“Hardy,” Hawkes said immediately, when the door closed. “I recall hearing during the war about the exploits of a Hardy who was a blockade captain. Put the fear of God in smugglers.” He poured a cup of coffee for himself and held it out to Hardy. “Supposedly impressed the devil out of the king.”
“At your service.” Captain Hardy tipped a splash of whiskey into Hawkes’s cup.
And then with smooth alacrity, he produced from his coat Hawkes’s two guns, knife, and money and laid them on the desk next to Hawkes.
Hawkes exhaled and picked them up and gave all of it a count and a swift, proper little inspection, as any man would when reunited with his guns and money. The guns were still loaded. He locked them and reinstalled them in their hiding places while Bolt and Hardy watched, wordlessly.
“The only other Hawkes I’m aware of was a diplomat critical in the establishment of the intelligence community during the war and imprisoned by the French for espionage,” Hardy said.
Hawkes smiled faintly. His successes had been reported in the newspapers. So had his arrest.
And then, presumably, he’d been all but forgotten.
“I was released about a fortnight ago.”
He had the pleasure of watching two sets of eyebrows shoot up.
“Cheers,” he added, and bolted the coffee. Oh, that was it, he thought, blissfully. That was what was missing from his blood. Coffee. The whiskey did its job of blunting pain and nerves.
“It’s an interesting pleasure and honor to meet you, sir,” Hardy said.
“Call me Hawkes.”
Hawkes turned to Bolt. “You’re really Bolt? Viscount Bolt, son of Brexford, wild as bloody hell, who allegedly drowned in the Thames, and so forth? That Bolt?”
“I was scooped out of the Thames by a Dutch ship headed to the Orient. My next decade was rather... full,” Bolt said laconically. “Most importantly, I learned how to sew up a human in that decade. I’m now blissfully... ‘domesticated,’ I suppose is the word. Married for life. Hardy and I and Mr. Delacorte are in an import and export partnership called the Triton Group. Met with some associates from Lloyd’s last night at White’s, otherwise we would have been up much earlier. And dressed,” he added dryly.
Hawkes went on alert at the mention of Lloyd’s, the originators of the Patriotic Fund—the fund which collected and disbursed smaller funds to prisoners of war. They were insurers; they likely underwrote the Triton Group’s cargoes.
“Ah. Interesting. BoltandHardy,” Hawkes mused. “Imagine that. Honestly, I’m not convinced I’m not still foxed on whatever magic powders I was administered last night.”
Hardy took a swig of the whiskey, which was quitesociable of him, given that it was just after breakfast for him. He passed the flask to Bolt, who did the same, lest a man need to drink alone.
A little silence fell.
“If there’s anything a diplomat appreciates it’s a delicate situation in which one must carefully choose how much to share with his hosts,” Hawkes began.
“How much of the real reason you were here by the docks, in other words,” Hardy said.
Hawkes gave a short, somewhat humorless laugh. “I am,” he said with care, “on an assignment. I fear I am not at liberty to say more than that. I am not convinced my assignment is related to the reason I was attacked. Neither am I convinced it was not. I would appreciate it if I could have your word as gentlemen that you will not repeat what I have just told you, or reveal my identity to anyone as anything other than Mr. Hawkes, a gentleman—which, in truth, is all I truly am at present. As this is all I am comfortable divulging at the moment, I hope it will suffice.”
He’d said it in a way that managed to be elegantly polite and respectful and absolutely nonnegotiable.
He waited. Patiently.
Hardy gave a short nod. “Do you think your presence at The Grand Palace on the Thames will put anyone else here in harm’s way?”
And that was the crux of this little meeting.
“Certainly not with the two of you here,” he said. A trifle glibly. But dryly.
They offered him patient smiles.
“In all seriousness, I don’t think anyone attempting to murder me would get past the phalanx of people at your door and the stringent interview process. I do not expect to abide here long, but I’m grateful for the shelterand I would sincerely rather die than allow any harm to come to anyone here.”
“That sounds fair.”
Hawkes grinned at Hardy’s dryness.