her Majesty’s 30th Cambridgeshire Regiment of Foot, tapped his cards on the table, then commenced shuffling them absently. The drawing room in his grandfather, the Duke of Welwyn’s, house in Mayfair was crowded this afternoon with Alex and five of his cousins. As the duke had yet to put in an appearance, the six of them had agreed to fill the time learning a new form of poker from their youngest cousin, Thomas Weston.

“Draw poker. How many cards do you want, Yule?” Tom held his hand suspended over the deck, his gaze on his older cousin. “It’s been around Virginia for a while, but I just learned it on my last trip across the pond. Yule?”

A perturbed look on his face, Ulysses Quartermain studied his cards, then sighed. “Two, no three.”

Tom laid one card on the table in front of his cousin, then another.

“Wait, just two.” Yule frowned at his hand.

“Well, is it two or three?”

“Just two.” Shaking his head, Yule discarded then stuck the two new cards into his hand. He glanced at the clock, its hands standing at a quarter to two. “When’s Grandfather putting in an appearance? I was supposed to call round at my club at two.”

“Whenever he damn well pleases. And we’d better all be here when he does.” Alex, the oldest of the group, grasped his tokens and let the metal counters run through his fingers. Their grandfather was quite the tyrant, in a good-natured way. But it didn’t do to cross him at all. “Does anyone know what bee he’s got in his bonnet this time?”

All his cousins shook their heads simultaneously.

“He’s been pleased as a weasel ever since Henry got married.” Yule was rearranging his cards and frowning. “So there’s no reason I know of to call us all here. Do I bet yet?”

“Not yet. Francis, how many cards?” Tom doggedly kept the deal going. “I hope it doesn’t have to do with that Lord Stonebridge business. None of us would ever contemplate putting our houses up as collateral in a wager. Well, those of us who actually own houses.” He glanced first at Saunders, Lord Mckay, Sandy to all of them, who’d inherited a castle in Scotland, then at Julius, Lord Boxted, who’d inherited a number of estates when his father died.

Julius threw his hands up. “Not I, said the cat. I love a wager as well as the next man, but I’m not fool enough to put up property on a bet.”

“My mother would put a Scottish curse on me if I ever did such a thing,” Sandy said. “The only time I get to gamble at all is when I’m here with all of you. She won’t allow a single deck of cards in the castle, save when we entertain, which is seldom, I have to say.” He studied his cards. “I’ll take three, Tom.”

“Don’t you live in London now, Sandy?” Alex contemplated his cousin with a keen eye.

“I do. Thank you, Tom.” Sandy tossed his discard onto the growing pile then carefully fitted the new cards into his hand. “I have to, Alex. How else am I to be a fashionable English gentleman if I can’t smoke, drink, or gamble? My mother abhors all three. Hence, here I am.”

“So am I, young whippersnapper.” The Duke of Welwyn strode magnificently into the drawing room, a tall, imposing figure in an excellently cut gray suit, who looked quite dapper despite his advanced age. The gruff manner of the words notwithstanding, there was still underlying affection in their grandfather’s tone.

All six cousins rose as one.

“Good afternoon, Grandfather.”

“Good to see you, Grandfather.”

“How d’ya do, Grandfather?”

Each of them murmured a polite greeting, holding their eagerness in check. A difficult feat, Alex knew, as they were all rife with curiosity as to why they’d been summoned.

“Take your seats, except Alex.”

Alex stopped, mid-sitting, and straightened up. “Yes, Grandfather?”

“Pour everyone a round, would you?” Grandfather leaned against the tall-backed, tufted black leather chair, bespoke especially for him.

Well, he could use one about now, and the rest of them looked the same. Alex quickly set out seven cut-crystal tumblers with a W engraved on them and began pouring good-sized tots of a fine vintage cognac. Might as well hit this head-on. “Why did you wish to see us all, Grandfather?”

“Because I’m dying, Alexander.” Grandfather took his glass and downed the contents with a practiced hand.

All the cousins stared at him in shock, then sent furtive glances at the others around the room. Then, almost as if they’d rehearsed it, everyone rose, grabbed their glasses, and knocked back the cognac.