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Authors: Andrea Kane
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silently for precisely the right amount of time. “Will you be sending a shipment to the mainland this coming week?”
“A shipment?” George inclined his head in surprise. Whatever he had expected, it hadn’t been this. “No. Not for a fortnight. Why do you ask?”
Monique’s voice trembled. “It … it is my sister Brigitte.”
“Your sister? In Paris? Is she ill?”
She shook her head, chewing on her lip thoughtfully. “Not physically, no. It is only that I am so worried about her, George. She has lost so much since the revolution began. Her husband has been arrested and imprisoned in the Carmes and her home has been ransacked countless times for evidence that might incriminate her as well. I am afraid that if things do not improve soon she might do something drastic.” Tears filled her luminous eyes and slid down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the edge of her napkin. “The only thing that seems to bring her any solace is my correspondence. I know it sounds silly, but I have a small present that I wished to send her in time for her birthday next month. I was hoping that you might be able to …” She broke off, lowering her head. “Forgive me. I did not mean to lose control.”
George took her hand between both of his. “Why did you not tell me any of this sooner?” he demanded.
“I did not wish to burden you,” she whispered.
“You are never a burden, my love. Never.” He thought intently for a moment. “Give me your package. I will speak to an associate of mine and arrange for it to be aboard the next ship headed for the mainland. Your sister shall have her gift on schedule.”
Monique’s eyes glistened with tears and hope. “Oh, George, is that really possible? How can I ever thank you?”
“You can smile for me,” he answered softly. “That would be all the thanks I need.”
Her smile illuminated the inn and warmed George’s heart. At five and forty years of age, he had never expected to love again. For nine years after his beloved Marie’s death, there had been no one in his world but his precious little Jacqueline. But now Monique had come into his life, and once more he felt like a man. A man who was hopelessly, totally in love.
“Come, my love,” he suggested, an intense look on his handsome face. “Let’s take our leave.”
Monique smiled. “Yes, darling. Let’s.” Delicately, she placed her napkin on the table and rose, slipping her arm through George’s and reaching up to touch his smooth-shaven cheek … a promise for the evening to come.
Early Wednesday morning, Dane headed for Hamilton’s office and the unavoidable conversation that he knew would take place.
Since Dane’s visit with Jacqueline two days past, he had been submerged in his business dealings, unable to break away. This morning was, therefore, his first opportunity to answer Hamilton’s rather definitive summons. He knew Alexander wished to discuss the results of Friday night’s party. Not that there was much to say on the subject, Dane thought disgustedly. For there had been no results. But by now Alexander had seen Monday’s General Advertiser and was no doubt livid, both at Laffey and at himself for being unable to discover the rebel’s identity.
Dane had fared no better. So, knowing how his friend loathed failure of any kind, Dane braced himself for a less than pleasant chat.
He was stunned to instead find Hamilton tearing his desk apart, drawer by drawer.
“What in the name of heaven are you doing?” Dane demanded.
Hamilton looked up, visibly upset. “I am beginning to fear that I have lost my mind,” he replied. “I was certain that I had placed those papers in my upper desk drawer, and yet they are gone.”
Dane frowned. “Papers? What papers?”
“The ones containing my notes to Jay. He’ll be leaving for England in a fortnight and I’ve outlined what I believe should be our negotiating strategy in the current crisis.”
“And those papers are missing?” Dane’s
“A shipment?” George inclined his head in surprise. Whatever he had expected, it hadn’t been this. “No. Not for a fortnight. Why do you ask?”
Monique’s voice trembled. “It … it is my sister Brigitte.”
“Your sister? In Paris? Is she ill?”
She shook her head, chewing on her lip thoughtfully. “Not physically, no. It is only that I am so worried about her, George. She has lost so much since the revolution began. Her husband has been arrested and imprisoned in the Carmes and her home has been ransacked countless times for evidence that might incriminate her as well. I am afraid that if things do not improve soon she might do something drastic.” Tears filled her luminous eyes and slid down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the edge of her napkin. “The only thing that seems to bring her any solace is my correspondence. I know it sounds silly, but I have a small present that I wished to send her in time for her birthday next month. I was hoping that you might be able to …” She broke off, lowering her head. “Forgive me. I did not mean to lose control.”
George took her hand between both of his. “Why did you not tell me any of this sooner?” he demanded.
“I did not wish to burden you,” she whispered.
“You are never a burden, my love. Never.” He thought intently for a moment. “Give me your package. I will speak to an associate of mine and arrange for it to be aboard the next ship headed for the mainland. Your sister shall have her gift on schedule.”
Monique’s eyes glistened with tears and hope. “Oh, George, is that really possible? How can I ever thank you?”
“You can smile for me,” he answered softly. “That would be all the thanks I need.”
Her smile illuminated the inn and warmed George’s heart. At five and forty years of age, he had never expected to love again. For nine years after his beloved Marie’s death, there had been no one in his world but his precious little Jacqueline. But now Monique had come into his life, and once more he felt like a man. A man who was hopelessly, totally in love.
“Come, my love,” he suggested, an intense look on his handsome face. “Let’s take our leave.”
Monique smiled. “Yes, darling. Let’s.” Delicately, she placed her napkin on the table and rose, slipping her arm through George’s and reaching up to touch his smooth-shaven cheek … a promise for the evening to come.
Early Wednesday morning, Dane headed for Hamilton’s office and the unavoidable conversation that he knew would take place.
Since Dane’s visit with Jacqueline two days past, he had been submerged in his business dealings, unable to break away. This morning was, therefore, his first opportunity to answer Hamilton’s rather definitive summons. He knew Alexander wished to discuss the results of Friday night’s party. Not that there was much to say on the subject, Dane thought disgustedly. For there had been no results. But by now Alexander had seen Monday’s General Advertiser and was no doubt livid, both at Laffey and at himself for being unable to discover the rebel’s identity.
Dane had fared no better. So, knowing how his friend loathed failure of any kind, Dane braced himself for a less than pleasant chat.
He was stunned to instead find Hamilton tearing his desk apart, drawer by drawer.
“What in the name of heaven are you doing?” Dane demanded.
Hamilton looked up, visibly upset. “I am beginning to fear that I have lost my mind,” he replied. “I was certain that I had placed those papers in my upper desk drawer, and yet they are gone.”
Dane frowned. “Papers? What papers?”
“The ones containing my notes to Jay. He’ll be leaving for England in a fortnight and I’ve outlined what I believe should be our negotiating strategy in the current crisis.”
“And those papers are missing?” Dane’s
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