by Mary Campisi
He would know what to do. He’d been supportive throughout the entire ordeal, concerned only for her safety and best interest. He’d help her make the right decision. Now all she had to do was find a way to be alone with him, which meant fabricating an excuse to get Cyrus out of the room.
A single rap on the door signaled Andrew’s arrival. Cyrus rose and opened the door. He and Andrew exchanged a few words, but their voices were too low for Emily to make out what they said.
“Hello, Emily.” Andrew advanced into the room with a dazzling smile on his handsome face. She returned the smile and placed her hand in his. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.” She shot a glance toward Cyrus, who watched the exchange with mild interest. The sooner she got this over with, the better.
“It’s always a pleasure to see you.”
“Cyrus, would you mind very much seeing to tea? And would you speak with Cook about the lemon pastries and raspberry tarts I asked her to prepare? I’ve a sudden craving for them.” Emily smiled at Cyrus, hoping he wouldn’t realize she was trying to be rid of him.
His raised brow and tilted head told her he was on to her game, but, Cyrus, being Cyrus, would comply with her request. He’d never embarrass her in front of Andrew. Unlike another individual, who would relish the very idea of it.
Cyrus gave her a slight nod and said, “I’ll be back shortly.”
As soon as the door clicked behind him, Emily turned to Andrew. “You must help me,” she whispered. “I’m in a terrible mess, and I don’t know what to do.”
Andrew’s summer blue eyes shone with concern. He leaned toward her and adopted the same tone. “Whatever is troubling you, Emily?”
“It’s Noah. He came to me the other night.” Heat crept along her neck to her cheeks. “He told me in three day’s time I’d know why he left and why he couldn’t return. It seems it had nothing to do with Cyrus being here. It was almost as if there was another, much more serious reason he couldn’t come to me.” She rubbed her temples. “I’m so confused.”
“Of course you are,” Andrew whispered, soothing her shattered nerves as he took her hand in his. “Go on,” he urged.
“Last night, he told me he needed more time.” She hesitated, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I refused him. I said horrible things, Andrew. I just wanted to protect myself from being hurt again.”
“And now you wonder if you did the right thing?” His quiet words voiced the uncertainty she’d felt since Noah had stalked from her room.
“Yes.” She swiped her cheeks with the back her hand.
“How did he get into your room without discovery, Emily?”
“Oh”—her gaze shot to the bookcase—“there’s a secret panel that opens a passageway leading to his room.” What did it matter if she told Andrew?
“Where is this secret panel?” Emily looked at Andrew, wondering at the sharpness in his voice, the keenness in his eyes.
“It’s behind the third row of books in that case over there,” she said, pointing to several volumes of red leather-bound books.
Andrew let out a long breath as though he’d been holding it. What did he care if Noah harbored a secret passageway in his home?
“Telling me was the right thing to do,” Andrew said, leaning back against the couch and taking her hand with him. She didn’t notice, her heart and her mind were tangled with thoughts and feelings, all centering around her husband.
“I just don’t know what to do. Part of me wants to hate him, but the other part won’t let me. And I’m carrying his child,” she murmured.
“Give it time,” Andrew said. “Another day or so even. Everything will work out according to a plan much larger than yours or your husband’s. You’ll see,” he said, his gentle words a balm to her restless soul.
She gave him a tear-streaked smile and whispered, “I never knew you to be a religious man, Andrew. Thank you for your comforting words.” She squeezed his hand. “I’ll wait and let the Divine Plan follow its course.”
Andrew smiled. “And so it shall be, Emily. So it shall be.”
****
He had to make her see reason. Noah strode into the darkened library with nothing but a small lamp to illuminate his path. Damn, but the woman was bull-headed. He’d thought he’d be able to force Kleeton’s hand in three days; thought the man would’ve slipped up in his overzealous endeavor to trap Noah Sandleton. He hadn’t missed the gleam in Kleeton’s eyes when he mentioned Noah’s name. He’d bet his entire wealth the man posing as a country gentleman was a notorious traitor and coldblooded killer.
But hunches weren’t enough. Not with stakes this high. Peter Crowlton had slithered away once before, hidden behind God knew how many rocks, escaping capture for years. Well, he wouldn’t escape again. Not if Noah could help it. Tomorrow, he’d force Kleeton’s hand. He’d confront him, not as Cyrus Mandrey but as Noah Sandleton and he’d see what secrets lay behind Kleeton’s gloves.
Noah pressed the panel to engage the hidden door. He pushed it open and stepped inside, his thoughts once more on his wife. Why in the hell had she called a meeting with Kleeton? He knew damned well it was a meeting, not a social call as she would have Cyrus believe. What was she up to now? He turned to close the door when a sharp object lodged against his throat and froze him in his tracks.
“Well, well,” a familiar voice said. “If it isn’t the ghost himself.”
“Crowlton,” Noah rasped against the blade. “Traitorous bastard.”
The blade dug into his flesh. “Watch it, Sandleton. I’ve waited a long time to see you bleed. Seven and a half years to be exact.” His breathing grew harsh and labored against Noah’s ear. “I want to savor every minute of this. I want to feel the fear in your heart as I raise my knife in final revenge. See the helplessness in your eyes as I slit your throat. I want to remember everything for years to come.”
“You can’t remember anything if you’re a dead man.”
Crowlton laughed. “Always the hero, aren’t you? You’ll be no hero today. You’ll pay dearly for what you did to me.” He paused. “With your life.”
Noah heard the bitterness in his voice, felt the fury as The Serpent’s hand trembled against the blade, digging deeper, drawing blood.
“You did this to yourself. You wanted it all, no matter the stakes. It didn’t matter who got hurt or killed, so long as you were in charge.” If he were going to die, he’d make damn certain he had his say first.
The blow to the back of his neck was swift and sharp, placed with enough precision to drop Noah to his knees. The lantern fell to the ground, but remained upright. Before he could recover, Noah suffered the toe of Crowlton’s booted foot in his side. He slumped forward, groaning.
Crowlton snorted. “I did what I had to do. I had the power, don’t you understand?” His words were fervent, demanding recognition. “I was in control, within two missions of absolute power.” He towered over Noah, the tip of the blade glinting in his left hand. “Until you ruined everything.”
“You…were,” Noah rasped, sucking in air. “A traitor…to your…country and…fellow agents.”
Another kick landed in his side. “I was a businessman. My allegiance was to whoever gave me the most coin. Turn around, Sandleton. I want the satisfaction of seeing the life drain from your face when I slit your throat.”
Noah tried to lift his head as nausea rolled over him. He grew dizzy and lightheaded at the same time. He had to gather his strength and his wits or he would soon be nothing but a lifeless pool of bloody flesh. Ignoring the pain in his side and the ache in his head, he rolled over and slouched against the stone wall. The coolness of the stone eased the pain in his head.
“I want you to see what you did to me.” Crowlton yanked off his black gloves in two swift movements. “Look, Sandleton. Look at what your fire did,” he hissed, thrusting his hands forward in the dim light. Kleeton’s hands were gnarled extremities, covered with layer upon layer of thin white skin, stretched, and crossed over one an
other, forming a grotesque pattern of human flesh.
Crowlton snatched his hands back. “You’re the cause of this,” he raged. “You! Would you like to guess how I came to be so disfigured?” He leaned forward, blue eyes glinting. When Noah didn’t respond, he burst forth, “I tried to grab the files you torched. All those names, with dates, assignments, everything. All in flames. With a single match you stripped my power and turned me from the best espionage agent in the country to a wanted criminal.”
“They were on to you, Crowlton,” Noah said, meeting his cold stare. He had to distract him. Perhaps then he’d let his guard down and Noah could strike. Should he go straight for the knife or tackle him at the waist?
“Don’t even try it.” The words hit him like one of Crowlton’s boots and knocked the wind out of his half-formed plan.
Crowlton was a master of many things—espionage, strategy, tactics, weaponry.
But he was human. Or as close to human as a traitor could be. What was his weak spot?
“I would have taken care of you sooner, but there were too many people after me,” Crowlton said, tossing the knife from one hand to the other. “Too many tracks to cover. And then you were gone, disappearing for years. I decided to wait it out, certain that one day you’d return. Too bad I had to kill the old duke and duchess next door, but I needed their home and they refused to sell. Of course, their wastrel of a son had no choice, not after I bought up all of his markers and threatened to call them in. Poor dumb bastard. Most humans are such a pitiful lot, don’t you think?”
Noah rested an arm on his knee, staring straight ahead, wondering at Crowlton’s incredible arrogance. He didn’t think he could ever be beat. Not by anyone, least of all a man without a weapon.
That was his weakness.
“And then,” Crowlton went on, “stroke of luck would have it that your beautiful wife arrived at Glenview Manor.” He smiled. “Alone. Without her husband. That was a true gift and I will be forever indebted to you.”
“Leave Emily out of this,” Noah said, clenching his fists at his side. If he had a knife, he’d drive it right through the bastard’s heart before he could utter another word.
“Oh, but I can’t. She’s become such an important part of this whole, ah, shall we say, situation?”
Rage threatened to boil over and explode through Noah’s body. He wanted to charge him, thought about it, but held back. He must be rational. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he spat out, his eyes zeroing in on Crowlton’s knife.
“Of course you don’t.” Crowlton gave a short, harsh laugh. “You weren’t here, were you?” He tilted his head to one side and rubbed his smooth chin. “Well, not the whole time anyway.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a brown ball and tossed it to Noah. Before it touched his fingers Noah knew it was Cyrus Mandrey’s beard.
Crowlton threw back his head and laughed. “Very clever. They didn’t call you The Chameleon for nothing.” His smile faded. “But you’re no match for The Serpent.”
“I’m unarmed.” What could he do to even the odds?
“That you are. Too bad for you, isn’t it? Well, as I was saying, your wife will be my prize. I think I deserve something after ferreting you out, don’t you?”
“Don’t touch her.” It took every ounce of strength not to lunge at the bastard.
“Don’t touch her.” The words rolled over Crowlton’s tongue like soft velvet. “Is that a request or a demand? Either way, it seems you have little control over the situation.”
Noah looked away, trying to fight the strong urge to wipe the smile off Crowlton’s face. Permanently. His gaze fell on the lantern, the sole source of illumination in this otherwise black passage. The flame flickered and danced within the confines of the glass. One sharp blow to the lantern would snuff out the flame, blanketing them in darkness. Evening the odds.
“I can’t wait to touch your wife’s creamy skin. Sink myself into her warm, wet, heat.” He paused, his voice little more than a whisper. “Again.”
Again. The word pierced Noah’s heart with more pain than any knife could ever cause. Emily and Crowlton? He refused to believe it.
“Did she tell you she’s with child?” From the guarded look on Noah’s face, it was obvious she hadn’t. “I see.” He flipped the knife in the air, caught it by the blade, and flipped it again. “Emily’s going to have a baby, Sandleton. My baby.”
“Liar!” Noah roared, kicking the lantern with his right foot and lunging for Crowlton. Blackness covered them as he wrapped his arms around the other man, wrestling him to the floor. Noah was much larger, but The Serpent was wiry and hard to hold down. A slice of pain ripped Noah’s side as a blade sank in, drawing blood. He reached for Crowlton’s forearm, missed, and suffered the slash of a blade on his forearm.
“Damn liar!” Noah hissed, slamming his fist in the area of Crowlton’s face. The sickening sound of crushing bone filled the air, followed by a low groan. Noah punched him again. Harder. He swiped the air with his left hand, searching for Crowlton’s arm. He found it, yanked it down over The Serpent’s head and banged the bastard’s hand on the wood floor several times. “Damn liar,” he rasped. The knife fell from The Serpent’s hand and Noah felt for it, grabbed it, and lodged it against his nemesis’ throat.
“You lied.” Noah trailed the knife along Crowlton’s neck, pressing harder into his skin with each passing second. “Admit it.” He waited for the confession. The only sound he heard was Crowlton’s labored breathing and mumbled groans. “Admit it!” Noah said, determined to force the words from his enemy’s lips.
A slow gurgle filled the air. It was half laugh, half gasp. “Who do you think told me about this place? I win, Sandleton, I win,” Crowlton whispered. “My baby, not yours.”
Noah sank the blade into Crowlton’s neck, twisted it until pools of blood oozed onto his fingers. Then he twisted it again, trying to wipe out the words. Harder. Deeper. But it was too late. The Serpent lay before him, dead, his throat slashed beyond recognition. It should have been a welcome victory, but the win was cold and empty.
Noah dropped the knife and wiped his bloody hands on his breeches. He tried to stand, but the pain in his side kept him doubled over. He felt for the wall and edged along, one step at a time, his right arm bracing his weight. Blood seeped through his fingers from the deep gash on his side.
Had Crowlton told the truth? Had he seduced Emily as his ultimate revenge? Or had she gone to him of her own will, and let him father her child? Is that why she hadn’t told him about the baby? The questions teemed in his head, making him sick.
Noah took another shuffling step and thought of his wife’s conversation with Cyrus the morning she’d been sick. She’d admitted it was Noah’s child, hadn’t she? But what else could she have said, under the circumstances? She was carrying Andrew Kleeton’s baby in her belly? There was plenty of opportunity for a distraught young bride and an experienced seducer to share a liaison before Cyrus showed up. And Emily had told Kleeton about the secret passageway.
Emily had betrayed him. Did she know Kleeton’s true identity? Was she in on his scheme? Perhaps waiting at this very moment for her lover to join her and inform her of her husband’s demise? The pain of betrayal invaded every part of his body, from head to heart.
Noah reached the door leading to his room. He rested a sticky hand on the knob, hesitated a moment and then pushed it open, thinking of Emily and her betrayal.
Chapter 19
She must have heard the door open, because no sooner had he hobbled over the threshold than she ran to him, shock and surprise on her face. “Noah! What happened?”
Emily was a good little actress, he’d give her that. She actually seemed concerned about him, but he knew better. He settled into a large tufted chair, mindless of the blood he tracked behind and about himself. Leaning back, Noah pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes.
Emily sank to the floor beside him and grabbed his free hand. Tears streamed do
wn her face. God, but she was beautiful; beautiful and deceitful. “Kleeton’s dead,” he said, relishing the words. Her lover, the father of her baby was dead.
“What happened?” She held his hand with such force, looked at him with such concern in those smoky eyes, he almost believed she cared.
“Kleeton jumped me in the passageway and tried to slit my throat, but I beat him to it.” That’s all she needed to know.
A look similar to horror shadowed her face. “But why?”
Noah shrugged. “Perhaps he wanted you to himself.” He pulled his hand away and rubbed his neck. “I need Billington.”
“Of course,” she mumbled, scrambling to her feet. “I’ll get him right away.” He tried to take a deep breath, but his side hurt too damn much. His head fell back against the chair and he closed his eyes, fighting the weakness that threatened to suck him under.
Minutes later, Billington was at his side. “Sir, you requested my assistance?”
Noah opened one eye and would have laughed if the pain weren’t so bad. Ever the gentleman, even in a burgundy stocking cap and matching silk robe, Billington stood before him, not in the least perturbed by the site of Noah covered in blood. But why should he be? Billington had patched him up on more than one occasion.
Before Noah could answer, Emily burst into the room, water sloshing over the sides of the basin she carried. “Mr. Billington,” she panted. “He’s bleeding.”
Noah wondered at her almost panicked voice. She needn’t put on such a show for him or Billington. They’d seen it all before, the best plots of deceit imaginable. Emily clanked the basin on the floor and produced a cloth from the pocket of her robe. She dipped it in water and wrung it out, then moved toward him, holding the cloth.