Since the Surrender Read Online Free PDF Page A

uneven black letters. She’d spent a goodly portion of her courage and strength on that oh-so-casual greeting, and she needed a moment to marshal more of it.
    “Hideous,” he said, with absolute authority. He meant the painting. He was frowning punitively at it.
    Wonderful. It was no comfort to discover he was precisely as he ever was.
    She’d always heard his character described in absolutes: Courageous. Loyal. Trustworthy. Brilliant. Unyielding. Relentless. Disciplined. Perhaps unsurprisingly, his judgments—regarding everything—had the permanence of monuments once he made them, and he usually made them with breathtaking speed. Her husband, Colonel March, had loved him and trusted him husband, Colonel March, had loved him and trusted him unquestionably. Captain Eversea’s bloody-minded certainty inspired absolute trust. His instincts in matters of warfare and men were invariably correct, and she supposed this meant he possessed an innate goodness that nevertheless seemed to have nothing of softness or easiness about it.
    But all of this also meant that forgiveness was far too ambiguous a concept for Captain Eversea. She’d given up self-recrimination as superfluous long ago. But she knew his weaknesses as he knew hers, and for this she knew he would never forgive her. Or himself.
    It made what she came here to do that much more difficult.
    “I suppose I ought to ask you how you fare before I ask for your help, Captain Eversea.” She no longer stifled her impulse toward directness; she no longer felt the need to charm him or anyone else. I’m not that girl anymore, Captain Eversea. There was a silence, which she fancied contained surprise. And then, wonder of wonders—one side of the mouth lifted. Creeeeak. It was a smile. Of sorts.
    Beautiful mouth.
    Best not to look at it.
    He ignored the question of how he fared, probably thinking it superfluous. “Why do you need my help, Mrs. March? And why are we…here?” He gave the word “here” the intonation he might give the words “French prison.” He cast another baleful glance at the painting, then returned his gaze meaningfully to her, as if accusing her of subjecting him to it.
    She hadn’t considered where to begin or what to say. She hadn’t said the words aloud to anyone else outside of her family, and they sounded terribly unreal in her ears when she did. She took a deep breath.
    “My sister is missing.”
    He was instantly brisk, which was bracing. “The loud one or the blond one?”
    “The blond one.” Jenny was loud; she saw no point in disputing it.
    “Lucy. Jenny is married two years this month. Her baby is a year now, and has a tooth—”
    He made an impatient sound, which she knew meant, Relevant information only, please, and reminded her afresh of why it was difficult to like him. Death-defying height of his cheekbones notwithstanding.
    “Forgive me for boring you with superfluous details, Captain. Lucy was arrested for a petty crime and was to be held at Newgate for her trial. Instead she has disappeared from the prison, and has been missing now for a week, and no one seems to know what became of her.”
    It was as close to a military brief as she’d ever delivered. She felt a bit cheated: she enjoyed details.
    But his eyes had gone brighter, and the choke hold on his walking stick had eased as she spoke. Bloody contrary man was happiest in the presence of contrariness.
    He’d always liked her best when she was tart.
    “What on earth did Lucy do?” He sounded bemused, not appalled, which was comforting and reminded her of why she’d actually liked him. He was an Eversea, after all, and their history was downright woolly with black sheep. Not to mention the fact that his own colorful younger brother had recently enjoyed a certain celebrity as London’s most popular criminal, replete with a very jaunty little tune about his exploits sung on streets and in pubs and on stages simply everywhere, and who had gone on to escape from a