He joined Pompeia, who was staring at the paintings hung on the wall. Four in total, the small framed portraits all depicted the same pretty, doe-eyed woman. They were so radically different from the unfinished canvases that one would assume they’d been executed by a different artist. Yet Heath’s signature was upon each one.
“Do you know who she is?” Pompeia said.
“No.” Gabriel’s nape prickled. “But do you see what I see?”
“That these were painted with an affection that I did not think Tiberius capable of?”
He shook his head impatiently. “Look here. Along the edge of this one.” He stepped closer to the portrait in the middle, ran a finger down one side of the frame. “The paint on the wall here is darker.” As if it had been previously covered, shielded from the sun.
“The portrait has been moved,” Pompeia said.
When Gabriel tried to remove the portrait from the wall, it wouldn’t budge.
“It’s bolted.” He produced a blade.
“Wait, you’re going to cut it?” For an instant, he thought that she wanted him to spare the portrait out of sentimentality. But her next words proved her to be the Pompeia he knew. “If you destroy that painting, Heath will know for certain that someone has been in his flat.”
Gabriel was already running the tip of the blade along the seam where painting met frame. “If there’s nothing behind this painting, I’ll apologize to him personally.”
He cut along the top and sides, and the canvas peeled down.
A safe was embedded in the wall behind.
Gabriel quirked a brow at his former colleague.
“Iron boxes are my specialty, I believe.” Pompeia removed a pair of lock picks and set to work. Within moments, a click sounded, the door of the safe swinging open.
Papers, stacks of banknotes. And…
Pompeia reached in, withdrawing a string of sapphires. Even in the dim light, the stones glittered with dark fire. “My bracelet,” she said. “The one I gave to the Spectre.”
At that moment, a whistle sounded shrilly. Footsteps pounded up the stairwell. An instant later, Heath burst into the room, his hair and eyes wild.
“You bastards.” He waved a pistol. “Come to get me, have you? Not if I get you first.”
Gabriel was already running, tackling Heath before the other could take aim. They both hit the floor with a thud, the gun skittering out of reach. They grappled, rolling over papers and books, until Gabriel managed to get the upper hand. His fist cracked against Heath’s jaw. The other man groaned, his head lolling to the side, his grip on Gabriel slackening. Gabriel grabbed his opponent by the lapels.
“You bloody turncoat,” Gabriel snarled.
“I’m going to kill you.” Heath thrashed wildly.
Gabriel slammed the other’s head against the floor. Images exploded in his head. Marius falling. The smoke-choked interrogation chambers. Octavian bleeding out on the carpet. Control snapped, the need for vengeance roaring free. His fists made contact again and again. He gripped Heath’s windpipe, crushing…
Strong hands yanked at his shoulders. He shook them off, refusing to relinquish his prey.
“Tremont, let go. You’ll kill him.”
Kent’s calm voice cut through the haze. Gabriel looked down and saw his hands wrapped around Heath’s throat. Saw the other’s bulging eyes, bloodied face. With effort, he loosened his grip, and Heath’s head thudded to the ground. The other moaned, eyes closing. Unconscious but not dead.
Looking up, Gabriel saw the ring of faces. Pompeia was staring at Heath, her face hard with fury. McLeod had a pistol aimed at the man on the ground.
At Tiberius—the Spectre. The perpetrator of evil. A comrade who’d betrayed them all.
Numbly, Gabriel rose to his feet. His hands curled and uncurled, something sticky dripping from the knuckles. His senses were as acute as an animal’s; his mind was curiously blank. In some distant part of his brain, he remembered this sensation. It was as familiar as slipping into an old skin, watching it happen from the outside.
Rage hollowed him. Made him empty and cold.
“Rest easy, my lord,” Kent said. “We have him now.”
“Yes,” he said tonelessly.
He waited for the relief to come. To feel anything at all.
Chapter Thirty-One
Two days later, hearing Gabriel’s voice in the distance, Thea set her cup down, tea sloshing onto the saucer as she did so. She folded her trembling hands in her lap. Told herself she was being silly.
There was no need to be nervous around Gabriel. They were an officially engaged couple now. After the Spectre’s capture, he’d kept his word and spoken to Ambrose. The exquisite diamond and topaz engagement ring he’d given her sparkled on her finger even now, casting a confetti of light. A tangible symbol of their future together.
But what if he never loves me?
Lately, the panicked thought had been fluttering in her head like a trapped bird. It wasn’t fair of her, she knew, to expect something that he’d told her from the beginning he wouldn’t give. Yet his lack of response to her words of love had hit her like an icy splash of reality. To make matters worse, his behavior had become increasingly aloof since then. Now that the danger was finally over, she’d thought that their relationship would have a chance to progress and blossom.
Instead, he was shutting her out.
Oh, he was going through the motions. He was unfailingly polite to her, and to all who didn’t know him, everything a proper, attentive fiancé should be. But she knew him better. The shields were up in his eyes, and even his sensual heat had been banked.
When she’d finally gotten up the courage to ask him if anything was amiss, he’d replied shortly, “I’m fine, Thea.”
Is this all because I told him I loved him? Because he doesn’t want that from me? Have I been fooling myself all along that he could love me?
Her insecurities and fears had come rushing back. Just because she and Gabriel had a strong physical connection didn’t mean that he’d find her worthy of his love. Maybe for him sensual attraction and love had naught to do with one another. Maybe, in his mind, they were two separate things. After all, he’d loved his paragon of a wife despite their apparent incompatibility in bedroom matters.
Dread took up a palpitating presence in Thea’s chest, yet she knew it was too late for regrets. She’d signed up for all of this. She’d agreed to his terms, said that she was fine with a marriage built on honesty, common goals, and commitment. Their engagement had been made public, wedding preparations were underway, and Freddy, the little dear, was overjoyed. Hearing footsteps in the hallway, she steeled herself with her mama’s words.
You must lie in the bed of your own making.
The door opened, and Gabriel walked in. He looked lean and powerful in somber grey, a fitting shade for his visit to Newgate. Despite everything, the sight of him made longing pulse within her. I do love him so, she thought with a trace of resentment.
She forced a smile. “How did things go?”
“Heath still hasn’t confessed.” As usual these days, his expression was impassive. He joined her on the settee. “But he’s not denying being the Spectre either. He just keeps carrying on about the plot against him.”
She poured tea and filled a plate of sandwiches for him. “He doesn’t sound in his right mind.”
“I agree.” Gabriel polished off two triangles of bread stuffed with eggs and chives. “Heath keeps insisting that we’re out to kill him—that he’s going to get us, all of us including the King, before we get him. To be honest, he seems more like a madman than an infamous spymaster.”
“Perhaps he’s gone insane because of everything he’s done,” she suggested. “Like Shakespeare’s Lady Macbeth, perhaps Heath’s conscience has overtaken his sanity.”
Gabriel’s smile was wry. “There’s a difference between fiction and reality. The fact is Heath’s rationality has been precarious since I’ve known him. Would such a ma
n be capable of masterminding espionage, of eluding capture all these years?”
She mulled it over. “Papa always said there’s no great genius without madness.”
“Perhaps it is so. Moreover, one can’t argue with the evidence we found in his vault. He had plans and letters containing military secrets that guarantee that he’ll be found guilty of High Treason and put to death. In fact,” he went on quietly, “there was sufficient damning evidence that none of our names—Lady Blackwood’s, Davenport’s, or mine—need to be drawn into this. The Crown is to reward us by safeguarding our reputations.”
“I’m so happy for Pandora,” Thea said with genuine relief. “Her marriage and family are more important to her than anything.”
“Yes, you saw that from the start, didn’t you?” Gabriel curled a finger under her chin. “And for yourself? Aren’t you happy that you won’t be known as the wife of a notorious former spy?”
His touch made her heart pound, and she couldn’t help but speak the truth. “I don’t care what anyone thinks. I know what a hero you are, and I would be proud to be your wife.”
If only I could be your love as well.
He dropped his hand. “In that case, we’ll have the banns read and be married within a month’s time,” he said brusquely. “I’ll need to be here that long anyway to see the business with Heath come to a close. Afterward, I’d like to take you and Freddy back to my estate. I’ve been gone too long as it is.”
Her belly fluttered at the thought of the future. In truth, this was just the beginning of their journey together. Perhaps his aloofness would fade, she told herself. Perhaps he was just having pre-wedding jitters. Perhaps over time, with honesty and trust growing between them, love would flourish as well. She had to believe all that would be true.
In the interim, she would try to be a good wife to him… and mama to her soon-to-be-son. No time like the present to address the latter. With all the brouhaha in the past five days, she hadn’t found the right time to speak to Gabriel about treating Freddy’s spells.
Be honest. You’ve also been avoiding it.
She pushed aside her qualms. “Speaking of Freddy,” she said brightly, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you. I had a talk with Dr. Abernathy at his last visit. About a treatment for Freddy.”
Gabriel frowned. “I thought I made my feelings quite clear on the matter.”
“Yes, but this new cure isn’t painful and doesn’t involve taking any dangerous substances. Dr. Abernathy says he’s seen quite a bit of success with it.” She paused. “And Freddy says he’d like to try it.”
The crease deepened between his brows. “You’ve spoken to Freddy about it?”
“He’s going to be my son too.” Something in his voice made her lift her chin. “And I think he should have a say in his own future.”
“He is a child. He doesn’t know what he wants.” A muscle jumped in Gabriel’s jaw. “I specifically told you that Sylvia tried everything and decided that his hopes were not to be futilely raised.”
Anger swelled with dizzying speed. Trying to hold onto her equanimity, Thea said, “I disagree. Freddy needs hope. He deserves it.”
“Sylvia said that disappointment could worsen his spells,” he stated flatly.
“Maybe Sylvia didn’t know everything,” she shot back.
“I beg your pardon?”
His icy tone incensed her beyond rationality. Leaping to her feet, she said, “You heard me. Maybe your marchioness wasn’t as perfect as you make her out to be. Maybe she didn’t know every blessed thing under the sun.”
He rose slowly, his eyes flinty hard. “I find both your manner and your words distasteful. This is the last time I’ll say it: my marriage is not up for discussion.”
“Why? Because you’re afraid the truth will knock your sainted wife off her pedestal?”
Oh my goodness, where did that come from? The moment Thea said the words, she wished she could take them back. Mortified, she saw Gabriel’s expression grow colder than she’d ever seen it.
“That,” he said evenly, “is unworthy of you.”
Shame stole her voice. Her face blotched with heat.
“I take full responsibility for the problems in my marriage. Sylvia was not to blame for my proclivities. She was a good wife and a good mother,” he said.
“I know.” With helpless embarrassment, Thea mumbled, “I didn’t mean to imply…”
“She is off limits for discussion. Do I make myself clear?”
She bit down on her bottom lip to prevent it from trembling. Gave a nod.
“Good.” He straightened his waistcoat. “Now as for this treatment—I might consider it. But I will be the one who decides, not you. What steps are involved?”
Her lashes fanned as resentment joined the confusing fray of her emotions. Frustration clouded her mind, tied her tongue in knots. Somehow, she got the words out.
“The protocol requires a period of fasting followed by a strict dietary regimen. Apparently, this method was first described by Hippocrates and has recently been rediscovered. Dr. Abernathy says it has met with excellent success,” she said flatly.
“Other than fasting, there’s no pain? No medicines or other concoctions involved?”
“No.”
“As you’ve already brought the subject up with Freddy, we will give it a try. This one time.” Gabriel’s eyes were distant and cool. “In the future, I expect that you will discuss any ideas you have regarding his health with me first.”
“Yes, my lord.” Her jaw tight, she said, “Is there anything else?”
“There is not.”
“Please excuse me, then. I have errands to attend to.”
She left and managed to reach her chamber before she gave into tears.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“It’s lovely for all of us to be together again,” Emma said, beaming.
It was five days later, and the Kent clan had come together to celebrate Thea’s upcoming nuptials. Everyone was present: Marianne and Ambrose with their children, Rosie and Edward, all of the Kent sisters, and even their younger brother Harry. They occupied an entire corner of Gunter’s Tea Shop in Berkeley Square, the waiters pulling together three tables to fit them all.
Being with her family was a balm to Thea’s spirits and just what she needed. Since her and Gabriel’s argument over Sylvia, things between them had remained at a cool impasse. Gabriel seemed to have retreated further behind invisible walls, beyond her reach. Frustration and despair simmered inside her, but she didn’t know what to do about it.
“Penny for your thoughts, sis.”
Tucking away her ruminations, she managed to smile at Harry, who’d returned yesterday from Cambridge. He’d become a grown man, she saw with sisterly affection, and a handsome one at that. His rawboned frame had filled out, his height now balanced with sleek muscle. With his dark curling hair and spectacles, he had a scholar’s earnest charm; combined with his athletic physique, he was sure to attract the attention of young ladies everywhere.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Harry,” Thea said tremulously. “I’ve missed you.”
“I wouldn’t miss your wedding for the world,” he said.
“You’ve grown, lad,” Ambrose remarked. “Added at least another two stone since we’ve seen you last. I presume you’re not holed up in the laboratory the entire time?”
“In between blowing things up or setting them on fire, the fellows and I find time to get in the ring,” Harry said with a raffish grin.
“I bet I could still take you in a race,” Violet said from beside him.
Harry and Vi had always been close, their bond taking the form of spirited sibling rivalry.
“You’re a lady now, Vi. I don’t race ladies. After all,” Harry said, “where would the sport be in beating a female? Not gentlemanly by far.”
Thea wasn’t fooled by his bland tone. He was deliberately baiting Vi… who, of course, fell for it with her usual aplomb.
“You couldn’t beat me with a stick.” Her caramel-colored eyes narrowed. “The day I can’t outrun, outclimb, or outride you, I’ll… I’ll eat my corset.”
“Careful not to choke on the bones,” Harry said.
“Let’s do it then. Right now. Out in the square, we’ll—”
“Before you challenge our brother to games worthy of the ancient Greeks,” Emma put in, “perhaps you’d care to recall that we’re here to celebrate Thea’s upcoming marriage? Bloodshed is no way to mark the occasion.”
“Actually,” Polly said, her aquamarine eyes serious, “I’ve read that certain ancient tribes performed blood sacrifices as part of the wedding ritual. It’s supposed to guarantee fertility.”
Thea’s cheeks heated. “Goodness, Polly, where did you read that?”
“In one of Papa’s books on the history of civilization,” her youngest sister said.
“It’s best not to volunteer such information in polite company, dear,” Em said.
Polly bit her lip. “People will think I’m peculiar, won’t they?”
Back in Chudleigh Crest, Polly had had a reputation for being different due to a certain acuity she possessed that went beyond her tender years. Knowing how much her shy sister feared being an outcast, Thea said gently, “I wouldn’t say peculiar exactly. But people might be taken aback by your unusual fount of knowledge.”
“Pish posh to what others think.” This came from Rosie, who patted Polly’s hand. “I, for one, would much rather be an Original than some milk-fed debutante.”
“That bodes well for your come out,” her mama said dryly.
The waiter arrived with plates of Gunter’s famous confectionaries. The family exclaimed over the luscious treats: small cakes iced with marzipan and fresh cream, jellied fruits, and cookies decorated with violets made of sugar. This was accompanied by strong, steaming tea, and they all dug in with customary gusto.
As Thea nibbled on a bit of cake soaked in elderflower syrup, she reflected on how things had changed. There was a time when the family could scarcely afford bread and cheese never mind a luxury such as Gunter’s. The ritual of eating and talking together, however, felt exactly the same. She experienced a sudden, bittersweet pang; soon she’d not be a Kent in name any longer.
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