by Robyn DeHart
Of course, he couldn’t say that to Somersby. None of those men knew his secret and, since being a member of the Brotherhood was the only true way he could make his life matter, he wasn’t about to do something that jeopardized his membership. Ensuring Isabel’s safety had become high on his list of things to accomplish.
“I definitely think Potterfield might benefit from knowing about Isabel,” Jason said. “The man knows things that most of us do not. He seems to have contacts as far-reaching as South America.”
“Whatever you need from me, you know you need only ask,” Somersby said.
“Make an honest woman out of Evie. Or else I’ll be forced to kill you,” Jason said.
“I’d have already eloped with her if her mother would allow it.”
“Ah yes, well, Aunt Marrington has always had enough personality for at least three other women. She’ll most assuredly want a big to-do. Having her daughter marry someone as impressive as the Earl of Somersby.” Jason released a low whistle.
“I do love her. In case you hadn’t guessed.”
“My aunt? Or Evie?”
Somersby chuckled. “Evie.”
“I know. I’m glad you finally found the one woman to rein you in.” He came to his feet. “I suppose I should go and make certain Isabel doesn’t need anything.” He made a move to leave the room, then paused. “Thank you.”
“It is nothing you would not have also done for me.”
At least Jason knew that much was true.
…
Isabel tried to think of something to say, anything that would make her not look so weak and foolish, but nothing came to mind. So she simply allowed Miss Marrington to take her up the stairs and down the corridor to a bedchamber. She didn’t even know why it mattered to her how Miss Marrington perceived her, but, for whatever reason, she didn’t want Jason’s friends to believe her a complete ninny.
Once they had entered the bedchamber, the pretty redhead rang for a maid and requested a bath be prepared. She then retrieved a dressing gown and other clothing items from the armoire and placed them on the bed.
“We’re about the same height, though, I’m a bit rounder than you,” she said with a wink. “This likely won’t fit perfectly, but it should be workable for the time being.”
“Thank you, Miss Marrington.” Was this how all people were in London? You simply arrived at someone’s house, regardless of the time of day or night, and they gave you a room and clothing and whatever else you needed? That had not been her perception of things based on her uncle.
“Please, call me Evelyn. Or Evie.” They sat in the small sitting area near the windows as the maids busied themselves bringing in buckets of steaming water. “Would you care to talk about what has happened? I noticed Jason’s head injury.” Evie winked. “Did you do that?”
“Heavens no. It is rather a long story, or at least it seems that it should be. Suffice it to say, my aunt removed me from my school and brought me to Jason for protection, and then some great oaf kidnapped me after striking Jason on the head. But somehow he found me, and that is how we ended up here.” Isabel shrugged and offered Evie the best grin she could manage.
“Goodness. You have had quite the ordeal. I know you must be exhausted and frightened.” Evie met her gaze with sympathetic eyes. “Not too long ago, I was put in danger. Attacked, injured, and to be honest, utterly terrified.”
Isabel wondered at the odd turn of the conversation, then she realized that Evelyn was trying to make her feel at ease.
“I’m not certain to what extent you’re involved in any of this, but I want you to know that those men downstairs will do whatever it takes to ensure your safety,” Evie said.
“Viscount Ellis, he is your cousin?” Isabel asked.
Evie smiled warmly. “He is. One I am rather fond of, too. He’s a very good man.” Evie squeezed Isabel’s hand. “Just know this,” she said. “Your life might be in an upheaval right now, but it won’t always be this way. Ellis will protect you.”
That was the second time she’d been assured of that, and she’d already been kidnapped once in between. Isabel eyed the woman before her with her fiery hair and fair complexion. “How can you be so certain?”
“Lord Somersby and I are to be married soon. He kept me safe amid extreme danger.” She smiled warmly. “And that was before we fell in love.”
Isabel nodded. She certainly didn’t know this woman, but something about Evelyn Marrington spoke deeply about sincerity and truth. Isabel felt certain she could be trusted.
“Before you know it, all of this will be over and you can return to your regular life,” Evie said.
But Isabel’s regular life was gone. She couldn’t very well return to St. Bart’s. As it was, she’d stayed far longer than most students did. So where would that leave her? It was selfish to expect Lilith to care for her. Lilith herself was young and beautiful and had just spent several years trapped in a marriage to a wretched man. The woman deserved some freedom.
There was a general perception about the students who lived at St. Bart’s and the adjacent boy’s school, St. Basil’s, that the children were all born outside the laws of marriage. It wasn’t true, at least not completely, but that was the reputation the schools had. Because of this, Isabel had always assumed that there were rumors surrounding her birth, and therefore that she would not be fit or accepted into proper Society. She was too much of a lady to be accepted in the lower class, yet not enough of a lady to marry into high Society, especially with no fortune to her name. From an early age, she’d settled on the hopes of being hired as a governess to a good family.
The maids finished setting up the bath, and Evie stood to leave. She motioned for one of the maids to come forward. “This is Beatrice, and she will assist you.”
“I can bathe myself,” Isabel said.
“Of course, dear, whatever you’re most comfortable with. But she can assist you, should you require it,” Evelyn said. “Feel free to send for me if you need anything else.”
“Thank you for being so kind.”
Evie looked at her strangely as if the notion were entirely foreign. “Of course.”
Beatrice remained as the other women filed out of the room.
Isabel turned her back to the maid to give her access to the buttons on her dress. She’d, of course, had use of a maid on a few occasions, but none too recently. Lord Thornton had never invited her to his estates or townhome.
She sank into the warm bath water and sighed. It had been ages since she’d had the luxury of a bath. On occasion at school, usually during holidays when mostly everyone had left, she would sneak into the wash quarters and make one for herself. Those tubs, however, had not been intended for bathing, and she’d never been able to stretch out as she did now. This was heavenly.
They had infused the water with some sort of flower oil, and the water lapped at her skin, making her feel clean for the first time in days.
“Shall I tend to your hair?” Beatrice asked.
Guilt gnawed at her. She was perfectly capable of tending to herself, but the luxury of someone else washing her hair was too tempting to deny. Just this once. “Yes, please,” Isabel said.
The maid jumped into action, pouring warm water over Isabel’s head and then lathering in a sweet-smelling soap. The woman worked her fingers against Isabel’s scalp, and she found that many of her worries seemed to fade into the distance. She knew they’d return, but for now she’d enjoy the release.
Isabel marveled at how relaxed she was once she was clean and her hair was rinsed. Beatrice assisted her out and gave her a plush towel to wrap around herself to dry off.
“I believe Lady Evelyn left clothing for you on the bed. Do you require anything else?” Beatrice asked.
“No, thank you.”
“Good evening, my lady,” Beatrice said, then curtsied and left the room.
My lady. The title, completely innocuous, seemed ill-fitting. She’d grown up seeing not much more than the old
stone walls at St. Bart’s. She knew how to dance, the proper way to use a fan, and even how to select draperies, not that any of it would come into use.
She quickly dressed, relishing the luxurious feel of the fabric against her bare skin. She sat at the dressing table and pulled the brush through her long hair. She remembered at some point in her life, long ago perhaps, some lady had said it was chestnut hair, not quite red, but not quite brown. Had that woman been her mother? She closed her eyes as if to force the memory to become clearer. It wasn’t the first time she’d done so, but nothing ever came back. She wove her hair into a long plait.
Someone knocked on the door, and she started.
The door cracked, but no one entered. “Isabel, I’m sorry to disturb you,” Jason said. “I hope I am not interrupting. Might I come in?”
“Yes, of course.” She came to her feet as she finished braiding her hair. “Are we leaving? Because if so, I need to change. I merely assumed—”
“Not tonight.” He paused then, his eyes traveled the length of her, making her immediately aware of how she was dressed, or rather not fully dressed. Although she was covered, the fabric from the dressing gown and night rail were much thinner than that of her woolen gowns. She felt exposed. She wrapped her arms around herself.
Their eyes met, and it seemed her breathing stopped. Being sequestered in the school for so many years, she’d had limited contact with males. She wasn’t accustomed to being near one she found so attractive. She silently cursed him for being so handsome. Otherwise she would certainly not find him so appealing.
He quickly averted his gaze. “Tomorrow we shall go somewhere else, somewhere you can be safe. And then we can work on getting some answers.”
She nodded. Go yet another place? What had happened of her life? Suddenly she had become somewhat of a gypsy.
“Do you need anything else?”
“Not tonight.”
“Try to get some sleep. I’ll be guarding your door.”
“Is that necessary?”
“Right now, I don’t think so, but I do know I’m not willing to take any chances.” He turned back to the door then paused. “Isabel?”
She fidgeted with the end of her long braid as it draped over her shoulder. “Yes?”
“Good night,” he said.
“Good night, Jason.”
Chapter Three
Jason hadn’t slept much. Granted, he’d spent most of the night poised outside of Isabel’s bedchamber door, waiting for anything untoward. Even when Somersby had come and given him a reprieve, Jason had still been too alert to rest. It was his responsibility to ensure that Isabel was protected. He would not fail a second time.
She was being targeted for a specific reason, and the sooner they knew that reason, the sooner he’d be able to truly protect her.
He glanced at his pocket watch and noted the time. They should be leaving, but he didn’t dare enter that bedchamber again. He’d made that mistake the night before and seen her standing there wearing that dressing gown. It hadn’t revealed anything about her figure, but the sight of her with bare feet and wet hair freshly braided had left his mouth dry and his hands fidgety. The last thing he needed was to desire her. Protecting her from an unknown villain had already proved daunting. Wanting her would serve only in complicating the situation. This was the time for levelheadedness.
So instead of going into the bedchamber, he knocked and told her he was going downstairs for breakfast and they were to leave within the half hour. He was pleased when she appeared dressed and ready to depart fifteen minutes later. He was even more pleased that she was wearing something that covered her completely. Even if the dress was ill-fitting, it didn’t conjure images of her sprawled across a bed, bare toes curled into the bedcovers. Christ, what was the matter with him?
Somersby entered the room as well. “Are we ready, then?”
They rode in one of the Somersby carriages to the offices of Parliament. Potterfield, the leader of the Brotherhood, kept his office there, and damned if Jason didn’t need some guidance. He hated to explain any of this to Potterfield and risk Gabe’s reputation, but Isabel was in danger.
Isabel looked out the small curtained window of the carriage. “Where are you taking me?” she asked, her tone agitated.
“Somewhere safe,” Jason said.
“Yes, you keep saying that and then we keep moving,” she said. “Is there nowhere safe in all of London?”
Somersby’s lips quirked in a grin and Jason kicked his boot, which caused Somersby to chuckle.
“There are tunnels beneath the city, namely ones that connect Buckingham to Westminster and Parliament. They are used to keep Queen Victoria safe at times. You shall be safe there, too,” Jason said.
She frowned. “I don’t understand. You have access to such areas?”
Jason and Somersby exchanged a look, and Somersby nodded. “We work for the Crown,” he said.
“I see.”
The carriage stopped, and they descended the stairs. “We’ll leave the rig in the carriage house for when we return,” Jason said. He held out his hand to Isabel, but she didn’t immediately accept it. “Your aunt trusted me enough to leave you in my care,” Jason reminded her.
“Lord Lynford, he, too, works for the Crown?” she asked.
“He does.”
She paused for several moments, then asked, “Am I in trouble?”
“Isabel, we are members of the queen’s private police, of sorts. We are here only to protect you,” Jason said.
She nodded, seemingly reluctant to meet his eyes, but she did give him her hand.
“For security purposes, we’re going to need you to close your eyes. I won’t resort to blindfolding you,” Jason said. “I trust you’ll adhere to our wishes.”
“Of course,” she said and complied. Jason took her hand and led her forward out of the carriage house. They made their way to the alley and into the small offices that had one of the entrances to the tunnels. He instructed her to descend a flight of stairs and step through a doorway. The air around them was chilly. The rough stone walls were barely lit by candles hung from wall sconces. Jason heard his voice echo as he directed her steps.
“You can open your eyes now,” Jason said.
Two other gentlemen trusted by the Brotherhood guarded a doorway that led off the long tunnel.
“You stay here with these men, and I shall return shortly.”
“And if I refuse?” she asked.
“Where shall you go?” he asked.
She opened her mouth then shut it with a frown. “I don’t appreciate being dragged all around London.” She exhaled slowly. “I feel much safer next to you.”
“Duly noted.” He gave her a tight nod. “Consider that I am trying to figure out precisely why you’re in danger. Hopefully, we’ll know something soon.”
She exhaled. “Very well. I shall wait for you here.” She eyed the large men guarding the entrance of the tunnel, then grabbed onto Jason’s sleeve. “Are they safe?”
“I would trust them with my mother’s life,” he said.
She frowned. “You do like your mother, yes?”
He very nearly touched her before walking away. Just a brush of her cheek or a squeeze of her hand, something to reassure her, but he didn’t do that sort of thing. So he refused to turn back and glance at her as he left the tunnel.
He met Somersby at the hidden door that led directly from the tunnels into a secret room in Parliament. They made their way to Sir Potterfield’s office, but were told to wait inside and he’d join them in a moment as he had stepped out briefly. Two other members of the Brotherhood, St. Giles and Reacher, also waited within.
They exchanged niceties but didn’t have to wait long before Potterfield entered through the door at the back of his office. “Follow me, if you would,” he said, holding the door open for them.
Jason stepped into a meeting room with the other men on his heels. Not ten minutes later, they were told that Lynford
had arrived and was waiting in the outer office.
“I was not aware a reunion had been assembled,” Jason said.
“Lynford,” Potterfield said, his tone a mixture of relief and irritation. “What have you done to yourself?” Lynford’s arm was wrapped in a makeshift sling.
“Shot, sir. By Lord Thornton.”
Potterfield’s brows rose. “So he is not dead. As you had said.”
“It would seem not,” Lynford said. He turned to Jason. “Where is Isabel?”
“She is downstairs, in the tunnels, safe,” Jason said.
Lynford shook his head and swore. “The tunnels are not safe.”
Jason’s gut tightened and he swore. “What do you mean? Have the tunnels been compromised?”
“It would seem so,” Lynford said. “I discovered notes in Thornton’s belongings, including drawings of the tunnels.”
“How the devil did he get those?” Somersby asked.
“I have no idea,” Lynford said.
“It is unlikely he’s the only one who has them,” Somersby said.
Potterfield held up one hand. “Who is this Isabel? And precisely why are we suddenly protecting her?”
Lynford cleared his throat. “Until yesterday I was not certain who she was, but her aunt and I turned up evidence that indicates she is the lost princess of Saldania.”
Isabel? A lost princess? That certainly would explain why people would be after her, if they knew of her true identity.
Potterfield swore. It was unusual for him to speak without decorum. “Somersby, go and make certain Her Majesty is secured. Ellis and Lynford, you stay here. The rest of you find the princess. Do not allow that girl out of your sight.”
“If it’s all the same to you, sir, I’d prefer to continue watching her myself,” Jason said.
“In a moment. For now, she’ll be safe with them,” Potterfield said. He motioned to the men standing. “Move, this new information has put our queen in immediate danger.”