Page 81 of Romanced By the Orc

“He would not behave that way in private with you.”

“He did not. Not at first. But something changed. Albion began to put on a mask in my presence, and I could not bear it. Anyway,I didn’t want Albie to get caught in any of this. I didn’t realize. I never guessed. I didn’t know the truth.”

She shook her head. “Albie is in peril. It’s my fault. I stole a note from your brother briefly and saw that it revealed where the Phantom planned to meet you last night at Lord Mandeville’s ball. I regret it from the depth of my heart. Even had he found a stranger to me in that dining room, I could never hope for forgiveness for this terrible deed. I’d no idea at all he’d find Albie there.”

“I don’t know that this absolves you,” William said stiffly.

“Understand, Reginald was threatening not just my sister’s reputation but her very life. She is trapped in Chamberly. He said he could convince Rostin to come after her. I felt I’d no choice in the matter. I saw you and your brother passing notes at Lord Mandeville’s ball and contrived to sneak a look at the message. At any rate, Reginald Addington now knows the truth. I have reason to believe he has followed Albie to Chamberly to confront him and hand him over to the Duke of Rostin.”

William expelled his breath. “I can put your mind somewhat at rest. Lord Albion set off for Chamberly shortly after the ball.”

“As Reginald has no doubt related to the Duke of Rostin. We mustn’t waste another minute.”

“Allow me to finish. Lord Albion has already departed. By now, he should have arrived.”

“No, no.” She shook her head. “He could not possibly. My husband is taking an alternate route via Newhaven. That might give us an advantage over Reginald in his pursuit. Reginald sent me a note indicating he was crossing the Channel tonight. If you know Albie’s route, we can warn him before he gets anywhere near Chamberly.”

“Forgive me, my lady, but that was a ruse, probably intended to mislead you, Sir Reginald, or you both.” Though they were alone, William lowered his voice. “He traveled per the shortestroute from Dover to Calais. From there, he shall proceed to Chamberly.”

Diana paled, gathering her jumbled thoughts. Trying to push away the images of Reginald and a band of Rostin’s mercenaries on horseback, overtaking Albion. “Then we need to find a hackney man with the fastest steeds we can find.”

“We may own the good fortune of the weather playing in our favor. If Reginald’s ship is delayed.” He gestured to the storm outside the tavern’s windows.

“Still, we must depart at once. We must warn Albie. I’ve experience with rough seas and will pay whatever is required to convince a captain to leave as soon as possible.”

She dared not hope that her husband would forgive her.If he did, she would remain at his side until the end of her life. If he didn’t, at least she would have told him the deepest secrets of her heart. Diana would confess how much she loved him with all her heart and mind.

And then she would turn herself over to Reginald. She would insist she was the Phantom. Reginald should not care as long as he had someone to present to Rostin. But she kept all of this to herself, knowing it would not motivate William to help her. Quite the opposite.

“I only hope that my husband can bear the sight of me,” Diana whispered. “After what I did.”

William tilted his head quizzically as he regarded her.

“My lady, believe what I say, for it comes from one besotted with his wife. And hence an expert on such matters. Lord Albion loves you as deeply as a gentleman has ever loved a woman. He is completely yours if only you will claim him. Now, excuse me so that I might speak to Ollie. He has a way of finding the best team of horses.”

With that, William went to fetch a post to transport them to Dover. While he did so, Diana sat perfectly still. She hopedGod would forgive her, as she prayed her husband would, but she could not help but make a silent wish. For Sir Reginald to have embarked just as the storm hit. And that even now, he was naught but a corpse at the bottom of the sea.

As all storms do, this one eventually broke. By noon the following day, Diana and William Langley had boarded a two-masted packet schooner headed for Calais.

For the first hour of the voyage, she insisted on remaining on deck, squatting to plant herself on the teak wood planks, as she’d learned to do during her journey across the Atlantic onSwiftsure. Fog obscured Dover’s white cliffs, wind lashed her face, and mist from the sea drenched the outer layer of the oilskin coat meant to protect her from gales. Though assured they would reach Calais in six hours, a clip nearly impossible to best, it was all she could do not to approach the captain to get the ship to move faster. As matters stood, she tried to push the boat more rapidly by sheer will alone as it sped across the now-calm waves of the Channel.

But they arrived at six, as the captain had predicted. At the dock, William engaged a waiting post-chaise to spirit them to a nearby inn on the French side of the border.

During the shaky coach ride, William explained that Albion had selected the place after quiet inquiries about innkeepers whose sympathy for Chamberly’s plight ran strong. When they alighted, he paid the coachman to wait outside with the horses, as he assumed they would use the conveyance again soon enough.

A gentleman of perhaps fifty greeted them. He had deep-set, suspicious eyes, a shock of white in his graying hair, and a matching full beard. William hastily introduced him asMonsieur Bacri. The man looked them over like a gendarme admitting a prisoner before reluctantly opening the door.

This inn held none of the charm of the Wayfarer’s Respite. It had not even the grace of a name. While Albie’s friend Ollie tended the tavern in St. Giles with great care, this place looked neglected. Dust had settled into every nook and cranny of the tables and chairs. The sideboard sported a crooked leg that no one had bothered to straighten with hammer and nail. And the air was uncomfortably close, as though the windows had been boarded up for months. The gloomy fog outside and dearth of lit candles inside did nothing to improve her impression.

After a few words exchanged in French, Bacri shuffled off to the back kitchen. Despite the unappealing look of this place overall, the welcome scent of peas and onions simmering in butter on a wood stove wafted in the air. Diana’s stomach rumbled in response.

A few minutes later, Bacri reappeared with two wooden bowls filled with steaming pease soup, each topped with a chunk of toasted brown bread, without the benefit of any serviettes that Diana could see. He then retrieved a pair of tarnished silver spoons and not particularly clean wine glasses from an ancient cupboard. Eschewing a cloth to cover the dusty table, he set places for them at a slow clip Diana would have found comical had she not been so eager for news of Albion.

William Langley, having more experience than she in these missions where secrecy was paramount, had already warned her not to ask after Albion. So Diana waited, tapping her foot impatiently, as Monsieur Bacri returned with a dusty bottle of red wine that he proceeded to uncork. Her French was hardly robust, but once William, fluent in the language, opened up the conversation, she followed the gist of it well enough.After some formal and appropriately banal comments, to which Bacriresponded with barely audible grunts, William arrived at the crux of the matter.

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen my friend, have you? He was meant to come around here in the company of a young lady he is escorting back to England.”

Diana huddled deeper into her cloak and tried to focus on the pease soup before her.

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