He slipped his arm around her, pulling her close, wanting to believe her and grateful for the comfort she offered. Comfort she’d been denied when her sister had been murdered and she’d been placed on an altar.
He kissed the top of her head as a crowd gathered behind them, not caring who might see or gossip. “Gina,” he whispered for her ears only, “I need you to go home and be safe or I will not be able to do what I must.”
She nodded and backed away to rejoin the Thayer twins, who were now entrusted to Morgan’s charge. He’d see them safely home.
Chapter Seventeen
When Lord Morgan had delivered Gina home and come in to give Andrew the news about Charles, the ruckus had woken everyone but Mama, who always took laudanum to sleep—a habit she’d acquired after Cora’s death. Moments later, Lord Morgan and Andrew had left together, but not before Andrew loaded a pistol and pushed it in the waistband of his trousers. She had no doubt they were off to rouse Lord Lockwood, the eldest Hunter brother. Oh, how she wished she were a man and could be doing something instead of waiting!
She took advantage of her mother’s habit and filched an extra vial from her mother’s night table and poured a measure for herself—anything to dull the horror and allow her to sleep. She could think of nothing but the events of the past hour. Mr. Booth dead. Charles Hunter at death’s door. What could possibly happen next?
She sat in the overstuffed chair before the fireplace in her room, staring into the banked embers and thinking that the bitter taste of the laudanum was vaguely familiar. With an uncomfortable jolt, she realized that this was what the Brotherhood had drugged her with. Even now the effects were seeping through her, making her drowsy.
The small mantel clock struck three times, stirring her from her reverie. Nancy had gone to bed long ago, so she sighed deeply and stood to remove her dress. The French-blue gown was simple, since it fastened in the front, but her stays took longer to loosen.
And there, at the end of one lace, was the little key for which she still hadn’t found a lock. A key that Mr. Metcalfe had given her. Mr. Metcalfe—another man who was now dead because he had tried to help her. How would she ever gain absolution for being responsible for so much pain and devastation?
She untied the key and lay it on her writing desk. If she did not find the lock before she left for Ireland, she would give the key to Jamie. Perhaps he would find the lock one day.
Her dressing gown lay across her bed and she slipped it on and tied the sash and blew out her candle. The embers in the fireplace cast eerie shadows on the wall behind her. Something in the flicker made her shiver, and she thought she saw a movement in the deeper shadows near the window. Was it the effects of the laudanum?
Ridiculous. She was imagining things. The events of the evening had disturbed her. But there it was again. Ah, her own reflection in the cheval mirror in the corner. She gazed at herself, wondering where the carefree Eugenia O’Rourke of Belfast had gone. Forever changed. Because of Cora. Because of Jamie.
The reflected gleam of her eyes caught her attention and she went closer to the mirror, as if she would find the answer to her questions in her own eyes. But it was not her in the mirror. It was the girl she’d been that night. Helpless, she watched as the scene played out in her mirror.
She lay on a cot or pallet of some sort that had been placed on a bare stone floor. She tried to open her eyes, but couldn’t. She was not witless, but helpless. Deep, quiet voices floated around her, speaking words she couldn’t recall. But there were names she recognized. Hunter. Daschel. Henley.
She forced her eyes open, a monumental task. Shadowy figures in deeply hooded robes moved about her, stripping away her clothing, touching her, anointing her with sickly sweet oil and laughing. Then there came a softer voice. A woman’s voice. She leaned close, her face still in shadow, and cooed something in Gina’s ear, something that had terrified her then but she couldn’t remember now. Others came to touch her but, oddly, she couldn’t feel them. Her senses were deadened. It seemed as if these things were happening to someone else—dreadful things that made her close her eyes again and forget.
Gina blinked and the vision in the mirror shifted. Now she was wearing a transparent gown of pleated lawn, fastened low between her breasts and dropping to the tips of her bare toes. Her dark hair, crowned by a diadem, was loose and fell to the middle of her back. One of the robed men produced a carved box and turned it upside down. He took a small packet from the drawer and poured the contents into a cup, which was brought to her and pressed to her lips. A heavy wooden door swung open and she heard a distant chanting. Her head was tilted upward by a robed man and she was forced to drink a bitter brew as distant church bells chimed. Lethargy. Torpor. She could not think, could not move, merely stand in a witless state.
It’s time, someone whispered in her ear as men on each side of her took her arms and led her forward. The shadows shifted, and she was lying supine on a stone altar as a dagger descended toward her throat….
Gina gasped, sucking in deep breaths of night air as her hand went to her scar. She was trembling, barely able to stand. Oh, she’d prayed to remember, and now she had. Memory or dream? Did it matter? She knew those things she’d seen in the mirror were real. Somewhere between her anointing and being dressed in the Egyptian gown, her mind was still blank, but the rest was finally clear.
She held to her bedpost to keep from sinking to her knees. All those horrid memories, and she still didn’t have the answer to her question. But Jamie knew. She could only assume the worst, and that he had been trying to spare her pride by remaining silent. But he wouldn’t lie to her. Jamie never lied.
She had been ruined, and nothing could change that. Nothing could ever make her clean again, or worthy of Jamie’s love. And he knew it, too.
And Henley would have to pay.
Henley. Oh, the box! Henley’s little box—the box in her vision! She went to her writing desk and took the carved box from a drawer. She tried to push her key into the lock Mr. Renquist had forced, but it didn’t fit. She turned it over and felt along the carvings for something to trigger the little drawer into opening. She found it in the curve of a flower. The slightest pressure tripped a spring to pop the drawer back. There, in a drawer shallow enough to avoid detection, was a folded piece of paper and a small paper packet that held yellowish brown flakes.
She sniffed and recoiled, knowing only too well from the bitter odor what the packet contained: opium. But the paper? She unfolded the sheet and found a list of names. Were these the men Mr. Booth had told her about? The men Mr. Henley was blackmailing? She ran her finger down the list and stopped at—
James Hunter
Charles Hunter
Andrew Hunter
Adam Booth
Stanley Metcalfe
Marcus Wycliffe
Eugenia O’Rourke
And other names she did not know. Could Mr. Henley be blackmailing Jamie and his brothers? Impossible. Why, she was on that list, and it was no secret they’d all been at the chapel that night. They’d rescued her and Bella. No need to pay hush money. But two of the men on that list were dead, another wounded, and God only knew how many more of the names she did not know were dead.
She squared her shoulders, determining to give the list to Jamie as soon as she saw him. He would know what to do with it. But she would keep the opium and the key. She might still have use for them. Two more days. Two more nights. She would make the most of them.
Dawn was breaking before Charlie stirred and groaned. Jamie shot out of his chair and leaned over his brother. “Charlie, are you awake?”
“Aye.” He sighed, still not opening his eyes. “Am I going to live?”
Jamie jerked the bell pull to alert the staff at Lockwood’s London mansion to summon his other brothers. “Of course, you dolt. The doctor said the ball did not do much damage. As long as you do not infect the wound, you’ll be weak awhile but otherwise right as rain.”
Charlie opened his e
yes at last and tried to push himself up until Jamie propped him and pushed pillows behind his back. “Then why does it hurt so deuced much?”
“Because you are father’s secret daughter.”
Charlie chucked. “Womanish, am I? That’s what I like about you, Jamie. Y’don’t waste time with sympathy.”
Jamie smiled. Coddling Charlie would be the surest way to alarm him. “Sympathy would be lost on you anyway. And the doctor said you’ll be up and about in a day or two.”
Lockwood burst into the guest room, Drew and Devlin Farrell fast on his heels. “Charlie?”
“Good God, all my brothers in the same room! It must be worse than I thought.”
Drew went to pull the draperies back from the window, exposing a violet-pink dawn above adjacent rooftops. “Sarah will be given the news as soon as she rises, so I expect she will be here soon.”
“We’d best get down to business before she starts hovering—fluffing pillows and spooning porridge,” Lockwood said. He took a chair near the foot of Charlie’s bed. “Tell us what happened.”
Charlie frowned and lay back against his pillows. “Damned if I know. Booth was in deep conversation with Miss O’Rourke for a time, then greeted a few people and departed. I thought it was time he and I had a chat, so I followed him out to the street. That is when he was shot.”
“Did he say anything before he died?”
“He was shot in the gut—couldn’t catch his breath before he expired. There was no time to search him before Jamie and the others arrived. Then …” Charlie shrugged and winced when the action caused him pain.
Drew squeezed Charlie’s other shoulder. “An inch or two lower, and it would have pierced your heart, Charlie. You were very lucky.”
“Yeah. Lucky.”
“You mentioned the Gibbons brothers,” Jamie reminded him.
“Didn’t know they were such crack shots,” Charlie said. “I always thought if they came after me, it would be with a knife. I did not see them—anyone, in fact—but the shot came from the alley. Perhaps I smelled garbage, but I thought it was them.”
“Little difference between the two,” Lockwood assessed.
“If Morgan hadn’t chased after them, they’d likely have picked Jamie off.”
“What made them so bold? Most often they are like rats, doing their business in secret.”
“Jamie threw down the gauntlet when they wouldn’t cooperate and he refused to pay them for nothing,” Charlie said.
Devlin rolled his eyes. “A bit rash, eh, Jamie?”
“In retrospect.”
“But I think it just as likely that Charlie is acquiring quite a fearsome reputation in the rookeries.” Devlin sighed deeply and shook his head. “I warned you it would gain you respect, Charlie, but it also makes you a target.”
“So Wycliffe was right about there being a contract out on a Hunter. Just the wrong Hunter.”
“Or all of us,” Drew concluded. “He’d have reason enough.”
“The question is, what shall we do about it?”
Jamie assessed the gathering. Lockwood was looking every inch the family patriarch, Drew appeared rather deadly, Charlie had an angry look about him and Devlin was, as always, unreadable. And Jamie? Well, he was suddenly considering Wycliffe’s veiled suggestion that the Gibbons brothers were a danger to society a bit more seriously.
Lockwood sighed deeply and stood. “I shall have to think on this, perhaps discuss it with Marcus.” He went to the door and paused. “Oh, and I hear that Mrs. O’Rourke and her daughter are leaving day after tomorrow.”
Drew slid a sideways glance at Jamie. “I must say that I will not miss her much,” he confessed. “But I will be sad to see Eugenia go.”
“And you, Jamie?” Lockwood asked.
Jamie crossed the room and went to stand by the window. “I had hoped Mrs. O’Rourke would change her mind, but I collect that is not to be.”
“And Miss Eugenia?”
“Yes, damn it. I will be sorry to say goodbye.”
“Have you considered …?”
Jamie gave Charlie a nasty look. Just how much had he told their eldest brother? “I have considered everything, Lockwood. It is hopeless.”
“Everything?”
He gave Lockwood a curt nod.
“Then I am very sorry for you, Jamie. Such opportunities rarely come twice in a lifetime. But since she will be going home, I suppose the least we can do is see that justice is served.”
Sunday at noon was not a usual time to pay calls, but Gina had hoped the family would be gone to church, and that she might have a private word with Christina. And now, studying the hollows beneath her friend’s dark eyes, she was glad she’d come. Christina did not look well.
“Have you been out at all?” Gina asked. “Just a short stroll through your garden might be the very tonic you need.”
Christina looked at Gina with an air of hopelessness. “Father told me this morning that Mr. Booth was killed last night.”
She nodded. “That is why I’ve come.”
“To tell me about Mr. Booth? But I already know.”
“To ask your help again, Christina. I feel as if there is more that you know. Perhaps something you have not thought about, or something you forgot. Something that will help us put an end to all this.”
“Us? But what could we do, Gina?”
She took Christina’s hand and led her toward the door to the garden, unwilling to risk being overheard by the servants. “Mr. Henley should be stopped by whatever means necessary. And you, Christina dear, are my safeguard. I shall tell you everything, and you will report to the authorities in case something…untoward should happen to me.”
Christina blinked in the bright sunlight and clutched Gina’s sleeve. “Do not tell me anything, Gina. Too much knowledge is a dangerous thing.”
“Then tell me Mr. Metcalfe’s secret.”
She shook her head and covered her heart with one hand. “There is really nothing I can tell you.”
She was hiding something that could have damaged her fiancé! Gina knew that instinctively, just as she’d always known when her own sisters were hiding something. Did it regard Mr. Henley’s paramour? “Can you think of a woman Mr. Henley might have been close to? Someone he kept company with? One of your friends, perhaps, or a widow who could go about unchaperoned?”
Christina’s eyes widened and Gina knew she’d come close to her secret. “Stanley and I used to keep company with Mr. Booth and Missy, but that was more so that Stanley could keep an eye on her. He always said she was wild. Sometimes Mr. Henley would accompany us but he would not bring a woman. That is why I was surprised when he brought you to that tableau.”
“He was cozening me, Christina. Trying to make me trust him so that I would go with him when the time was right.”
Christina sat heavily on a bench in the middle of the garden and turned her face up to the sun. “And you did …”
“But there must have been others. Someone he favored at balls and soirees?”
“Just me and Missy. And once, Mrs. Huffington.”
Gina recalled hearing that name before but she could not put it with a face. “I do not believe I have met her.”
“She is the ward of Lady Caroline Betman. The orphaned child of a dear friend, I think. Widowed twice though quite young.”
Would that fit with what Mr. Booth had told her? But what would Mr. Henley want with a poor relation? He was a money-grubbing extortionist, intent upon amassing a fortune from other men’s coffers. Could he have been cozening Mrs. Huffington for the same purpose as he’d cozened Gina? Or was there more? A young woman widowed twice? Could there be something, well, murderous about her? Something that complemented Mr. Henley’s nature?
Suddenly Christina blinked, took her hand and squeezed tightly. “Gina, you must go home immediately. I have had the most extraordinary feeling…oh, what if you are the next to be killed?” She stood and hurried back toward the garden door. “We should not b
e outside.”
Gina followed, curious at Christina’s sudden change of mood. The moment they were inside and the door was closed, Christina turned to her, earnestness written clearly on her face. “You must listen carefully to me, Gina. About Mr. Henley. He used to watch Missy as if he wanted to seduce her. I always thought that odd—after all, he was Stanley’s friend.”
“I rather thought Mr. Henley wanted to seduce most every girl he met,” Gina said.
Christina led the way straight through the sitting room toward the front door, leading Gina with a hand on her arm. “It occurs to me now that he may have been planning to put Mr. Booth out of the way so he could have Missy even back then. I shall send her a letter at once, but you must also warn her at the first opportunity. Come to me tomorrow. I need to think. It is all so confusing.”
Gina nodded as she was fairly thrown out the door and into Nancy’s waiting arms. How very astonishing!
“Did you make her angry, miss?” Nancy asked as they entered the foot traffic on the street.
Gina paused to look back at the door. A curtain moved in an upper window, as if someone had been watching her. “I must have.”
They walked slowly, since Gina had no desire to return to the house where her mother would be in a frenzy of packing and making arrangements for their departure. She knew she and Nancy would have to pack the trunk that had been delivered to her room that morning, and she was surprised by her own reluctance. A month ago, she’d have given anything to be going home. But today?
Today she only wanted to enjoy the afternoon, which had turned crisp as a precursor to autumn. She wanted to think of seeing James at the family dinner Lord Lockwood was hosting to mark their departure, and the musicale after. She wanted to think of anything, in fact, but her imminent departure.
Nancy tugged at her sleeve. “Oh, miss! There’s Tom, the milkman. Might I have a word with him? Who can say if I will be seeing him again?”
The lament was so akin to Gina’s emotions that she could only smile and nod. An empty park bench beneath a tree offered her refuge, and she sat where she could watch her maid talk and flirt with the strapping young milkman.
Regency: Rakes & Reputations (Mills & Boon M&B) Page 19