by Sari Robins
“Why would he leave me?” she whispered.
“Only he knows the answer to that question, caro,” Angel replied, dragging on his still-soaking cloak. “But be certain I’ll ask him the next time I see him. If I don’t kill him first.”
Chapter 23
Justin tore through the rain-scored blackness, his battered body barely able to hold his seat as the stallion raced down the rocky lane. Resolution filled him; he needed to get Wheaton off of Evelyn’s back. He had to get the warrant for her arrest quashed and find out where Sully was being held. He could do none of those things from his bed in the cabin, no matter how much he longed to stay there.
He could not imagine Evelyn’s thoughts at the moment. He only prayed his efforts were successful and she would eventually understand his motivations were true. Arolas never would have let him go. The man didn’t trust him worth a stick. Lord only knew what he was telling Evelyn at the moment. Guilt and fear made Justin kick his heels, pressing the tired mount to the end of his endurance. He just prayed his own fortitude would stand the trial of making it to Reading. If he could get there, he would do something he had not done in his life: brandish his peerage like a shield against intimidation and as a sword to get what he wanted—quick transit to London. He would use every resource available to him to make things right for Evelyn; it was the least he could do.
It took far too long by Justin’s impatient estimation to press the company of men hounding Ismet into altering its course and assisting him instead. By the time he was ensconced in a rented coach and on his way to Town, Justin’s head pounded to the beat of the horse hooves towing the carriage down the London thoroughfare. His bullet wound ached so badly he thought he might just vomit from the pain.
Finally, the carriage bumped and jerked to a stop. The door squeaked open and the stool was set. He swallowed the bile in his throat and was relieved when his butler, Stanley, poked his head inside.
“My lord! Thank heavens you are back!”
Justin reached out and grabbed the man’s proffered hand. To his shame, he hobbled out of the coach. His sister, Audrey, flew down the residence’s steps and crashed into his chest, causing stars to sparkle before his eyes. “Mother feared the worst! But I just knew you’d be back, Justin!”
Inhaling a shaky breath, he affectionately patted her soft shoulder. “I’m glad to be home as well, Audrey. I just need to get inside the door.” Servants and Fancy alike had come out of the nearby homes and stood on the steps gaping at the long-awaited return of the kidnapped marquis. Justin was not about to give them additional fodder by passing out on his doorstep. He straightened his spine and gently wrapped his arm about his sister’s shoulders, an outward sign of affection covering up his weakened state.
Together they mounted the stairs, and Justin was thankful that his legs did not betray him. Once inside the vestibule, he let out an inward sigh of relief.
“Justin! Thank heavens you’ve returned!” Mother came bustling down the magnificent stairs, replete in muslin and lace of the darkest green to match her cat-shaped eyes. Her ash blond hair was coiled tightly at the nape of her neck, and an odd, long black ribbon was draped from her shoulder to her waist.
His man, Sylvester, slipped behind his master, giving Justin a chair in which to rest. Justin dropped into the seat with a groan.
“Don’t dally in the foyer, Justin,” his mother charged. “Let us go to the blue room for refreshment. We must celebrate your homecoming.”
“I am off to bed in the moment,” he countered stiffly.
Her catlike eyes watched him suspiciously. “What is wrong with you?”
“Besides the gunshot wound to my chest?”
She raised her fan to her lips, and her porcelain cheeks went pink.
He raised an eyebrow. “What did you think had happened to me?”
“I, well, we…” She eyed the servants lingering about. “We can discuss it upstairs.” She clapped her hands. “Come. Come.”
Her irritatingly supercilious commands were the last thing he needed now. He replied forcefully, “I am off to bed. I will call for you when I am ready to speak with you.”
She blinked. “Don’t be silly, I wish to confer with you now.”
He raised his hand to his aching temple. “And I wish for you to stop bellowing.”
She sputtered. “Bellowing…” Lifting her shoulder, she admonished, “At least have the good graces to visit me in my rooms, son.”
He knew it wasn’t the time or the place, but it was as if another had taken control of his tongue. “It’s my wife’s apartment, and you were supposed to have vacated it over a year ago.”
He wondered if his mother’s face might turn purple, she was so provoked. “I did move out, I just continue to put the chamber to use,” she replied defensively.
“Well, it’s high time you finally moved out of my space.” He inhaled deeply, measuring the pain and wondering if he was ready to confront the stairs to his bedroom. “Since I hope to finally persuade a lady to marry me soon, you will remove your things at once.” He looked up at the astonished crowd of hovering servants. “Ah, Mrs. Searles.”
The wiry, gray-haired lady stepped forward nervously. “Yes, my lord?”
“Help my mother remove all of her personal items from my lady’s chambers. The marchioness’s study can likewise be cleared out. Mother can use the second drawing room at the end of upstairs hall.”
A pall hung over the awestruck servants.
When no one moved, he urged, “Well, get on with it.”
“Yes, my lord,” Mrs. Searles murmured as she kept her eyes far from her mistress and hurried toward the stairs.
Mother stood there, her face pinched with fury. Thankfully she kept her barbed tongue silent.
“Help me to my rooms, Sylvester,” Justin muttered. His man rushed to obey, a new respect flashing in his muted brown eyes, quickly replaced by stoic deference. In the hushed quiet of a household on the brink of unstoppable reform, together they managed the stairs, one painful step at a time.
“What’s with mother’s black sash, Sylvester?” Justin asked a few hours later, after having slept like the dead, then consuming two bowls of stew.
“It was your mother’s, ah”—he coughed into his hand—“standard. To mark your kidnapping.”
Justin barely suppressed a groan. Leave it to Mother to make this into a fashion drama. “What is the rumor belowstairs about my ordeal?”
Sylvester’s sunken cheeks reddened, but he answered deferentially, “Word is that you were taken involuntarily by Miss Amherst. That she was trying to…to…tempt you into marriage.”
He snorted. “I should only be so lucky.” It made him sound like a bloody cuckold. And made Evelyn appear the desperate lightskirt. He could only imagine the licentious conjecture about Town.
“All of the staff was interviewed by the authorities, and your mother went so far as to retain Bow Street Runners to try to secure your release.” He licked his lips. “I do not wish to intrude, but if you would like I could rectify the tongue-wagging…”
So Sylvester was dying for juicy tidbits himself. Well, everyone would have to wait. The rumor mill was the least of Justin’s problems now.
A knock resounded on the door to the outer chamber, and Sylvester stepped into the next room. He returned announcing, “Mr. Stanley informs me that a Colonel Wheaton requests an audience.”
“Help me get dressed, then send him into the upstairs drawing room.” Justin was not about to see the man in his dressing gown or in his bedroom. He needed to speak from a position of strength. The colonel was one to assail any sign of weakness.
Thirty minutes later Justin stepped over the threshold, watching the master of spies with a wary eye. The older man was standing before the drawing room window, peering outside. The afternoon sunlight shone on his snowy white hair, making it appear as if a halo surrounded his large head. He turned. “Ah, Justin. How are you, my boy?”
Justin damped his irritat
ion at being called “boy.” It was a tactic designed to set the tone of their meeting. Well, two could play at that game. He stepped gingerly inside, careful to appear nonchalant as he gracefully slid into one of the high-backed chairs. Sylvester slipped unobtrusively into the room, carrying a silver tray with two brandies.
Justin accepted his and sipped, welcoming the rich, fiery liquid’s intensity. “How are you faring, old man?”
The colonel pursed his thick lips and stood over him, nodding his head at the offer of brandy. “So the chit wound up being the rascal, just as I’d said.”
“Last I saw her, she was procuring me medical attention after one of your men shot me.” At the look on Wheaton’s face, Justin leaned forward and scoffed, “What? You didn’t believe that prattle about Miss Amherst trying to seduce me, did you?”
Wheaton’s lips moved silently. “Well, we…she disappeared, you disappeared…my men were killed. It was not a far-off notion.”
Justin chuckled, probing to see if his suspicions were true. “I was the one doing the seducing, remember? And to what end? We’re no better off now than we were before. And this French plot seems nothing more than smoke and shadows.”
The old gent shrugged, ignoring the lure.
Justin sipped from his drink. “What have you learned in my absence?”
Wheaton sat down in the opposite seat as Sylvester quietly slipped from the room and closed the door. “Regrettably very little. Napoleon’s plot is set for next week and all we know is that the financial system is the target.”
So the colonel was going to stick by his stance that the French conspiracy was the real threat. “You learned this from Sully?”
The older man’s steely blue eyes narrowed. “Sullivan has yet to cooperate, but he will.”
“Helderby couldn’t handle the job?”
“Sullivan is a tough nut to crack, and Helderby was injured.” His smile was oily. “But you know quite a bit about that.”
Justin tried not to fidget under that icy gaze. “I still don’t understand why you tried to kill the girl.”
“We were trying to capture her, some of the men got a bit…ahead of themselves.”
“I trust you believe all of this gamesmanship is worth it.”
“We have Sullivan.”
Justin sipped from his drink. “Where are you holding him?”
For the first time in Justin’s memory, the colonel’s ruddy cheeks reddened. His blue gaze shifted away. “Safe, for now.” His gaze flicked back to Justin. “So the chit has been nursing you this whole time?”
“She took off, just after the doctor came. Left me quite laid up. She seems to bear me some ill will. I wonder why?”
“By the by, I don’t appreciate you assuming command of my men. They were in pursuit of some nasty fellows I believe are connected to the plot.”
Justin’s tone was cool. “I would have thought you would be pleased to get my mother off your back. As well as securing my safety, of course.”
“Of course.”
Justin swirled the drink in the cup. “I’ll have to get that warrant quashed.”
“Why?” Wheaton shrugged. “We’ll use all of our resources. She can’t hide forever, and when we do get her, we’ll have our answers.”
“I’d no sooner allow my mother to don that silly sash as have that unnecessary warrant remain outstanding.”
The old man scowled. “I like hedging my bets, Justin.”
“And I like keeping my pride intact. Besides, she did not seem particularly knowledgeable on the spy trade, as far as I could tell….” He let his voice trail off, shadowed with doubt.
“In your sickly state, I’d venture you couldn’t tell much.” The colonel snorted. “But I know she’ll lead us straight to what we need.” Leaning forward, he watched Justin closely. “She and the Spaniard are quite the hot number, it seems. He’s disappeared too, you know.”
It was Justin’s turn to look away. He would not let the jealousy searing his gut distract him from learning what he needed to know. “I’d grown bored of the chit already. I really don’t believe she can be useful to us.”
The colonel ignored this remark and sipped from his drink. “I’d hazard Amherst might have left something behind for his daughter to follow the trail.”
“Trail to what?”
If Justin had not been watching closely, he would have missed the flicker in the colonel’s eye. “Napoleon’s scheme, of course.”
“Of course.” Justin’s mouth had suddenly gone dry remembering Evelyn’s father’s journal. “It is more priceless to me than a cache of diamonds,” she had said. He stood, thankful his legs were supporting him. “Well, I don’t want to keep you, Colonel. Thank you for checking up on my welfare.”
The colonel did not rise. “So you are recovering well?”
“Stronger than a stallion.” On its last legs.
After a long moment, Wheaton scratched a snowy sideburn and stood.
They faced each other, each measuring the other, almost as if squaring off for a duel. The charged air shimmered with unasked questions. Part of Justin grieved the distrust that had developed between them. For all of Wheaton’s coldness, Justin admired the man greatly. Conceivably when all was said and done, the air could clear and Wheaton could be vindicated for all his misdeeds. Justin supposed it depended on whether one believed the ends always justified the means.
For Justin, there was no excuse for Wheaton’s abuse of power. So the loss of faith between them was perhaps the only end to their four years of working together. It was sad, given they were on the same side, supposedly.
Without another word, Wheaton spun on his heel and strode from the room.
After the colonel crossed the threshold, Justin counted to fifty and then dropped unceremoniously into the chair with a loud thump. His exhausted body almost shook from the effort it had taken him to keep it together throughout the interview.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the note he’d taken from the cabin just a day and a half before. He’d felt no compunction pilfering Evelyn’s list; it was a reminder of her and of the task before him.
He read, “‘What we need to know. Where is Sully?’” Justin rubbed his chin, thinking out loud, “Probably at one of the safe houses.” But Wheaton was suspicious, so the usual spots might not be used.
“‘What do you want from him and from me?’”
“Answers to some questions. Trail to something.” Justin wished he’d drawn more from the colonel. He looked at the empty threshold, considering the prior interview. He’d never known the colonel to stray from His Majesty’s service. But something was not adding up. He shook his head. No. Wheaton would not betray his country. It was unimaginable. “Then what’s the old codger after?” he asked the vacant chamber.
Justin skipped to the last question, reading it aloud. “‘Do you make a habit of seducing your victims, or was I a special case?’” Brushing the parchment across his lips, he whispered, “You are a very special case, darling, and I’m not about to let Wheaton or anyone else hurt you. On my honor.”
Folding the paper and slipping it into his coat pocket, he called, “Sylvester?”
His man popped his head inside the room. “Yes, my lord?”
“Bring me my writing instruments.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And don’t forget my seal.” He was going to have to get busy, and there was little enough time. He wondered where Evelyn was, and he prayed that she was not taking matters into her own hands, for no one knew better than Justin the colonel’s tenacity. The man was like a tiger with a foot in its jaws, eating its way upward until nothing of a man or woman was left.
Chapter 24
Evelyn was shaking so badly that she thought her teeth might fall out from their clattering. She was chilled to the bone, and no amount of firewood could draw out her frostiness. She scooted closer to the raging flames in the hearth and held out her frozen hands. At least the carpet under her bottom was plush
.
“You need to get out of those wet clothes,” Angel barked as he strode into the chamber with leopardlike grace. He dropped an ivory dressing gown onto the enormous bed. “Here, put this on.”
She eyed the silky confection warily but knew that she would catch her death if she did not do something quickly to ward off the chill.
“I’m going to get us something to eat and drink.” His dark clothes were plastered to his lean body, and his black hair had curled up around his ears. “Lock the door behind me. Three knocks, remember.” With that, he opened the door a crack, peered down the hall of the fancy inn, and slipped out the door.
After firmly turning the brass key in the lock, Evelyn yanked off her sodden shoes and set them by the fire to dry. She tugged at her drenched garments, taking off everything, down to her damp chemise. She unfastened her stays and peeled the last vestiges of her sodden clothing from her skin. She slipped on the silky nightdress, wondering how Angel had managed to procure such an expensive and personal garment on such short notice.
Thunder clamored outside, followed by a flash of lightning so bright it illuminated the entire chamber, even through the thick drapes. She shuddered and moved back to the fire, tucking her feet under her bottom, praying that they would thaw. She sat hunched so close to the flames that the heat’s radiance wrapped her in a toasty blanket. After a few long moments, she realized that her teeth were no longer chattering.
In the silent chamber she listened to the pitter-patter of the raindrops hitting the windows and the muffled sounds of horses neighing and carriage wheels rolling by on the cobblestone street below. She wondered if she should light the candles on the side of the bed, but she was unwilling to move from her warm spot by the fire. The firelight cast gloomy shadows around the spacious room and across the thick carpet where she sat. She wondered how much such a well-appointed room cost for the night. Certainly more than she had to her name, she thought glumly. She was indebted to Angel once again, with no means of ever repaying him. Yet now she was even worse off than before.