by Jun, Kristi
“You would?” Tomkin asked.
Michael’s suspicion was on full alert now. Emma wanted to leave. Was he wrong about her intentions? Of course he had no legal right to order her to stay with him. Not unless she was carrying his child, but he was not about to bring that up with Tomkin present.
What was this gut feeling that kept tugging at him? He’d hope to God, he was wrong about Tomkin. He’d been a mentor and his superior for nearly a decade. The consequences of accusing someone like him of crimes he wasn’t guilty of would be a crime in itself.
“As much as I’d like you to come with me, Emma, I need you here—for now. I’ve already inquired about the English woman who married the French sleeper spy. It seems she was an only child and both her parents died just after their daughter married the spy at Gretna Green. I checked her family records and she does have an aunt on her father’s side still living in Marseille. I’ve made arrangements to travel there, and with a little luck she may help us solve this case.” Tomkin put on his top hat and yanked his gloves on. “I will write as soon as I discover anything of use.”
After Tomkin departed, Emma was shown to the guest room. Blackthorn, Roberts and Michael gathered in the library. Michael informed the duo of the events that had transpired before arriving at Chatham Hall, but he kept his own doubts about Tomkin to himself for the time being.
“I don’t have long,” Roberts said. “The butler will notice I’m missing.”
Blackthorn watched Michael. “Come, what are you not telling us? Do you suspect we have a traitor amongst us?”
Michel disclosed the information he just learned from Tomkin to the two of them.
Blackthorn leaned back on the couch, sipping brandy. “There are talks of Napoleon’s escape in the streets. Do you think he may have recruited a sympathizer in London?”
“I’m sure the former dictator would like nothing more than to have his throne back,” Roberts said.
“My distant cousin in France informs me there may still be Napoleon sympathizers and former spies embedded in English Society. Napoleon was questioned and he insists this is ludicrous and that all of his “soldiers” bled for their cause and died at the hands of the greedy English.” Blackthorn paused, watching the two men.
Michael said, “I’m sure that’s what he’d say. For now, Emma and I will remain here.”
Roberts stood. “If we’re done, I’ll go check on the prisoner before I return to my duties.” When Michael nodded, Roberts took his leave.
Blackthorn set his glass down. “So tell me,” he said. “Have you forgiven Emma?”
Michael shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “There is nothing to forgive.”
“Ah, but I must disagree, my friend,” Lord Blackthorn put his brandy glass on the table in front of him. “I know you will tell me this isn’t any of my business—”
“You’re quite right. It’s none of your business.”
“I think with all the years we spent together in the bloody war and me saving your damned arse on multiple accounts, I think you can indulge me a little.”
“I fear your memory has suffered greatly from the traumas of war, my man,” Michael said. “It was I who saved your arse, if I recall, but do go on….”
“She’s good for you,” Blackthorn said. “Don’t let her go without fighting for her again. Believe me, it’s a rare thing to find someone who adores you for who you are and not your influence.”
“Influence?” Michael said. “I’m a second son of an earl, no title and no influence.”
“You and your brother were born ten minutes apart and you could have easily been the next Earl of Chatham. Besides that isn’t my point. Just promise me. Don’t let her go without a fight.”
“Are you certain this isn’t about Miss Deveraux, your former fiancée?”
“No. That vixen made her choice when she ran off with that old goat.”
Michael recalled Blackthorn had just recently gained his title when his brother passed away six months ago. Before then, he’d been engaged to Miss Elizabeth Deveraux, but she’d jilted him and eloped with a man with a lofty title and land. She didn’t even have the gumption to tell him in person.
Michael thought he knew Emma by now, but after her request to leave with Tomkin, he wasn’t certain of her true intentions. “I’ll consider it. Now, can we drop—?”
Roberts came rushing into the room huffing and puffing. Both men turned to face the Runner. There was a dab of blood on his white sleeve, which set Michael’s pulse on a wild run. Something is wrong.
“You’d better come with me.”
The three men rushed to the stables as quickly as they could while trying to avoid any unnecessary attention. Once they arrived in the last stable, they saw the prisoner’s blank eyes staring at a fixed point above them. His shirt was soaked with blood from the gash torn across his throat.
“I found him like this. There are multiple stab wounds on his back,” Roberts said. “The blood is still fresh. I told Brandon to divert the staff and check on your family. From the looks of things, I’d say it happened within 30 minutes.”
Michael’s blood boiled with cool rage. He could not pull his gaze away from the rotten prisoner he’d hauled across England. Damn it.
Blackthorn must have read Michael’s mind when he said, “I’ll go check on everyone.”
“We need to interview the staff,” Michael said. “And I think it would be prudent to put more men to secure the house.”
The Runner replied, “I’d like nothing more than to post dozens of men here, but that would be nearly impossible without giving us away, and we are short on men as it is. Each family has two men at their post.”
“What did Brandon have to say about this?” Michael questioned.
“Brandon?” the Runner looked perplexed. “He wasn’t here when I found the body. You think he had something to do with this?”
Of course, Roberts didn’t know that Brandon was one of his men. Brandon and Row were his ears and eyes and no one knew of them or their true purpose. “Brandon is one of my men,” Michael confessed. “I ordered him to watch over my family.”
The Runner’s mouth twisted in contempt. “You should have trusted me,” he blurted out, angrily. “It would have better served our purpose if you had told me who he was.”
“I’m sorry,” Michael agreed. “But, after Geoffrey was killed, I had to take extra precautions. Surely you can understand that.”
Roberts said nothing.
Michael added, “It was a mistake I don’t intend to repeat.”
Roberts nodded and looked around the perimeter. “I think additional men are needed. I know someone. He is an excellent marksman. I can have him set up camp near the house to guard the perimeter.”
“Good,” Michael said. “There is a small cottage nearby. I will speak with the family. We need to remove the body. I don’t want my family to find out what transpired here today.” Fury burned in his chest while he looked at the corpse, the blood that was now thick like a frozen river. It had taken three days to transport the prisoner here, risking his life and Emma’s.
As the two men looked at the corpse again, a few seconds of silence filled the night.
Michael knew whoever did this had one goal in mind: to silence the prisoner. That knowledge sent a hot, urgent pulse running through his veins. Where the bloody hell are you hiding?
“I fear our time’s running out.”
CHAPTER 17
Merde, merde, merde! Why won’t you simply die?
Tomkin yanked off his blood-stained gloves and turned them inside out before he shoved them inside his coat pocket. That’s when he noticed the crimson stain on his sleeves—the American’s blood. The last-minute decision to terminate the gunman had nearly wrecked everything.
He wiped the sweat off his forehead with his coat sleeve. Thank God Emma and Michael bought into the story about the blank missive, and Samuel and his retirement in Tibet. It wasn’t easy coming up with a convincing lie to
cover up the damned mess.
Releasing a frustrated sigh, he closed his eyes and leaned back on the seat. Focusing on the rhythmic sound of the carriage, he slowed his breath. Damn, that was close—too close. If he hadn’t searched the stable for the stable hand, he would never have seen the American. He must take extra care in the next few days leading up to Shaw’s masquerade ball.
Victory was close. So close that he could reach out and touch it. His nerves were getting thin, and even he knew well enough that it was a dangerous thing to lose one’s patience, especially at a critical time like this.
The thought that his enemy was on the verge of success had him seething with anger, but this wasn’t simply about revenge. This was about vindication. He’d waited too long, hadn’t he? The end was near. Less than a week and all this would be over.
While the visit to Chatham Hall was a gamble, it turned out to be worth his time. Emma was quite resilient and she looked so happy to see him. The fact that she had no wish to stay with Michael proved to him once again that she was loyal to him, unlike her fickle mother.
As long as Emma was with Michael, it was safe to say Michael would remain at Chatham Hall and out of his way. Soon, he’d be home again, basking in the success that took a lifetime to carry out.
The carriage went on for what felt like endless hours under the bright moon with no clouds in sight. It was dangerous traveling at this hour, but it was a necessary risk.
He must have fallen asleep because when he awoke he could smell the Thames River. Tapping twice on the roof of the carriage, he waited for the driver to come to a stop. Opening the carriage door, he looked out into the darkness. He stepped out and stretched his arms before walking up to the edge. Looking down at the river, he pulled out his gloves from inside his coat pocket and quickly tossed them into the river.
A few seconds later, the sound of footfalls alerted him. Heart pumping, Tomkin looked in the direction of the sound and saw a young man swathed in a thick greatcoat quickly walk by. The man tipped his head in greeting to Tomkin before he went about his way and disappeared into the darkness.
Wasting no time, Tomkin stepped into his carriage again and the driver drove on. When he saw the familiar sight of Grosvenor Square and its terraced houses with decorative ironwork balconies, he prepared himself to play the role of Home Secretary again.
As soon as he exited his carriage, he stepped out and scanned the street—a habit long engrained in him since childhood. Walking up the steps of his townhouse, he dug through his pockets for his key. Damn, he must have forgotten to bring it with him in his haste to get to the Chatham Hall. Knocking on the door, he impatiently waited for his butler to answer. Knowing everyone would still be asleep, he waited a few seconds before knocking on it again.
The door opened and his butler, Johnson, stood before him donned in a night gown and a black jacket; his gray hair tossed about in all directions. Suppressing a yawn, he said, “You’re home, my lord.”
“Ah, good ol’ Johnson. Yes, I’m a bit early.”
Johnson promptly took his master’s greatcoat and hat. “I will fetch your valet promptly.”
“No, no,” Tomkin said to the butler who’d obviously was still half asleep. “Let him sleep.”
The butler’s bushy brows rose in surprise, but obeyed nonetheless. “Yes, my lord,” he said. “Do you require anything else, my lord?”
“Go to bed.”
Johnson nodded and promptly obeyed.
Tomkin made his way to his study and locked the door behind him. He pulled away from the door and walked across the rug to light the candles. Looking at the leather-bound books that were neatly lined up on the book shelves; he tip-toed, pulled out a brown leather-bound book and opened it. The hallowed out interior of the book held a key to the bottom drawer in his mahogany desk.
Making his way to the desk, he used the key to unlock the drawer. With the sound of the click, anticipation thumped in his chest. He’d waited so long for this opportunity to finally serve him, guaranteeing his legacy. Two comrades from Paris were arriving next week disguised as French diplomats. Acquiring the proper papers was the easy part, but getting the encrypted letter to the Emperor was nearly impossible. Dozens of English dragoons patrolled the beach of Elba day and night.
Reaching into the deep drawer, he pulled out a ledger and documents. Then he lifted the thin divider that hid his secrets. Pulling it out, it revealed a shallow wooden rectangular box. He took it out and ran his hands over the top, fond memories renewing his energy and purpose.
Opening the box, there revealed two pistols he’d brought with him from his last trip to Paris and missives from the Emperor detailing their plan. It took months to receive them since the letters were routed to Paris as an extra precaution, where a trusted solider rerouted them to him.
He pulled out another square box, one that contained letters from Emma’s mother and a little doll he’d purchased for Emma when she was born, but failed to send. A pang of resentment filled his heart as he touched the doll.
Just then, from the corner of his eye he saw it and blood rushed through him in a panic. Instead of three letters, there were only two.
Blast. Where is it? No one was allowed in his study.
He frantically dug through the drawers. Perhaps he’d misplaced one? Even as he was digging through his drawers, he knew the answer. He was meticulous. There could only be one answer. Someone had been in here.
He dragged his hand over his face in panic. Yanking on the pull cord, he waited for Johnson, pacing the room. Within minutes the butler knocked once. Tomkin walked over to his door, unlocked it, and opened the door.
“Yes, my lord?”
“Has anyone been in my study?”
“No, my lord,” he said. “We are aware that absolutely no one is allowed in here under any condition. Is anything wrong, my lord?” Johnson’s bushy brows pulled together.
He pursed his lips. “I should think so.” Looking at Johnson, Tomkin knew this man had been in his service since he first arrived in London. If he could trust an Englishman, it would be Johnson. “Something of mine is missing. I need you to interview the servants discreetly and find out who has been in my study.”
His butler firmly nodded. “Straightaway, my lord. Will there be anything else, my lord?”
“Yes. I am going out. Ready my carriage.”
“Will you be returning to break your fast, my lord?”
“No, Johnson,” Tomkin watched as his butler turned on his heel and left the room.
Now, let me think….
Perhaps there was a spy in the midst? Maybe one of his servants? The last time he had another soul in his study was Geoffrey. Shaw came and went twice since they’d forged an alliance, but not from the front door. Had Shaw crumbled under pressure? Perhaps that ninny didn’t have the spine after all. Surely, Shaw knew betrayal would mean losing his pretty little head. Still, caution was in order and Tomkin needed to make certain of Shaw’s loyalty to him. There was simply no room for errors.
He carefully placed all the items back into his drawer except for the two missives. There was no turning back now. For now, he needn’t worry, the missives were in code that would be nearly impossible to break. Only two agents had that kind of talent and they were both nicely settled at Chatham Hall.
Tomkin walked out of his study and locked the door, double checking the knob to make sure it was indeed locked. When the carriage was readied, he stepped out and down the steps.
All was quiet, as it should be. Looking around the perimeter, he sensed an unnerving calm. And he felt a strange uneasiness that someone was watching him.
Frowning, he gave his order to the driver before he stepped into the carriage and it drove off.
CHAPTER 18
The chilly night’s breeze gently showered over Emma’s warm face and she smiled. After tossing and turning in her bed with too many thoughts and the uncertainties of the mission, it felt good to be outside and get a breath of fresh air in her lu
ngs. In fact, she liked the darkness. It helped to settle her mind and clear her thoughts.
Sitting on a bench that overlooked the rose garden behind the house, she pulled the edge of the cloak tightly around her to keep the chill out. Gazing up, she saw the sparkling stars in the clear sky, the moon smiling down at her. She wondered where her parents were, and if they could see her just now. She missed them so dearly, that sometimes, it was too much to bear.
“May I join you?” Michael said.
His voice sent her stomach fluttering. “Yes.” She watched him join her on the bench, giving some distance between them.
“What are you doing out here all by yourself?”
“I couldn’t sleep. Besides, the stars are too tempting to miss.” She looked up at the stars again. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
He gazed up and smiled. “Ah, yes, it is a rare thing to see shining stars in late winter.”
She turned to face Michael, the man who had managed to steal her heart—twice. His hair gently blew in the wind, his sharp blue eyes looking into hers, as if he had something important to say.
“What is it?” Emma asked. He said nothing. Oh, goodness, if he had something to say, why didn’t he just tell her? She gathered her arms and pulled the cloak tight against her.
“Here.” Michael pulled off his coat and draped it over her.
His warm coat smelled of musk and spice. Botheration. It was going to be difficult to tell him what she intended to do. “I was thinking. And please let me say what it is I need to say before you object.”
“Go on….”
“I think it’s best for both of us if I return to London.”
His brow rose and his lips curved up just a little. “Are you tired of me already?”
She sensed him attempting to lighten the mood and she thought it was sweet of him to do so. “I simply cannot be here right now, not while there’s a madman out there plotting to hurt innocent people.”
“I see,” he said. “Are you certain your decision has nothing to do with me?”