by Wilde, Tanya
Now, the words and the meaning behind them sounded not at all how one should live. One needed to plan ahead, not charge into matters of the heart with nothing but passion to guide you.
“Not that it matters now. You were aware of my intention from the start. You planned to seduce me all along and now, when we are caught, it is my fault and I should have considered the possibilities? How like you to turn the tables.”
“What?” Her brother demanded from Damien.
“I will admit I am largely at fault,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with fury. “However, while my meddling may have spurred your rash behavior on, it still doesn’t change the fact that you almost got yourself killed and let’s not forget the fact that you agreed to embark on an affair.”
Her breath caught at his slip, but the traitor only glanced to her brother and said, “I apologize for my actions, I attempted to make things right but your sister refuses to be reasonable. I wash my hands of the little witch.”
Jo ignored Damien’s insult. She spared a nervous glance to her brother, which revealed he’d caught Damien’s remark about almost getting killed. She drew a deep breath. “Why, thank you. You’re all heart. However, your apology is unwarranted, as is your presence.”
“What do you mean she almost got herself killed?” Her brother’s hard gaze flew to her with such a force she flinched. “What have you done now?”
Damien’s smile curled when he replied, “Why, her involvement in the disappearance of Cartwright’s wife, and now he’s out for her blood.”
Jo watched in detached horror as Damien slammed the final nail in her coffin; she’d never hated him more than in that moment. Had this been his plan to keep her from trouble? To ensure she remained out of harm’s way?
“How dare you do this?” Jo whispered, her eyes lit with loathing.
He straightened his coat. “Your brother has the right to know.”
“St. Aldwyn—” Her brother began.
“I have no desire to linger. I know my presence is not welcome.”
“No, it’s not.” Jo’s voice was hard with fury.
“I did not do this.” To her brother he said, “May I see the note?”
Her brother handed it over without protest and Jo watched Damien’s eyes hardened as he read the content.
“Who sent it? And do not dare lie to me. I can see on your face you know who penned the note?”
“It’s a woman’s penmanship.”
Jo snatched the note out of his hand and after carefully studying the content, cursed. Those blasted Middletons. They have ruined everything with their romantic ideals.
Cold, unforgiving eyes bored into her only moments before he strode from the room. The door slammed shut behind him. Finality.
The tears she’d been holding back threatened to break free but she clamped it down when she caught sight of her brother’s expression. Not only was he angry and disappointed, but defeat was reflected in those jade colored eyes. No explosion of temper, no shouting or bellowing followed. Only grim defeat. It was so unlike her brother that for a moment worry creased her brow, before she realized his lack of temper may be due to exhaustion.
Guilt and shame slammed into her. “Brahm, I—”
He glanced away, his jaw tight. “Go pack your things, Josephine. You are leaving for Green Rose Cottage in the morning.”
Jo gasped. “But I—”
“Explanations are of no interest to me. You’ve made your choice and now I’m acting upon it. You have done nothing but throw yourself in the path of danger, manipulate me and lie to me. Now there appears to be a dangerous man who wants you dead. You are leaving and that is final.”
“I’m sorry Brahm, I should have told you.”
“But you did not.”
Her shoulders slumped. “I know.”
“What happened, Jo? Why are you so determined to throw your life to the wolves?”
She flinched at his question, wanting to cry at the unfairness of it all. Not only had she lost Damien, but it appeared she’d lost her brother as well. Had her quest for a purpose been worth all this loss and pain? Perhaps tomorrow the answer would be clear, but she would obey her brother. “I only wished for a purpose of my own,” she whispered.
He lifted the decanter from his desk to pour himself a whiskey. “Well, I hope the purpose you’ve chosen was worth all this.”
“Every moment,” Jo whispered, not prepared to say anything else that may unmask her uncertainty. “If you’ll excuse me, I shall go pack.”
“Did you use precautions?” Her brother’s strangled question gave her pause just as she reached the door.
She glanced over her shoulder. “What precautions?”
“Damn.”
Her delicate brows drew together when she saw his face, neck and ears redden. “What’s wrong?”
“I...Ah...That is...Is there a chance you may be with child?”
Jo blinked, realization dawning. “Oh! I mean no! No.”
She heard her brother’s sigh of relief and fled the room. Because truth be told, how was she to know whether she carried a child or not? A foul curse left her lips. What happened if they’d created a child? Could she marry him with the knowledge he may never commit? And who would desire to tame such a glorious wild beast? Not she, who loved him for all his wild ways. Just as well she was scheduled to leave London. If she happened to be with child she may even remain away forever. Live a secret life of ruin. Marry a farmer.
Five hours later Damien hurled a chair in his study, watching it fly across the room and shatter against the wall. A loud crack resonated through the room as wood splintered. Damn them all to everlasting hell. He slumped into another chair and ran a shaky hand through his hair. For once, just once, he thought to do the right thing, to consider another instead of thinking of himself. And what did he get?
A string of curses erupted from his lips, his eyes roaming for something else to destroy. Smashing his belongings to pieces felt good.
“Woman troubles?”
His head shot up at the sound of Craven’s voice and he rose with a sneer. Damnation, he hadn’t even heard Craven enter. Where the hell was his butler? Did he have no control over his own damn life anymore?
“What would you know?”
Craven’s smile remained thin. “I have thrown my fair share of chairs.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s over a woman,” Damien spat out, the words hard to utter.
“No? Are we not damned for them?”
Damien stilled. Dammit, he wasn’t that transparent. In any case, it would take a love sick fool to recognize the signs of a love sick fool (which Damien was not). Which still did not change the ultimate fact—he loved that wretched woman to the point of distraction.
“She refuses to marry me,” he admitted in a begrudging tone.
Craven raised a brow, clearly surprised Damien chose to confide in him. “You offered then?”
“I may have mentioned it in passing.”
Craven just stared at Damien.
“After her brother demanded we marry.”
He whistled. “And she still refused?”
“Yes,” Damien muttered darkly. “She called me rotten to the core.”
He wanted to punch something again. Their entire encounter echoed off the halls of his mind as he tried to understand where he’d gone wrong. In the library, she’d acted sweet and passionate in his arms and he thought, no reveled, in the knowledge of her affections. Then today she turned and spat all sorts of rude things his way.
Would marriage to him be so abhorrent that she would defy her brother’s demands? Of course he was well aware of his depraved existence, but he’d been foolish enough to hope she would take him anyway.
“Perhaps you should have told her that you loved her.”
Damien snorted, pouring them some much needed whisky. “She would never have believed me. What are you doing here anyway?” he asked, handing Craven a glass. They were much too similar to like one another, so
stopping by for tea and cucumber sandwiches seemed out of place.
“I received a note to meet, yet I appear to have arrived early.”
Splendid.
Damien was in no mood for company and now he would receive four. After leaving Josephine to the wrath of her brother, he’d tried to cool his temper by drowning his sorrows with whisky at his club, but that only seemed to needle him more. Now he would be required drink more just get through this bloody meeting.
As if on cue, Westfield and James Shaw entered his study. Both regarded the broken chair with curious eyes before they made themselves comfortable.
“Has my brother not arrived yet?” James asked, taking stock of the room.
Damien cast his eyes heavenward. Anyone could see his majesty had not arrived yet. “Isn’t that obvious?”
James shot him a killing glare. “What crawled up your rear end?”
Craven smiled but said nothing and by nature of his character Westfield jumped in to stop an exchange of blows. “Shaw is following up on a lead. He will arrive shortly.”
Damien chose not to ask how his friend knew that. If Westfield attended tea parties with the likes of Derek Shaw, he wished not to know of it.
“This better be good,” he muttered, annoyed at how easily they commandeered his home.
“No doubt it is.”
“What’s this lead he’s looking into?” Craven asked, stationing his body between James and Damien.
James’ demeanor turned hard and he glanced to Westfield, who apparently had all the answers.
“Word has it Cartwright made some rather devious plans. Shaw is meeting his source to discover what these plans entail so we can intercept him and move forward with ours.”
“There’s a ship in harbor?” Damien asked surprised.
Craven shook his head. “A Japanese ship.”
“Bloody hell.”
They nodded in Damien’s direction. They all knew what that meant. The Japanese rarely ventured far from home, and when they did, it never promised good. While Cartwright may have had a chance at survival with the Chinese, he will have none with the Japanese.
“How much time do we have?” James asked.
Westfield shrugged, but the concern in his eyes never disappeared when he said, “Shaw’s informant said two days, but it’s unclear who Cartwright has his sights on. It could be anyone.”
Damien’s heart plummeted. He’d known the danger, but somehow it had never seemed real, until now. If Cartwright set his sights on Josephine, Damien would sever his head, never mind awarding the Japanese the pleasure.
The silence that followed bore testament to the men’s brooding mood. Everyone seemed to be lost in thought, contemplating the same thing. Who would Cartwright target? All them? Only one of them? Perhaps none of them but someone else? Thankfully, Lady Constance had been collected and remained safely tucked away abroad.
“What did the chair do to deserve such punishment?” Westfield asked, breaking the silence.
Damien shrugged, his gaze flicking to Craven, indicating Craven’s awareness of the matter, but he made no plan to divulge to his longtime friend. Perhaps his actions were childish, but the woman he loved did not want him and his best friend consorted with her confidantes.
A heavy footstep alerted the men to the arrival of the other Shaw, the lines of his face stark and pale when he entered the room. Tension poured from the man like untamed waves.
“My source has been betrayed,” he stated flatly. “Cartwright already made his move.”
The men stared at Derek in shock, horror spreading across their expressions as the possible implications of his statement hit them.
“Who?” Westfield choked out.
Derek clenched his jaw. Hard.
“Who?” Damien said, his voice steel.
“Cartwright snatched Lady Josephine and Lady Belle.”
Derek’s statement echoed through Damien’s study, hollow and empty. The color drained from his face and all the warmth left his body, leaving him cold and empty. No. He’d just departed from her mere hours ago.
“How?” James whispered.
“Both women were taken from their homes, four hours ago. Cartwright informed all his men with the wrong information, all but two of his most trusted men. Apparently he suspected a breach.”
Damien legs weakened. Jo had been taken only an hour after he’d stormed out in a rage. If he remained, fought harder to convince her, but he had let his temper get the better of him instead…Just like his father. Now Jo’s life dangled from the hands of a mad man.
Four hours.
Bile rose. He bent over, trying to tamp down his nausea. He focused on Cartwright’s face, and what he would do to the man once he found him. Fury took over, causing his muscles to bunch and his eyes to glaze over. Yes, he preferred anger. The nausea retreated and he straightened, his face as hard as stone.
“Where are they?”
“I almost feel sorry for Cartwright,” James muttered beneath his breath.
“I’m rather happy myself that I’m not on the receiving end of that glacial intent,” Derek muttered, then to the whole room he said, “They are being held on a butcher’s farm on the outskirts of the city.”
“Your information may be wrong,” Westfield said.
“I knew better than to arrive without the whereabouts of the women,” he replied without hesitation.
“Forgive me if I do not care to trust your word,” Damien said, his guttural voice heavy with hatred.
Derek nodded. “I understand what you may be feeling, but we need to be levelheaded if we wish to retrieve the women without harm. Cartwright will expect us to follow. We may be walking into a trap.”
“I don’t give a shi—”
“St. Aldwyn—”
“Don’t,” Damien bit out. “She’s been gone four hours. They may be…they may be...” He could not manage to finish the words.
“I have a plan, but we must be smart about it,” Derek said, his eyes softening, though his face remained granite.
“Will we need more men?” James asked ask his brother.
“That depends if everyone can keep their heads together.”
“We must leave at once,” Westfield snarled, surprising everyone.
Derek never lost his calm as he replied, “You need to settle down. We will be of no help to the women if we get killed saving them.”
Craven nodded. “St. Aldwyn? Your word you will not do something rash?”
All eyes settled on him.
“What will I do?”
“Do not even think about leaving without us,” Derek warned Damien, cold eyes clashing with hard ones.
“Both of you,” he said, his eyes flicking between Damien and Westfield. “You both have that look in your eyes.”
Craven stepped forward, stopping beside Derek, eyeing the men skeptically. “What look?”
“That they are both about to do something foolish.”
Craven nodded. “But foolish how?”
“Like they are about to charge into a battlefield with nothing but their wounded souls.”
Craven glanced at James, “Will you make certain the plan’s in place? I believe I’m needed here.”
James nodded, disappearing through the door, leaving four men facing off.
Chapter 19
Darkness greeted Josephine when she opened her eyes. The chill of the room where they kept her sunk into her bones and she shivered. It stunk of rotten carcasses and the distinguishable buzz of flies met her ears. Josephine had no idea where the men had taken her since they’d knocked her unconscious, but if the ghastly smell happened to be any indication, she ought to be terrified.
At least it appeared to be still daylight; some light was afforded to her through the small window overhead. That was something she supposed. She spared the room a fleeting glance. Nothing distinctive about the room caught her attention, except the overwhelming smell of blood and something else that caused nausea to rise.
/> A chill rippled down the side of her spine. Her guess would be they held her captive in a place used to butcher animals. They meant to butcher her, torture her until nothing remained of her. Panic reared its ugly head. Would they feed her to the pigs once they were done? Or bury her body in a shallow grave?
Jo choked backed a sob. She refused to cry. Strength. Her survival depended on strength, for her friends may not find her in time. Too many places to search existed. How long since she’d been taken? Three hours perhaps? No one would even take note of her disappearance until morning when she failed to depart for Green Rose Cottages as ordered.
Even then, her brother may believe her stubborn and not search for her beyond her friends, who may also believe her stubborn, disobeying her brother’s orders.
Damien despised her. In all likelihood he never wished to lay eyes on her again.
By the time anyone suspected something was amiss, it would be too late. No, she must escape, save herself.
Her hand traced the swollen flesh of her eye where the beast of a man had punched her. It throbbed without mercy, but she tried to ignore the pain. If what was believed of Cartwright was true, the pain of her bruised eye would be nothing compared to what would follow. Cartwright delighted in causing pain, maybe even taking his time about it. Jo may be scared out of her wits, but also relieved that he’d snatched her and not one of her friends.
The sound of heavy footsteps caused her breath to catch in her throat and she scrambled to the far corner of the room. The door slammed open and a man entered, pausing only long enough to drop another person inside.
“Here’s your little friend. Enjoy each other’s company while you can. When the boss is through with you, there won’t be much left.”
Jo did not glance at the man’s face. Her attention was riveted on the blonde figure who lay sprawled on the ground, unconscious. As soon as the door closed she waited several heartbeats before she clambered on her hands and knees to the still form. Her heart missed several beats when she recognized Belle. Her face beaten far worse than Jo’s swollen eye, it was obvious that Belle had fought back.