Paulette hurried to sit. She pulled the knife from her boot and sawed at the knot.
Her cousin’s eyes lit. “Excelente. But do you know how to use it?”
“I will use it on you if you try to hurt me.”
The woman stepped one foot out of her bonds. “I shall sit right here while you search for a piece of wire—”
A door below crashed open and men’s voices echoed.
“Shhh.” Filomena slipped the bonds around her feet and her hands. Paulette did the same, concealing her gripped knife behind her back under a rucked up fold of her skirts. When she looked up, her cousin’s head had fallen in a fake swoon.
She swallowed. She must look weak. She would draw him closer. She closed her eyes and tried to conjure Jock’s lessons. Stab up with the knife, watch for the ribs. Or go in the back, for the kidneys. Or, dear God, the eye.
The door opened and her heart stopped. Agruen’s knife pressed into Bink’s neck.
Bink quirked a lip and gave a shake of his head, sending her his strength. His strength—would she ever feel the power of those strong arms again? Real tears pricked her eyes.
She nodded and bit her lip. “What are you doing, Gibson?” she asked. “You were supposed to turn over the letter, not bring it.”
Her cousin’s head did not move. A sterling performance, that.
“Did you not want him to come, Paulette?”
“I don’t wish you to take my finger. But now that he’s here, and you have that useless letter, let us all go. I’ll even let you keep my mother’s useless ring.”
“Ah, but it’s not useless.” He jerked his head and his minion came and took over guarding Bink.
His hands were pulled tight behind him as if he were already bound.
Agruen yanked a blood-stained letter out of his pocket and two rings. “If this is even the letter. So much fresh blood, by-blow. I hope it is yours.”
Her pulse quickened. Bink’s coat showed a rip and dark splotches. He had been wounded.
Bink laughed. “Else you wouldn’t have taken my wife, Dickson.”
The sharp crack of the minion’s fist on his jaw made Paulette jump. Her skirt slipped just as Agruen came up behind her.
Her pulse pounded in her ears like a troop of men climbing a flight of wooden stairs. The narrow slats of the chair wouldn’t hide the knife. She must strike now. Stab up…the kidneys—
“You are a traitor, Agruen.” Filomena had lifted her head a fraction, and her words came out dark, echoing with pain, and drawing the villain’s full attention. He moved closer, his back to Paulette.
“Perhaps we’re done with you now, Fil.”
Paulette eased in a breath, and tried to measure a target under his layers of coats.
“No. If you want to decipher that code, you need me. Paul would have put it in Spanish or Portuguese, and, as I remind myself, you do not speak either language so well. Or at all.”
He looked at the letter. “As long as you don’t mind dying thereafter.”
His gaze swept the room and he laughed. “All of you.”
His helper cleared his throat.
“Not you, you fool.” Agruen pulled out a chair near Fil and perused the letter. “Ah, the blood hasn’t touched the writing. How poignant.” He took the rings, matched them together and studied the markings formed on the inner band. “Paper,” he shouted.
His assistant shoved Bink into one of the dirty brown armchairs and went into the adjoining room. It truly was just the two men against their three. Bink’s feet were not yet bound. They could overcome them. They must.
“What’s it say?” Bink asked.
Agruen frowned. “Shut up.”
Bink got up from his seat. The minion, drawn to the drama at the table, didn’t notice. “It says nothing, I’ll warrant. Nothing more than ‘Dear wife, how fares you, and how is my Paulette’. No secret location of Fouché’s letter to you that Filomena here lifted. Nor the name on the bank account where your French gold is hidden.”
A bloody corner of Filomena’s mouth quirked. Was Bink bluffing, and did Fil know it? Or did she really have a letter from a Frenchman?
Paulette’s grip tightened around the knife. “It’s true then. You worked for the French. It’s why you tried to kill my cousin. It’s why you had my father killed. He found out the truth.”
His pencil moved busily, but she could see the white of his knuckles. He paused to frown over the inner markings of the rings.
He looked puzzled and displeased.
But of course. There would be another ring. Bink had said there sometimes was a heart. The heart was missing, and so the code would not work.
Bink sent her another tiny shake of the head and took up her thread. “But your blood money went missing.”
Paulette nodded to him and Fil. “And you inherited an estate that was broke or… You killed your uncle and your cousin. And that wasn’t enough, so you married that pitiful rich widow, and that wasn’t enough, either. Did you kill her also?”
The blackguard smiled. “What if I did?”
Monster. Taking this man’s life would serve mankind.
“How? How did you do it?” Bink asked.
“It’s easily done,” Fil said. “A cut in the team’s rigging, a poor load on the hunting gun. A bit each day of poison in her ladyship’s tea.”
Agruen laughed.
“Did you?” Bink asked. “If we are all to die anyway, there’s no harm in telling us. And your boy here is a criminal just like you.” The look he sent the man said he was expendable also, but Agruen was too focused on the cipher to notice.
“A criminal?” Agruen laughed. “I’m a peer of the realm.”
“Traitor, rapist, murderer.” Bink spit the words out, and this time Agruen looked. “Soldiers died because of you. Farm men, flash house boys, East Enders like him.” He nodded toward the minion. “Wellington’s valiant scum. Men who for once in their lives had a right to a fair fight.”
“What if they did? What if I am? What did King George do for any of you, you fool. When I find that blackmailer, and that money, I’ll go on about my business, sitting in Parliament with the rest of my brethren. And pah, I intend to enjoy a dalliance with the fair Paulette. Though I would have preferred her unspoiled by a rutting beast like you.”
“You pig,” Paulette said. “You vile, greedy, bottom-sucking arse of a pig. You will never touch me. You will never lay a hand on me.”
Filomena smiled. “That’s my girl,” she said softly.
Agruen’s mouth contorted. He dropped the pencil. “This is a pretty letter, but it’s not the right one. You’ve not brought me the right one.” He jerked his head at his man. “Kill him.”
“Wait,” Paulette shouted, even as she saw Bink whisper to the man, who scratched at his jaw and stared at his master.
“Kill him,” Agruen growled.
“M’brother died in that war. In Spain it was.”
“That’s where he cheated men like us,” Bink said. “Bastards and lords alike. Moore and his men, driven into the sea.”
“You fool.” Agruen pushed from the table and flew at Bink.
Bink’s foot swung out, kicking the big chair at Agruen, catching the villain’s blade.
Paulette threw off her bonds and Agruen’s man looked at her, startled.
“Get out,” Fil shouted.
The man backed toward the door.
“Get him,” Agruen yelled at his man.
Bink’s foot swung again and Agruen’s knife clattered to the floor. He lunged for Bink, his coat flapping up.
Stab quick. Stab up.
Paulette swung and missed.
Agruen turned a shocked look on her and bellowed, charging. She swung again, even as her feet carried her back, and Agruen hit the floor, face-down, with Bink’s bulk landing atop him.
The man twisted and pounded, and Filomena was there, her boot jabbing again and again at Agruen’s face.
“Enough,” a voice boomed.
Paulette’s hands froze around the knife and hope rose in her.
Men swarmed the room, men who were on their side.
Chapter 26
She looked at the knife she still gripped. Blood dripped down the cross of the dagger and on to her bloody hand and the room dimmed, her vision narrowing to just that bit of wet blade. Her breath…wouldn’t come. Wouldn’t come. The dagger slipped from her hands.
“Paulette, love.” Bink was on his knees before her, arms tight behind him, a man’s head bent over him, jerking at his arms.
“Hold still,” the man said.
“Paulette, love,” Bink said again, the sound coming from far away. “Look at me. Deep breaths. Take deep breaths.”
Even swollen and shadowed, his eyes glowed golden. The pain there resonated with each beat of her own heart.
“I’ve killed him.” It took all of her willpower to draw in her breaths. “I’m a killer.”
“Paulette.”
Her knees wobbled. His voice slipped further away.
“Corazón,” the woman said.
“Gibson.” That was someone else in this fog.
“Is she all right?” Hands gripped her waist. Someone lifted her.
Bink reached for her. He needed her. He needed to touch her, to talk to her.
Bakeley pushed at him. “You’re bleeding again, brother.”
His neck cloth was splattered red. “It’s Agruen’s blood. Give her to me.”
“Sit down in that filthy chair, Edward.” The crackly voice made his hair stand and he turned to look.
Shaldon, the old lord, his father, risen from the dead, held the center of the room against all attackers.
He should have known. He should have known.
He’d been maneuvered. Tricked. Leg-shackled to the bride selected by Shaldon. And Paulette, his lovely Paulette, had been used as bait to catch a traitor.
“What the hell have you done?” Bink shouted.
“Sit, Edward, and Bakeley will give you your wife back.”
The urge to smash the older man’s face was overwhelming, until he glanced at Paulette. He sat and let Bakeley settle her in his lap.
“I am not a sack of corn.” Her voice strained like the fresh stitches in his side, causing him as much pain.
Still, she could speak, and wasn’t protesting his hold on her.
He smoothed her hair back and examined her injuries, bruises and small scratches only, it seemed, and the remnants of the terrible fear of facing Agruen’s torture.
Anger, that fierce rage, swelled in him again. If she wasn’t here, on his lap, he’d kill the man with his bare hands.
And be what? The killer she knew him to be.
Despair hit again. Her letter had given him hope, hope that she wasn’t ready to forsake him after all she’d learned, all they’d both learned. Agruen—Josiah Dickson—had, all those years ago, played on Bink’s quick temper, his great bulk, and his urge to think first with his fists.
Paulette blinked, frowned and turned toward the sound of Shaldon’s voice, issuing orders.
She sat up. “You.” She stretched a finger and pointed at the living, breathing man who was his father.
“Hello, Paulette.”
“You are a scoundrel. You sold my home. Sold it. To Cummings, and you…you…let him take it, and you weren’t even truly dead. And you tricked me into marriage.”
Bink’s heart fell. He was the husband she’d been tricked into marrying. His wound ached, but the sharp pain in his heart was far worse.
He’d risked it all, had it all, lost it all.
“And you, Bakeley.” She was in a right temper, her skin pinching pink, her hair dangling at her shoulders. He wanted to kiss the anger out of her, to draw some of that spirit into himself. “You knew. You knew, and you lied, to me, and to…”
She stiffened and glared at him.
“And to me also. I did not know. And about marrying you, I’m not a bit sorry,” he said in a gruff whisper. “I love you.”
She went pinker still and her gaze darted away.
“I’m a useless lump, but it was not right, Father, Brother, to use Paulette as bait.”
Bakeley jumped in. “This shouldn’t have gone this way. If you had but trusted me—”
“Trusted you?” Bink swore a colorful oath.
“I’m your brother.”
“And he’s our father. And he’s deceived us.”
Agruen had been shackled and helped to his feet. He wasn’t dead after all.
The room filled with men, operatives of Shaldon’s. Agruen’s henchman was being led away, and Filomena’s wounds were being tended.
“Who is she, truly?” he asked.
“A whore,” Agruen said.
“There now,” Shaldon said. “Fil’s not a whore. She’s a patriot, though not of England. Never mind, she’s helped with our strategies, unwittingly I’m afraid. Dear girl, it’s always a pleasure to work with you. We shall talk. Agruen, your days of running free across England are over. How your story ends will depend on how much you wish to share with us.” Shaldon tilted his head and three men hauled Agruen toward the door. “Not you, Kincaid.”
He hadn’t noticed Kincaid. The Scotsmen too were here, as well as Tellingford and the clerks. The solicitor’s office might be real, but it was also well-connected with Shaldon’s operation.
Paulette could be a statue perched on his lap, she was that stiff. She would be up and away in moments, and he must let her go.
“Paulette,” Shaldon said gently, “Filomena De Silva is not truly your cousin.”
“No? She bears my mother’s maiden name.”
“That is true. But it was the woman who raised you who was your cousin. Filomena is your mother.”
“Bloody hell,” Bink breathed.
Paulette heard the curse explode from him and she wobbled. “How?”
Fil frowned. “Must we have an audience?”
With one nod, the room cleared, except for Kincaid, Bakeley, Shaldon and the three bloodied victims of Agruen’s violence.
Fil wheezed. “Must we do this in this filthy lair?”
“Get on with it,” Bink said.
Still speaking for Paulette, when she could speak for herself. Strange, but it didn’t bother her.
“Paul and I met in Italy. We were lovers. Then he went off to France. I had you. I left you with friends while I worked. When he found out, he confronted me. I could not care for you and work also, and it was a precarious time everywhere. I had an uncle in Cornwall, and Paul took you to him. I did not know that his daughter, my cousin, would steal my lover, but that is what happened. Paul met Sela and,” she waved a dismissive hand “married her, and with Shaldon’s help, set her up in that cottage.”
Had it been another one of Shaldon’s arranged marriages, with her as a pawn?
“You and he just gave me away?”
Fil shrugged. “It was war. You did not go hungry. No French pigs came to your door to rape you. Your house was not blown up by cannons. Did she…did she not care for you?”
Had she?
Her mother had been a gentle woman, not given to violent tempers, but so inwardly drawn it had been hard for Paulette to really know her. Had she accepted her lot—an absent husband and a child who was not her own?
She studied the face of the woman claiming to be her mother and wondered what answer would hurt her the most.
No. Hurting her was not the answer. There’d been enough lies all around. “She kept me safe. She showed me love. Her lies were ones of omission.”
Filomena grimaced. “There are always lies. Are there not, Kincaid? Behold, Paulette, your father’s half-brother.”
Kincaid cast the woman a baleful look.
“Why am I not surprised?” She looked from face to face. “Tell me. What is it truly I’m supposed to have? What is this letter from my father?”
Filomena chuckled, and Kincaid glared at her again.
“There was no letter from the Fr
ench,” Fil said. “Only a clever counterfeit that allowed me to bleed the man for a bit. You knew that, did you not, Lord of Spies? But as for what your father sent to you, Paulette? Why, money of course. A ransom to the French. Agruen stole it from the French, Paul stole it back again, brought it to England, and decided to keep it. Is that not true, your Lordship?”
Shaldon seated himself on a wooden chair. “Agruen thought it was true, but we don’t know. It could as well be that the money is scattered across Spain. It was, as Fil says, a ransom for one of our people. When it went missing, when Agruen stole it, the French wanted it replaced. If Heardwyn took it, it was because he knew a replacement had been arranged.” He shrugged. “Like all spies, your father could be enterprising at times.”
In other words, her father could lie and steal. “And so you, Mother, and you, Uncle, let me be the lure for a villain chasing money you don’t even know exists.”
“We were not working together,” Fil said. “I am not without hope that the money exists. The cause of restoring the constitution of Spain can use that money.”
“Aye, the crown would like the money also, but it was never about money for me,” Kincaid said. “It was about stopping a traitor and uncovering his web. And I would never let you be hurt, lass.”
“But she was hurt,” Bink growled. “You couldn’t just scoop Agruen up and torture him?”
“This is England,” Shaldon said. “Not France. Paulette, Agruen’s pursuit of you was inevitable. He was getting desperate, and we knew he’d go after you long before your trust was dissolved on your twenty-fifth birthday. We feared he might even appear at your cottage and try to force you to marry him.”
Her breath caught. “He admitted he killed his wife.”
Shaldon grimaced. “With or without our involvement, Agruen was drawn to you. So we came up with a plan. Your uncle insisted you not be unprotected. The matchmaking scheme was his, and a brilliant match it is.”
Bink stiffened and her heart lifted. He hadn’t been part of this plotting. He’d been as much a victim as she was. Except…
“You matched me with the man who killed my father?”
Kincaid cleared his throat. “We matched you with a man of courage and heart and loyalty, a man who would defend the defenseless, protect women and children, and put his life on the line for his fellows. And yes, we knew he had beaten Paul, but it wasn’t him who killed him. That was Agruen, finishing the job a few days later.”
The Bastard's Iberian Bride (Sons of the Spy Lord Book 1) Page 26