Yours forever,
Luke
Chapter Seventeen
Undisclosed location near a tributary of the Pra River, March 1829
Luke unrolled the classified correspondence and, upon reading the contents, exhaled slowly. Mentally calculating the timeline of the next thirty-six hours, he held the curling paper to the flame of his lantern and watched until the amber glow licked across the words. Only when it had crawled to his fingertips did he drop it onto the dirt floor and crush it into a million pieces of ash.
The time was upon them.
The insurgents were pirates of a sort and had amassed piles of weapons and ammunition—British weapons and British ammunition. They’d, of course, procured it unlawfully. Evidence discovered by War Office personnel pointed to traitors from within. Possibly under Luke’s command.
Luke’s veins turned to ice.
He would capture whoever it was, and justice would be served. This particular traitor had cost six men their lives. And for what? Greed.
The enemy’s location had been identified and confirmed. This time, Luke would not lead his men into an ambush. This time, his men would come out victors. They would eradicate this particular danger once and for all. Not only had these villains stolen from their own country, but they had attacked innocent civilians whose only mistake had been traveling down one particular road at the wrong time. It wasn’t as if the monsters killed to defend their freedom or their territory, they had simply killed out of greed.
The pirates were nothing short of evil.
The worst of them all, however, was the traitor—a man from within their own ranks. Luke rose and paced back and forth within his tent, anger spurring his mind. He would know the man when he saw him. An English soldier would be easily evident amongst the dark-skinned fighters. Not only by the color of his skin but by the manner in which he walked, the manner in which he carried himself.
Luke’s men would be ambushing a compound loaded with explosives—defended by the most dangerous type of foe—one who cared nothing for life or honor.
And, irony of ironies, for the first time in his life, Luke had something to live for, something more meaningful than his own selfish existence. He had a future.
Luke paused and stared down at his desk and quill. He needed to write to her in case… If he wrote an ‘if you’re reading this’ letter, then she wouldn’t ever need it. If he didn’t write one, it would likely be his last regret.
Luke lowered himself onto the chair at his desk and opened the jar of ink.
To my beautiful sweet Naomi…
* * *
“We will return as soon as the Season winds down.”
Although embarking on a daylong journey by carriage to London, Lady Tempest didn’t appear as though she was dressed for travel. Instead of wearing something simple, something comfortable, she’d chosen a heavy black muslin gown with dark gray trim. Atop hair that was almost purple, she’d pinned a midnight velvet hat adorned with raven-colored feathers.
“Amelia is likely going to be twice her size by then,” Naomi joked as she watched the older woman climb into a heavy but lavish carriage. At the rate her daughter was growing, Naomi did not consider the prediction an exaggeration.
“You know I wouldn’t make the trip if dear Tempest didn’t require me to act as hostess for the state dinners required of him.”
“But of course,” Naomi reassured the older woman. Lady Tempest was nothing if not a stickler and would likely make this excuse dozens and dozens of times in the weeks to come.
Two weeks ago, Naomi had stood on the same steps and wished Lucinda and Lydia luck when they’d come to kiss Amelia goodbye the day before journeying to London themselves. Blackheart had stood unsmiling at the bottom of the steps waiting for them. He’d only had to glance at his timepiece three times before the young ladies had given Naomi one last hug and bid her farewell.
She’d felt melancholy watching Luke’s siblings drive away but felt mostly relief as Lady Tempest disappeared into her coach. And disappear, she did. Heavy drapes covered the windows, not allowing bystanders even the slightest glimpse of the lofty passenger.
“Instruct Mr. Webbs,” he gestured toward the butler, “to send for me if you have need of… anything.” Lord Tempest didn’t speak to Naomi often. If he was indoors, he kept to his study, which was fine by her. It wasn’t as though he’d ever spoken harshly or been unkind. It was just that the expression on his face was persistently ill-tempered.
On one occasion, when she’d been idling in the garden with Amelia, she’d caught sight of him striding toward the gardener’s hut. For an instant, she’d thought he was Arthur. Although physically, he didn’t resemble his brother, his gait and his posture were very much the same as Arthur’s had been.
He was a difficult man to know in that he gave away nothing of his thoughts, and this made her uncomfortable. The woman he eventually married would have to be something of a clairvoyant if she was ever to know the man. That or a person who didn’t care to try.
And as he stood before her today, he was no different.
“I—thank you, My Lord.” Like his mother, he wore mostly black along with a black band around his arm. “But I will be fine.”
