Sensing time slipping away, Mac glanced around and spotted a knife not far from the ottoman. Grabbing it, he used the blade to make a clean cut down the back of the coat. He removed the coat and tossed the two halves to the side, removing the blood-soaked shirt next. Inspecting the injury, he said, “There’s a good chance some of the fibers from your clothing are wedged inside the wound.”
Dismissively, Latymer waved his hand in the air. “Plug it.”
Five minutes later, Mac dropped a clean shirt he’d found in the wardrobe over Latymer’s head and pulled him to his feet. Where Latymer’s face was once ashen, it now shone porcelain white. “My coat,” he wheezed.
“The coat’s destroyed.”
“I know.” He said nothing more, merely stared at Mac with fevered eyes.
Suspicious, Mac bent to retrieve the shredded garment.
“I remember you now,” Latymer said. “I shot you.”
The muscles in Mac’s neck tightened. He threw the coat at Latymer. “You have the wrong O’Donnell.”
“No, I never forget a face.”
Mac lowered his voice. “Then what you recall is shooting my twin brother.”
“Ah, that explains it.” Latymer shuffled his way to the doorway. He clutched the frame while his gaze swept over the bedchamber with a thoroughness that suggested he was committing every detail to memory. When he spoke next, his words came out hollow. “So, there are two of you.”
Mac’s jaw hardened. “No, not anymore. My brother is dead—thanks to you, you murdering bastard.” The traitor didn’t even flinch.
Realization dawned on Latymer’s face. “You were the one in the park.”
Mac had locked eyes with this man only a few days ago when the traitor attempted to kidnap the grandson of the First Lord of the Admiralty on behalf of the French.
“Yes.”
“Why are you helping me?”
“I’m not helping you. What I’m doing now is for your son—and his mother.”
Latymer said nothing, though a muscle jumped in his cheek. Using the wall for support, Latymer made it to the stairs, where he paused a moment before taking the first step downward. His leg buckled, unable to support his full weight. Mac caught him before he tumbled forward.
“Here.” Mac wrapped an arm around Latymer’s waist and dragged the traitor’s right arm over his shoulder.
“I can manage,” Latymer said through gritted teeth. “Give me a minute.”
“We’ve wasted enough time. Lead with your left foot.”
Once they were outside, Mac collected his knapsack from where he’d stowed it beneath a nearby bush. As luck would have it, he heard the sound of a horse and carriage on the road. He flagged down the hackney. Latymer all but melted into his seat. Perspiration dampened his shirt, and his chest heaved with each breath. Despite the obvious fever that was overtaking the traitor, Mac refused to feel sorry for him.
“If this Collette has not managed to kidnap your son, where would he go to hide?”
Latymer’s flushed features solidified into a mask of stone.
“You can’t find him on your own,” Mac said. “In a few short hours, you will be incoherent with fever and then, God willing, you will be dead.”
“I’ve survived a gunshot wound before.”
“One so close to your heart and other vital organs?”
Latymer’s lips thinned, and Mac could see the man was now weighing his options.
“What is your interest in locating my son?”
Mac had no intention of relaying the details of his own abandonment as a child to this man. “Let’s just say I have an understanding of what he might be going through right now. I would spare him that if I could.”
After a moment, Latymer nodded. “I instructed him to go to Somerton House, should we become separated.”
At the mention of Somerton’s name, Mac lifted a brow, knowing the two former friends were now mortal enemies.
“I’ve already checked Somerton’s and my office near the docks before I went to Lydia’s.” Latymer rubbed trembling fingers against his forehead. “I know of no other place where he would go to hide.”
“Would he have sought shelter at a friend’s house?”
“Giles doesn’t have any friends.” Latymer saw Mac’s look of disbelief. “My son’s a bastard, Mr. O’Donnell. Few in society look kindly on children born out of wedlock. And those who do have no business being around my son.”
Mac could do little more than stare at the man across the carriage. Changing the subject, he said, “Perhaps when you searched for him before, your paths crisscrossed. You went to one location and he went to the other.”
A flicker of hope lit Latymer’s solemn eyes. “It’s possible, though I took care to make sure he knew the route between the two locations.”
“Earlier, you said something about him running away.”
“He was supposed to stay at my office while I met with my solicitor to finalize a few estate details. Giles followed me. Collette killed my solicitor and set her footpads on me when I couldn’t give her what she wanted. While her men tried to rip off my head, she went after Giles.
“So in his attempt to escape the French assassin, he might have gone off course?”
Latymer sat up a little straighter. “That would make sense.”
Mac considered Latymer. What would cause an intelligent, wealthy, and influential gentleman to work against a country he was sworn to protect?
“Why did you do it? Why did you sacrifice your country, your heritage, your son?”
Tension filled the carriage; Latymer said nothing.
“Come now. Let’s be honest. Within the next twelve hours, you’ll either die from a fever or a festered wound, or be transported to the nearest gaol for your many crimes. Why not attempt to explain your actions—and relieve your conscience if you can.”
“I did not sacrifice my son.”
“Then where is he? If we don’t find him before your French assassin does, sacrifice is exactly what’s going to happen.”
Latymer pinched the bridge of his nose. “I never meant for Giles, Lydia, or even Nexus to get mixed up in this.”
Mac had a few more choice words regarding Latymer’s planning ability, but he kept them to himself.
“It became evident a few years ago that marrying anyone but Lydia was impossible.”
“Why?”
Latymer pierced him with a fierce look. “Because Lydia was the sum of my heart, and I couldn’t do that to her. To us.”
Mac kept his shock hidden beneath his mask of indifference. “Go on.”
“We made plans to move to America where a relationship such as ours could be easily disguised and made acceptable. But first I needed to ensure that not only our immediate future but Giles’s future was set.”
“So greed sent you running to the French.”
“Security sent me running to the French.”
“Don’t fool yourself, Latymer. Many would send up a lifetime of prayers to have the wealth you have—or had. You simply wanted to establish a kingdom for yourself in your new country, and you needed money to do that.”
Jaw clenched, Latymer looked away.
“What about your part in trying to destroy Lord Somerton and Nexus?”
“I refused the French’s request, so they took what was mine.”
“Meaning, Lydia and Giles.”
Swallowing hard, he nodded, still not looking at Mac. “For them, I would do anything.” His gaze returned to Mac’s. “Anything.”
“And the request you refused?”
“To kill Somerton,” he supplied.
Mac released a long, slow breath. He did not want to feel empathy for this man, but he did. How many people chose the most expedient path to achieving their goals, never having to face the morality of their choice? And how many others chose the wrong path and lost everything they hold dear? The answers churned in Mac’s gut.
“For them,” Mac said, repeating Latymer’s wor
ds, “I’m sorry—”
“Where are we going?” Latymer cut in, obviously uncomfortable with the direction of their conversation.
“To the Hunt Agency.”
“No, we go to the docks and search from there.”
“You have no say in the matter.” Mac withdrew a bag from his knapsack and tossed it to Latymer. “Find something in there to eat. You need to rebuild your strength.”
“Thank you—”
Mac shook his head. “Don’t. My motives where you’re concerned don’t include kindness. I simply have no wish to carry you.”
Latymer removed several strips of salted meat, a few pieces of dried fruit, and a lemon biscuit from the bag before tossing it back. “All this hate because I killed your brother?”
Incredulous, Mac demanded, “Can you think of a better reason for me to despise you?”
“Many more.” He put a piece of the biscuit into his mouth. “As I recall, he attacked me, not the other way around.”
“Doesn’t matter. You killed him when all he wanted to do was ask you some questions.”
“You have no idea what happened that night, do you?” Latymer responded disdainfully.
“I know enough. He wasn’t alone.”
“When he knocked on my door, he was taking a chance. He knew who I was and the deeds I was capable of performing. Sounds like the actions of a fool to me.”
“No, he didn’t know who you were. He was sent to track down William Townsend. We had not made the connection that Townsend and Latymer were one and the same.”
“I don’t understand why you were looking for Townsend.”
“We suspected he was somehow involved in the abuse that was going on at Abbingale Home.”
He was quiet a moment. “By ‘we,’ do you mean this agency you work for?”
“Yes.”
“So, you thought Townsend—I—was a potential criminal.”
“Yes.”
“Which is why your brother brought a pistol to my chamber at the inn that night and then drew the weapon when he recognized me. Luckily, I had my pistol already drawn when I opened the door. I acted in self-defense, which means your hatred is unwarranted.”
“‘Unwarranted’?” Mac fired back. “My brother was everything that’s good in this godforsaken city, whereas you are a traitor, a manipulator, and a murderer. There is no room for people like you in this world.”
“I’m also a father. Aside from the last few weeks, I’ve been a good father to my son. You might not want me alive, but Giles does. And I’m going to see that he gets his wish.”
GILES
4:51 a.m.
After making one wrong turn, I rounded the last corner, and Somerton House came into view. I paused for a moment, catching my breath. Relief welled up in my throat, taut and aching. Joy soon followed. If I hadn’t been so terrified of drawing attention to myself, I would have whooped with laughter.
My relief turned into uneasiness when I realized I’d been standing out in the open for too long. I hurried past the entrance to the nearest town house and darted down the steps leading to the servants’ entrance. Protected by a wrought-iron railing, the servants’ stairwell provided a perfect lookout point.
Holding my cup and ball in one hand, I grabbed the black, dew-covered bars with my other and pressed my face close. Cold seeped into my fingers and cheeks, keeping me alert. I scanned the pavement and street outside Somerton House for the beggar I had seen earlier, even though Papa said the man was not really a beggar at all. But there was no sign of him now.
I still didn’t know what to make of what Papa had said. If the man wasn’t a beggar, why had he been sleeping on the ground? It made no sense. Sometimes it was impossible to understand grown-ups, especially when they spoke in riddles and nodded their heads, expecting me to understand their secret code.
My gaze fell on the first-floor window of Somerton House. Lamplight glowed behind the sheer curtains. I squinted, trying to see inside, but my angle was no good.
The thought of emerging from my hiding place made my heart race and my legs jittery. But Papa could be inside waiting for me. Why else would Lord Somerton be up at this hour? It’s so early that the birds haven’t even begun to chirp yet.
Tamping down my fear, I released my grip on the bars and began to ascend the steps. The moment I set my foot on the pavement, a carriage appeared around the corner. I stumbled back into the shadows, slamming my body against the side of the house. My breath wheezed from my lungs.
I followed the carriage’s slow progress as it passed my position. In the open window, a pretty woman’s profile appeared. The woman with the empty eyes. Clutching my toy to my chest, I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to make myself as small as possible. For some reason Papa didn’t want me around her, and after the intent way she had looked at me before, I didn’t want to be near her, either.
A full minute later, I could no longer hear the rattle of her carriage wheels. I made a fist with my free hand, preparing for battle. Slowly, I opened one eye, then the other.
Alone. My body sagged against the wall. For the first time, I didn’t mind being alone. Careful not to make a sound, I peered through the bars again. The carriage continued to lumber down the street until it was a mere speck in the distance.
Would the French lady return? Did she know Lord Somerton, or was her appearance a coincidence? A dozen more questions pelted my thoughts, but no answers surfaced.
There was nothing for it. I had to follow Papa’s instructions and hope all went well.
Bolstering my courage once again, I moved out of the protective shadows and into the lamplight. Knees knocking, I lifted my chin and took my first steps into the street…and into disaster.
MAC
4:57 a.m.
Mac stared down into the soft, gentle eyes of the only woman he had ever loved. Amelia Cartwright stood before him in the Hunt Agency’s entrance hall, fully dressed and with only a hint of exhaustion marring her beautiful face.
“Have you not slept at all?” he asked.
“The same could be asked of you.”
He glanced up toward the living quarters. “Is Sydney here?” he asked, hoping his employer, Sydney Hunt, was just upstairs.
Amelia shook her head. “She left with Lord Danforth several hours ago—his lordship received a summons from the Earl of Somerton.”
“Any idea why?”
“No. His note didn’t indicate a reason, only a command to hurry.” She sent a wary glance toward the drawing room. “Harry should be out front with your horse by now. I’ll be fine here.”
He followed the direction of her gaze. Inside, an unconscious Latymer sprawled on Sydney’s favorite lavender sofa. Mac had half dragged, half carried the traitor in a short while ago. The situation was reminiscent of when Cameron Adair had brought his dying brother, Mick, home. The memory turned Mac’s stomach. “You’ve sent for Adair?”
She nodded. “Yes, though I’m not sure that was the right decision. Surely we could have found someone else to guard Lord Latymer until all this is over.”
He understood her caution regarding Adair. The man was too much of a mystery. He made no bones about the fact that his one true loyalty was to himself and himself alone. “Adair’s intimately involved in this situation now. To bring someone else in at this late hour would delay us even further. And there’s no way I can take Latymer with me in his condition.”
“Charlotte should be here any minute,” Amelia said, referring to her friend—a brilliant apothecary. She lowered her voice. “If the bullet has not caused irreparable damage, Charlotte will have him on the path to recovery in no time.”
Silence filled the space between them. Their last parting had been abrupt, emotional, and uncertain. In the aftermath of his brother’s death, Mac knew only a violent need to locate Latymer and kill him. All else, even his newfound feelings for Amelia, had not mattered in the turmoil of his grief.
Now, he knew a different driving need—to take her into h
is arms and kiss her senseless. To apologize for all the lost time and make up for bitter regrets. Mac ached for this woman, bone-deep and heart sore. Two feet separated them, yet the distance felt like an abyss with no end.
Before she came to work at the Hunt Agency, Amelia was forced to give her baby boy to the Foundling Hospital. From the moment Mac had uncovered Amelia’s secret, he’d steered clear of her. He feared that his years of pent-up hatred for what his own mother had done to him and his brother would eventually be taken out on her.
In the four years they’d worked together, he’d never once asked her why she’d placed her infant son in a home for orphans. He had never allowed himself to consider that a young, unwed mother, alone in the city, had precious few choices. It wasn’t until this last year that he’d permitted himself to focus on who the intelligent, beautiful woman was and not on the hard choices she’d had to make.
The last few hours had brought clarity to his thoughts and reluctant understanding to his heart. For the first time in a long time, hope entered into his life again. Forcing back the pride that had kept them apart for so long, he asked, “Is it too late?”
She peered up at him with startled, skeptical eyes.
“For us?” he clarified.
“Mac, I—”
“Amelia, I was wrong. So wrong.” Wanting desperately to make things right between them, he clasped her hands between his own. “I’ve known for some time now that I was wrong, but I was too damned proud to admit my mistake. I should never have judged you so harshly.”
“Thank you, Mac.” She squeezed his hands and smiled a trembling, bittersweet smile. “The timing—”
He touched a finger to her cheek. “I know. The timing is all wrong, but when is it ever right? Things will get better. I promise.” Mac knew that over the past five years Amelia had scrimped and saved with the goal of reclaiming her son from the Foundling Hospital. “Your son will need—and deserve—all your attention.”
Stepping closer, she withdrew her hands from his grasp and pressed the soft, warm pad of her palm against his cheek. “Once Leo is settled into our new home, perhaps you could come to visit us.”
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