Wallace cleared his throat and leveled Charlotte with a superior stare, the dismissal clear.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Charlotte said, glaring at the major. “I have embroidery to tend to.” She swept from the room, a decided chill left in her wake.
Percy flinched at the loudsnitchas the door closed. Major Straitlaced better pray he never found himself in a dark alley with the duchess. He’d learn exactly how comfortable the woman was with needles... and a bloodied man.
Hamish did a fine job not strangling the man for the insult to his wife, but that didn’t stop the Duke of Camine from growling, “Get on with it.”
Wallace extracted a sealed roll from inside his coat and handed it to Percy.
Breaking the wax, Percy opened the orders and his stomach bottomed out.
Percival Cole, Captain in Her Majesty’s Army, is reinstated to active duty as of the twelfth day of the month.
Percy scoured paragraphs of government bullshit, ending at a list of names signed at the bottom, more than one ranked signature present, including the new Home Office Secretary—a man Percy knew well.
The orderswereofficial.
“Fuck.”
Hamish took the paper from his hand and read over the information, his scowl pinching his brows into a deep V. “This is preposterous,” he scoffed. “Percy is a duke.”
Wallace nodded but spoke directly to Percy. “Your changed circumstances were noted. You are to deliver yourself to Her Majesty’s army headquarters in Whitehall, rank intact.” He nodded to Hamish and marched to the door, throwing over his shoulder, “Welcome back, Captain.”
Upon the major’s exit, the room, and the two men, were left in suspended silence.
He must have been dreaming. The entire production was ridiculous. Him, go back into the army? He’d been assured by his superiors that his transfer from squadron to the Home Office would be dealt with. Just as the conniving government sycophants had said Percy’s last mission had been a sanctioned one with minimal risks.
The same mission that had left him and his partner exposed and at the mercy of French intelligence and pitted two childhood friends to fight to the death. Which made this command all the more puzzling. As far as Percy knew, everyone from his old life believed he was dead.
Everyone except Nic.
Percy felt the joy and hope that had sprouted up in the last few weeks shrivel and die in his chest. “The bastard has made his move.” Damn, he was a fool! He’d let his guard down. Deep down, he’d actually believed Nic had died in the Thames.
Hamish didn’t need to ask to whom he referred. “You think this is Nic’s doing?”
Percy couldn’t help but pace as he thought. Movement always helped when one was used to action. “Who else? It’s the kind of delay tactic he’d use while preparing his next move.” And if the army was made aware of his non-dead person, it was a matter of time before the Home Office came calling.
“Why give himself away like this?” Hamish asked.
“I don’t know.” The lack of knowledge was unhinging.
“Nic is dead,” Hamish said firmly.
Percy stopped, a moment of hope stopping his running thoughts. “Did the Merry Men find the body?” He’d send Syd a bloody basket of flowers if they did.
Hamish sighed. “No.” He returned to the pressing matter. “Are there any grounds they can re-conscript you?”
Percy nodded. “I was never officially discharged.”
“But commissions were abolished.”
“My contract was bought before the law was passed.”
“That was twenty years ago. You can’t join the army as a child.”
His voice was dead when he said, “You can if you lie about your age.”
Hamish’s whistle sounded like an incoming cannonball. He clapped Percy on the shoulder. “Let this be a lesson in deceit, old boy.” He sighed. “We’ll go to the Home Office in the morning. And if they won’t see reason, we’ll take this directly to St. James Place.”
