by Olivia Drake
A cheap clay figurine.
Fury throttled him. How the hell had Damson found out their plan?
His skull-like features drawn in a glower, Figgins stomped toward Gabe. “What d’ye think ye’re doin’? Get below stairs. This is the master’s chamber—”
Gabe gave him a hard shove. The valet staggered backward, cracking his head on the marble pedestal. The clay statue teetered and crashed to the floor. Figgins stood swaying, bleary surprise in his sunken eye sockets before he crumpled to the floor like a broken marionette.
An exclamation of collective surprise came from the others. Damson’s soft mouth formed a sneer of fury. “Who the devil are you?”
Skulking and trickery had brought Gabe nothing. Craving a confrontation, he yanked off his wig.
Even as Damson’s eyes widened with recognition, Gabe swung his fist. The baron ducked too late, the blow glancing off his cheekbone. Gabe followed up with a punch from the left that struck Damson’s nose with a satisfying crunch. Blood spurted and he howled, diving behind Yasmin.
Red droplets stained the white silk sleeve of her wrapper. Yasmin screeched at Damson in her foreign tongue.
Gabe intended to move her aside, but Bickell stepped into his path. His hands gripped like iron manacles around Gabe’s arms. Despite his well-fed appearance, the Bow Street Runner had the strength of an ox.
His ruddy features conveyed a stern censure. “Nay, milord. ’Tisn’t the way to settle matters.”
“The hell it isn’t,” Gabe snapped. “I want the goddess.”
“So do I,” Bickell said with thinly veiled frustration. “But it isn’t here. I’ve searched this chamber from stem to stern.”
In the act of thrusting a handkerchief at Damson, Yasmin took a closer look at Gabe. Her avid gaze scoured his footman’s garb. “Allah be praised!” she said, clasping her hand to her bosom. “It is you, Lord Gabriel.”
Gabe hardened his gaze on her. She was eyeing him with a lascivious greed that turned his stomach. As if she expected him to fall into her arms after she’d tricked him into drinking opium-laced wine in Cairo.
He’d use her lust to his advantage.
Striding to the Egyptian, he took her slender hands in his. With cold, calculated charm, he said, “It’s wonderful to see you again, Yasmin. If you tell me where Damson hid the statue of the goddess, I’ll make it well worth your while.”
Her dark velvet eyes lit up. “I—”
“Get away from her,” Damson choked out, holding the handkerchief to his bloodied nose. “You’ve no right to badger my guests.”
Gabe stroked Yasmin’s palm with his thumb. “Answer me,” he commanded softly. “You’ll be glad you did.”
Licking her lips, Yasmin glanced almost fearfully at the furious baron. Then her gaze slid to the shattered clay statue. “I know only of that one, my lord.”
She was lying, dammit. “Come with me,” Gabe said in his most alluring tone. “We’ll speak alone, you and I.”
A potent look flashed between Yasmin and Damson. As if he had some sinister hold on her, she drew her hands free and glided to his side.
“I demand that you arrest Kenyon at once,” Damson told Bickell. “He’s your villain. You saw him attack me. He entered my home under false pretenses.”
“I’ll show you a damned villain,” Gabe snarled.
He lunged at Damson, who scuttled backward, taking refuge behind a chair. Again, the Bow Street Runner nimbly blocked Gabe, putting up ham fists to hold him at bay. “Milord, you must hold your temper. Lest he press charges against you.”
“He can’t press charges if he’s dead.”
“There, you see? Kenyon’s threatening my life.” Damson’s show of outrage was somewhat spoiled by his gingerly dabbing at his nose. “Seize him, I say. He’s trespassing.”
“The goddess was here last night,” Gabe said, his voice tight. “That proves you killed Henry Talisford.”
“These allegations are ridiculous. As the local magistrate, I’m ordering you to depart this house or be arrested for thievery and assault.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to comply, milord,” Bickell said glumly. “I’ll continue searching, for the warrant allows me to remain here.”
Gabe grasped at the opportunity. “Then appoint me your assistant.”
Bickell rubbed his bristled jaw. “A highly irregular notion, milord. But not altogether impossible.”
‘This is an outrage,” Damson sputtered. “You do this, Bickell, and I’ll take it up with your superiors in London.”
“Go ahead,” Gabe taunted. “You’ll do so from Newgate Prison.”
“He belongs in prison.” Kate’s voice came from the doorway.
Gabe spun around to see her marching into the bedchamber with his grandmother. Anger and attraction fused in his chest. Kate looked composed and confident in a forest-green gown, her hair secured in a spinster’s knot. No one would guess she’d just had the night of her life. Or that he had, too.
The new-found tenderness inside him intensified his desperate need to protect her. Surging forward, he herded the two women back toward the door, his arms outstretched. “I told you both to stay out of here.”
“Don’t bluster,” Grandmama chided, sternness on her wrinkled features. “Clearly, the pretense is over. You’ve shed your disguise.”
Kate ducked under his arm. “I wish to know the fate of the goddess.”
Damson appeared beside her, the blood-spattered handkerchief clutched to his nose. “I suspected you were in on this plot,” he said, his ice-blue gaze pinning Kate. “Leave this house at once.”
She regarded him coolly. “Not until you pay for murdering my father.”
Shaken by the cruel vindictiveness on the baron’s face, Gabe stepped between them, shielding her. “She’s departing at once.”
Damson ignored him, staring at Kate. “I won’t forget this betrayal, my dear. You’ll pay for deceiving me.”
Late that afternoon, Kate perched in the window seat of the drawing room at Fairfield Park. It was the last day of April, and a pleasant breeze drifted through the open window along with the scent of newly scythed grass. The sunny afternoon seemed to mock the dark turmoil inside her.
From across the room came the murmuring of voices as Lady Stokeford and Uncle Nathaniel related to Lady Enid and Lady Faversham everything that had happened at Damson Castle. A much subdued Meg had pleaded a headache and trudged upstairs with Jabbar. More than an hour ago, Ashraf had brought them here in the Stokeford coach, and then returned to the castle to wait for Gabriel and Mr. Bickell.
Although she knew it was far too soon for the men to return, Kate kept her eyes trained on the front drive. If not for her restless anxiety, she would feel right at home here on Gabriel’s estate, with the bees buzzing in the rhododendrons beneath the windows and the great sweep of green lawn leading down to a thicket of elm trees at the base of the hill.
But she wouldn’t feel secure until Gabriel returned. Until he put his arms around her and held her tightly. As much as she craved revenge for her father’s death, she didn’t want it at the expense of Gabriel’s safety. The very thought of losing him filled her with a frantic dread.
Because she loved him.
Despite her misgivings, Kate could accept that now. Their lovemaking had satisfied her only temporarily; her desire for him was stronger than ever, enriched by their night together and the silken bonds of intimacy. A part of her yearned to accept his offer of marriage. If he left her someday, at least she would have many happy memories to sustain her. She would have his children, too, a family to love. She would survive as she’d always done.
Yet Kate was greedy enough to covet everything. She wanted from him what the marriage vows stated, in sickness and health, and forsaking all others...so long as ye both shall live.
A soul-deep longing ached in her heart. Could Gabriel keep such a promise to her? She could believe in his faithfulness in regard to other women. It was the alluring mistress
of adventure that she truly feared.
Uncle Nathaniel sat down beside her. “Don’t fret, my dear,” he said, patting her on the shoulder. “Your young man will return, safe and sound.”
“I should have stayed at the castle,” Kate said, focusing on her anger lest she burst into foolish tears. “I shouldn’t have let Gabriel send me away.”
A grim look intensified the lines on Uncle Nathaniel’s face. “You had no choice. None of us did. Damson ordered us all to leave.”
I won’t forget this betrayal, my dear. You’ll pay for deceiving me.
She fisted her fingers in her lap. “I wish I knew how he found out.”
“The man’s shrewd as a snake, that’s how. He seemed especially interested that you’d left the ball last night.” His face stern, her great-uncle studied her. “I must say, I was surprised that you never returned to the festivities.”
A flush warmed her cheeks. Shifting her gaze to the empty drive, she said, “I stayed in my bedchamber to make sure the beacon didn’t go out.”
“And where was Gabriel, hmm?” Uncle Nathaniel caught her chin and turned her face back toward him. His frown darkened, giving him the aspect of an irate father. “Don’t deny that he was with you, Kate. I recognize that soft look on a woman’s face.”
Unwilling to share her most cherished memory, she said, “He asked me to marry him.”
That glower eased into astonished approval. “Well, well. Lucy said he would. To think I didn’t believe her.”
“But I refused him,” Kate felt compelled to add.
“Refused him!” The glare returned in full force. “Damme, the man’s nobility. He’s rich enough to keep you in silks and diamonds.”
She glared back. “Do you really think that matters to me?”
He gave a sheepish shake of his head. “The fellow loves you. That should count for something.”
Did Gabriel love her? More than adventure? A soaring hope lifted her heart; then her practical nature grounded it.
Biting her lip, she glanced away. “I wish I could believe that. But even he admitted that he’s not the marrying kind. He’s a wanderer, and I can’t rely on him.”
Uncle Nathaniel sat silent for a moment. The conversation of the Rosebuds across the drawing room sounded rather like the cooing of doves outside the opened window. “Ah, well,” he said on a sigh. “I suppose I’m to blame, at least in part. Always footloose and fancy free. Didn’t set much of an example for you gels. But not all men are like me.”
Seeing his remorse, Kate reached out to touch his age-spotted hand. “It’s never too late to set a good example.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you could wed Lady Stokeford.”
He jumped as if she’d poked him with a pin. “See here now. I can manage my affairs without your interference.”
“An affair? Is that all you intend for her?”
Glancing across the drawing room at Lady Stokeford, Uncle Nathaniel shifted uncomfortably on the window seat. “Who says I intend anything at all?”
“I recognize that soft look on a man’s face,” she paraphrased.
To her amazement, he blushed. There could be no other explanation for the ruddy color that swept his weathered cheeks. Despite her tension, Kate fought against a smile. Never in her life had she seen her worldly great-uncle appear so flustered.
He sprang to his feet. “This is not a topic for your discussion, young lady.”
“What are you two quarreling about?” Lady Stokeford called out.
Uncle Nathaniel stood frozen, glancing at the door as if he’d like to escape. Taking pity on him, Kate rose and faced the Rosebuds, who sat in a circle of comfortable, stuffed chairs near the unlit hearth. “You misconstrue, my lady. We weren’t quarreling. My uncle is merely too modest to accept my compliments on how well he conducted himself ... in your mock betrothal.”
“Yes, he did play his role to the hilt,” the dowager said with a mysterious smile. She waved them onto a nearby chaise, then picked up the blue-and-white china teapot. “Come sit with us. I’ll pour you both a bracing cup of tea.”
Uncle Nathaniel’s feet dragged as if he were being led to the gallows. But he sat down beside Kate and accepted a cup, scowling down into its amber depths.
“Lucy was just telling us about the Lucifer League,” Enid said, her shudder causing the feathers on her yellow turban to sway. “Those wicked men. Holding pagan ceremonies, indeed.”
“I understand my grandson was at that party,” Lady Faversham said, austere in gray broadcloth, her claw-like fingers curled around the ivory top of her cane. “I’ve a good mind to go after the boy. Imagine, a Villiers associating with such riffraff.”
Kate would hardly call the lean, sinister Lord Faversham a boy. She accepted her teacup and distractedly stirred in a few crumbs of sugar. “If it comforts you, my lady, he did warn me to take Meg and depart the castle.”
“Did he?” Lady Stokeford asked, her dainty white brows arching. “When did he say that?”
“At the ball. There wasn’t an opportunity to tell you.” Because Kate had been lost in the heaven of Gabriel’s lovemaking.
“But what was Brandon warning you about?” Enid asked.
“That hellfire club, no doubt,” Lady Faversham said darkly. “At least he had the decency to alert you.”
Lady Stokeford’s eyes hardened with an unladylike savagery. “It only confirms Sir Charles did indeed have a heinous plan that involved Meg.”
Feeling a lurch of fear, Kate said, “There’s something else I haven’t yet told you. Sir Charles claims to be guardian to Meg and me. He has a document signed by Papa.”
A barrage of protests exploded from the Rosebuds. “That can’t be true,” Lady Enid gasped.
“Sir Charles is lying,” Lady Faversham declared.
“It must be a forgery,” Lady Stokeford said in a horrified tone.
“But I saw it myself, and it’s authentic,” Kate said with more than a little trepidation. “Or at least it appears to be.”
Gripping his teacup, Uncle Nathaniel snorted. “Henry wouldn’t give his daughters to the care of a stranger. He trusted Gabe to do the honors.”
In that, Kate trusted Gabriel, too. If only she dared to trust her heart. “If Gabriel doesn’t find the statue, there’ll be no evidence to convict Sir Charles of theft and murder. His way will be clear to assume guardianship.”
“Nathaniel will contest it,” Lady Stokeford stated. “You’ll take his claim to Chancery Court, won’t you, Nathaniel?”
“At once,” Uncle Nathaniel said, shaking his fist. “The blackguard won’t stand a chance. My rights—and Gabriel’s—will take precedence.”
The Rosebuds nodded, their voices rising in a clamor of support.
But Kate couldn’t share their certainty. They hadn’t inspected the deed that her father had unwittingly signed. Given Nathaniel Babcock’s reputation, the judge might rule in favor of Sir Charles. She feared not so much for herself, but for Meg. Sweet, naïve, susceptible Meg.
“Sir Charles can be very charming,” Lady Stokeford said in a crisp tone. “He enticed Meg away yesterday evening. Thank heaven Nathaniel and I found them in time.”
Although Kate had heard the story in the coach, a stranglehold of emotion gripped her anew. She felt an angry disbelief that her sister could behave so rashly. Horror at what might have happened. And guilt, for while Meg was being lured away by their father’s murderer, Kate had been in bed with Gabriel.
“Damson,” Uncle Nathaniel said, setting his teacup down with a clatter. “I should have finished off the wretch with my bare fists.”
“You’d have been charged with his murder,” Lady Stokeford countered.
“And the statue of the goddess would still be missing,” Lady Faversham said.
“Perhaps it’s down in the dungeon,” Lady Enid ventured.
Kate gave a start of surprise and nearly burned herself as hot tea sloshed in her cup. “The dungeon?�
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Uncle Nathaniel narrowed his eyes. “Didn’t we tell you that part? Damson wanted to take your sister down there last night. But Jabbar jumped out and she screamed, and that’s how we found her.”
“She was gazing at Sir Charles as if he were Zeus on a mountaintop,” Lady Stokeford said, shaking her head in disbelief. “The dear girl is too innocent to realize his depravity.”
Perched on the edge of the chaise, Uncle Nathaniel glowered. “Damson was looking at her as if she were made of strawberries and cream. I must say, we took her out of that castle in the nick of time.”
“She’ll come to her senses now that his influence is gone,” Lady Faversham said comfortingly. “We’ll all do our best to distract her.”
The Rosebuds murmured their agreement.
Yet Kate felt the niggling of disquiet. Something wasn’t quite right. If Sir Charles had intended to violate Meg, it made more sense that he would have coaxed her upstairs to his bedchamber. So why would he take her sister down to the dungeon, of all places?
Unless he had other plans for her. Plans that involved the Lucifer League.
Tasting bile at the back of her throat, Kate stood abruptly. “I believe I’ll sit with Meg for a while. To keep her company.”
“An excellent notion,” Lady Stokeford said, eyeing her keenly. “There’s nothing like family and good friends to bolster one’s spirits.”
The Rosebuds looked fondly at one another.
Kate hastened out of the drawing room, her thoughts surging along a troublesome path. Sir Charles had mentioned that a network of subterranean tunnels and caves honeycombed the cliff beneath the castle. They were accessed through the dungeon. She also remembered the tale told by Mr. Bickell of the tavern girl, who had been ill-used by a throng of black-robed men wearing devil’s horns.
Men who had made their way down to the rocky beach by way of those tunnels.
I won’t forget this betrayal, my dear. You’ll pay for deceiving me.
Kate hurried upstairs, her slippers tapping on the wooden risers. The mahogany balustrade slid smooth and cool beneath her fingers. Medieval tapestries graced the old paneled walls, and the air held the pleasant aroma of beeswax polish.