by Gaelen Foley
At every turn throughout the Order’s carefully planned program, the idea was to turn an ordinary boy into as perfect a warrior as he could become by the time he reached manhood, and the main lesson, always, was about surmounting fear.
Beau certainly drew on that training now. With Virgil dead, his own team missing, and Rotherstone’s more experienced agents away on the quest to deal first with Niall, then with Drake, he was feeling quite alone in the task ahead. How the hell am I supposed to fill Virgil’s shoes until the Elders choose a replacement to run the London operations?
He had a feeling they were going to choose one of the men from Rotherstone’s team, probably the Duke of Warrington, given his reputation. But at that moment, Rotherstone and company should be somewhere in the Alps.
Until they got back, he was on his own.
Turning away from Virgil’s grave and heading back toward the compound and his horse, he made a mental note to check on his brother agents’ wives, make sure everything was all right and that they had all they needed at the luxurious country estate, an Order safe house, where they had been secluded under the watchful eyes of the trusty Sergeant Parker and his men.
After being spirited off there with barely a moment’s notice, the three fashionable ladies were probably rather annoyed to be missing out on the start of the Season.
But until the threat was cleared, they would have to remain there for their own protection, incommunicado with the outside world.
Meanwhile, back in London, this had posed a certain problem for Beau.
A problem called Miss Carissa Portland.
In leaving Town so quickly, Max’s wife, Daphne, had not had time to explain to her adorable but feisty best friend where she was going.
Unfortunately for Beau, Miss Portland was one of that peculiar breed of female who needed to know everything. About everyone.
But you’d better not call her a gossip, he thought with a wry smile. She refused that title vehemently, because, she claimed, what she knew, she rarely told, except to her closest friends. She preferred to be called a lady of information.
Whatever she was, she amused the hell out of him.
For her part, Miss Portland never failed to greet Beau with a dubious lift of an eyebrow; he supposed her cynicism about him was wise, however, given his penchant for seduction. Perhaps she’d heard some gossip about one or more of his many dalliances.
All Beau knew was that, for him, a spy charged with keeping secrets, his attraction to the nosy little redhead was damned inconvenient.
He told himself a hundred times that she was not his type. Much too clever for a female.
Incurious women were so much easier to manage.
Carissa Portland, on the other hand, was sure to start asking questions soon. Questions Beau was not at liberty to answer. Like where the deuce her best friend had gone and why, and when she’d be coming back and why Daphne hadn’t told her, herself. The mere thought of it gave him a headache. Alas, as charming as he found Carissa, Beau could not divulge the wives’ location nor the reason for their sudden disappearance. She wasn’t going to like it, but it wasn’t his fault all her friends had married spies.
As an outsider, Carissa was not allowed to know the true nature of the Inferno Club, and as a lady of information, doubly so. It was not that they didn’t trust her. They didn’t trust anyone.
His one advantage was that the baffling chit seemed to have become allergic to him. Ever since that one enchanting waltz they had shared at a ball some weeks ago, she rushed off in the opposite direction whenever she saw him coming. He barely knew what to make of it. He was an excellent dancer and quite sure he hadn’t stepped on her toes. Needless to say, it was not the reaction he normally got from the fair sex.
Given her tendency to flee him, he doubted she’d work up the nerve to confront him with her questions, but if she did, he intended to plead ignorance. Why should he know where Rotherstone’s wife was, after all, or the other ladies in their set?
Of course, until everyone else in their circle of friends returned, that left only him and Carissa in London to make do with each other. It was a perfect chance to get to know her better . . . except that Max had already warned him of the fate he’d suffer if he fooled with Daphne’s innocent companion.
Just then, Beau spotted someone coming across the green turf toward him—the tall, bony figure of an aged warrior with white hair and a long white beard.
He bowed in deep respect to the Grand Master of the Order as the venerable old relic approached. “Sir.”
“I have news for you, Lord Beauchamp,” the ancient knight rasped. “But I am afraid you’re not going to like it.”
“Sir?”
“Virgil’s death has drawn the attention of the Home Office. I’ve been informed they wish to conduct their own formal inquiry into the matter.”
Beau’s eyes widened.
“As the most senior agent left in our London headquarters at the moment, you will meet the panel and sit for their interrogations when you return to Town. It is important,” he added, “that they see you as cooperating.”
He quickly masked his shock, nodding. “I understand, sir.”
“Good. The sooner you answer their questions and let them have a look round and let them satisfy their curiosity within reason, the sooner it should be over. Then we can get on with our business.”
Beau shook his head, mystified. “Pardon, sir, but the Home Office has never pried into our affairs before.”
The Grand Master sighed. “Times are changing, Sebastian. Our ancient notions of chivalry seem quaint to these modern men of progress, and they are jealous of our power.”
He nodded with reluctance though this assignment sounded rather like hell on earth. Playing nursemaid to government bureaucrats? “Very well, sir,” he said grimly. “If they wish to come into Dante House to look over our shoulders, I shall be an accommodating host. Are they to be given access to the Pit?”
“You may allow one or two of their investigators in for a visit, but bring them in by the river gate to preserve the secrecy of the labyrinth.”
“May I ask if there’s been any specific complaint against the Order that brought this on? Anything I should know about?”
“Nothing specific, merely a general mistrust—to the best of my knowledge. If you hear otherwise, do let me know. Just be obliging and don’t get the rest of us hanged,” he drawled.
“Hanged, sir? We’ve done nothing to deserve the noose, I’m sure,” Beau said with a smile.
“Do you think that matters to the politicians?” he countered wanly.
The shrewd warning in the old man’s eyes sent a chill down Beau’s spine.
“I reckon not,” he conceded.
“Few words as possible, my boy. What is it?” he asked, noting Beau’s frown.
“It’s too bad Falconridge isn’t here instead of somewhere in the Alps. He’s got more tact and patience for this sort of bother than the rest of us put together.”
“Don’t worry, I have full confidence in your ability to see the matter through, Sebastian, and if Virgil were here right now, I’m sure he’d feel the same. Do what you do best,” he added with a hint of roguery. “Charm ’em.”
Beau flashed a rueful smile in answer. “Well, if you put it that way.”
When the old man nodded his dismissal, Beau came to attention and gave him a salute.
A short while later, he rode off on his horse, leaving the Abbey to begin the long journey back to London. Nearly a week on the road would at least give him time to prepare himself for the ominous prospect that awaited him in London.
A Home Office probe? He shook his head to himself. It did not bode well.
Chapter 13
Bavaria
That night, Emily stood silently beside her chamber door as she listened for the changing of the guard.
In the moonlit room behind her, the lush bouquet of flowers she had picked that afternoon graced the table. Meanwhile, hidden awa
y beneath the luxurious canopy bed, the blue-blossomed stalks of monkshood were drying. At the moment, however, her poisoning plot against Falkirk and his followers was the furthest thing from her mind.
All that mattered tonight was being with Drake. She was not prepared to take the chance of leaving this life without having poured out the fullness of her love upon him.
After she had given herself completely to him, then, if their quest failed, at least she could die fulfilled, knowing she was one of the lucky few in life who had tasted the sweetness of her heart’s desire.
Her body already ached for him. The anguish of missing him was too sharp to endure. She wanted to be at one with him, defying all those who would seek to keep them apart.
It shouldn’t be long.
The men outside her door exchanged a few low-toned words in German. She could not understand their words, but the annoyed impatience in their tone was unmistakable: The Spaniards due to relieve them at their post were late again.
Ever since Drake had told her to charm her guards a bit, she had taken note of their usual practices and had also noted the regional rivalries and prejudices they had about each other. The Germans liked the Austrians well enough but disapproved of the Spanish; they were all rather afraid of the towering blond Russians, but most despised the Italians for their cheerful air of assumed superiority. Meanwhile, the French merely rolled their eyes at the lot of them.
Emily glanced toward the mantel clock, squinting in the darkness to check the time. She could just make out the brass hands pointing to eleven o’clock on the nose.
Believing their charge—the helpless damsel—to be asleep, the German soldiers got disgusted with waiting for their more casual colleagues from the south and walked away, presumably to go and find them. Listening intently, Emily heard their footsteps begin moving away from her door. Right on schedule, their paces echoed slightly down the corridor.
Now!
Her pulse hammered in her ears, but her movements were silent as she opened her chamber door a crack.
A glance confirmed it: The way was clear.
The German guards turned the corner at the end of the hallway, where a tall pendulum clock began to strike the hour.
She slipped out without a sound and closed the door behind her. The Spaniards would be there in a heartbeat to start the third watch, which would last until dawn.
Immediately, she fled down the corridor in the opposite direction from which the men had gone. Gliding along the wall with practiced stealth, she was glad she had dressed in her forest clothes, for it was easier to move quickly in them than in some frilly gown.
Her heart pounded as she made her way through the deserted halls of the castle, keeping a leery eye out for any Prometheans or even the servants, who could not necessarily be trusted, either.
She reached a lonely corner stairwell, descending the stone-carved steps with speedy, silent footfalls, her brown cape flowing out behind her. At the bottom of the stairs, it was only a short dash down another corridor to the place where, days ago, she had found the entrance to the dungeon.
Pausing with her back to the wall until she had made sure no one was coming, she ran to the lower stairwell, whisking lightly down the other set of steps with her heart thumping.
When she reached the octagonal lower chamber, where the heavy door to the dungeon waited, she reached into her pocket and took out a candle stub that she had brought. With trembling hands, she lit it off the torch, then she carried it over to that formidable wooden door reinforced with iron. Summoning up her courage, she grasped the handle and hauled it open.
She stepped into the pitch-black darkness beyond, held up her candle with a nervous gulp, then quickly pulled the door shut behind her. There. At least she had managed to make it that far without getting caught. She assured herself she would be in Drake’s arms before she knew it.
Then she ventured carefully down the same dark stairs where, more than a week ago, she had followed the tabby cat. Back then, she had noticed the daylight permeating small chinks in the rock, but now the blackness of that subterranean prison engulfed her, weighing on her chest and making her feel almost as if she couldn’t breathe.
The horrible place with all its eerie echoes of endless suffering reminded her afresh of all that Drake had been through; it steeled her resolve to fight this with him and for him, by any means necessary.
With that, she walked up to the break in the wall where the cat had slipped out. She lifted her candle and assessed the climb, all the while warding off the cold, instinctual terror that the hideous place inspired.
Needing both hands free, she set her candle aside, knowing she’d be unable to hold it and climb at the same time. Somewhere out there, Drake needed her, was counting on her. Her heart and body ached for him; nothing could stop her from going to him.
She grasped the cold, broken rocks in the castle’s foundation, determined to get out, though it would call on all her forest-honed agility. The ultimate prize awaited out there in the woods.
Of course, just then, Drake was probably still extricating himself from his duties, giving his report to the captain of the third watch on any news from the night’s patrols around the castle.
Emily took a few running steps, then vaulted up the side of the dirty dungeon wall, clamping her hands onto the break in the great foundation stones. Hanging there for a second to steady herself, she put out another heave of effort, launching herself up into the horizontal opening.
She lay there briefly, catching her breath; she was almost out. Sliding herself on her back, sideways, under the crushing menace of the stone that hung above her, she reached the exterior edge of the castle wall. Peering out, she saw it was a drop of some ten feet to the ground.
More importantly, a scan of the surroundings revealed no one nearby. It was possible there were guards posted on the wall far above her, but that was why the timing of this rendezvous was perfect. They had timed it to fall between the changing of the guards.
Without a minute to waste, she rolled her body to the edge of the great foundation stone that faced the outdoors. She lowered her body to hang by her hands, decreasing the distance for her drop.
She let go, falling to earth, and landing deftly, without so much as a stumble. Her pulse pounding, she turned around and oriented herself; as soon as she got her bearings, she began sprinting toward the woods.
This night had been so long in coming. She could barely wait to feel Drake in her arms. She could not wait to kiss him. They had both been good about their desire for each other for so long, resisting temptation since they had first become aware of each other as members of the opposite sex. They had obeyed their parents and kept their hands to themselves, no matter how badly both of them might have wanted to explore each other’s bodies. But that night, there was nothing to hold them back.
As she fled across the meadow where they had met earlier under the watchful eyes of her guards, she was glad, in hindsight, that she had suppressed her attraction to him through all the years when he had been a young rakehell sowing his wild oats in London, earning his wicked reputation.
She had watched him, or rather, heard about how he was always discarding the women whose favors he had enjoyed too easily. One after another, he left them in the dust. But she had been too shrewd ever to let herself become one of them. And so she had remained in his life. In his confidence. She had maintained his respect and her own by resisting that unbearable temptation—at least, until they had been forced to share his room here at Waldfort Castle.
Then the truth had become too hard to hide, and Drake too hard to resist. That night on the balcony, the pleasures they had tasted had awakened needs in her she never knew existed. As she dashed toward the woods, her knees felt weak and shaky. A quiver of want fluttered low in her belly at the prospect of how it would be. Then she gained the cover of the woods, full of whispering, windy motion, but serene, a place of enchantment, all the branches silvered by moonlight.
Her che
st heaving from her sprint to freedom and from a burgeoning sense of aliveness, she turned back and scanned the landscape to see if he was coming yet.
All the while, the pure joy of knowing he cared for her, too, sang in her heart; her very blood burned with her need for the man she had loved all her life.
That night, she would give herself to him completely.
They had waited long enough.
Though he could barely concentrate with his mind all caught up in Emily, Drake somehow finished giving his instructions to the French mercenary in charge of the third watch.
Then he nodded, taking leave of the men, but still he permitted no reaction to register on his face. His expression remained as cold and stern as ever.
His thoughts were anything but.
What they’d planned was madness under the circumstances, but her offer had been beyond his power to refuse. Deep down, he supposed he had always known he was hers for the taking. Perhaps she had finally figured that out herself.
Marching back into the castle, he crossed the Hall of Arms by his usual route, as though heading up to his room. But once he was out of sight of the other guards, he departed from his customary course, slipping down a small, dark corridor to the right and leaving the building again by a service door.
He stole out into the night, moving covertly through the castle grounds toward the woods beyond the meadow that she had indicated earlier. Glancing this way and that, he kept a watchful eye out for his fellow guards, ducking out of view when a pair of them sauntered by, high up on the narrow stone balcony that girded the nearest tower.
The pair stopped to scan the moonlit landscape from their high perch before moving on. Drake waited until they were gone, then he pressed on. Slipping silently out of an iron gate, he kept to the shadows until he reached the perimeter of the meadow where he had visited Emily earlier and found her gathering monkshood.
He was still astonished by her stroke of genius, coming up with that frankly sinister plan, but why was he surprised? Lately, he’d had no success at all predicting what she might do next. There were depths and layers to the grown-up Emily that he never could have guessed when she had been his childhood playmate.