All Men Are Rogues

by Sari Robins

  “Brandy?” Wheaton waved to the bar.

  She nodded curtly. She needed something to expunge the stale taste of bile from her mouth, and she did not mind taking from the despicable bastard; given half a chance she’d take him for everything he had. She stepped over to the hearth, feeling no warmth from the billowing flames.

  “Here.” He held the glass of brownish liquid out to her. She glared at him and did not move. There was only so much contact she was willing to subject herself to. Shrugging, he set the glass on the side table. She stepped over and raised it to her cracked lips. The fiery liquid slithered down her throat into her hollow belly. It brought minimal relief from the anger, couched in fear, that roiled in her stomach.

  Looking up, she examined the rapacious faces of the porcelain ghouls hovering on the mantel. She shuddered; only a sick person would keep such vile curios.

  Wheaton dropped his heavy bulk into the deep armchair by the fire and motioned for her to sit across from him. She did not pay heed.

  “Where’s Sully?”

  “Sullivan is in my care. In fact, I had to call a doctor to monitor his progress.”

  “Progress from what?”

  He scratched a snowy sideburn. “Seems Sullivan came face-to-face with a hard object.”

  The only hard object sat in the armchair before her. “What do you want?”

  “Justice.”

  “You are not exactly a good judge of it, given you are imprisoning two innocent men without allowing them the benefit of due process.”

  “I am detaining you as well.”

  She let out the breath she had been holding. So they didn’t have Ismet or Shah. She’d suspected as much when she could not glimpse Ismet anywhere near the chapel. That also meant her last hope against hope that Justin was not in league with this bastard melted away, since Justin was not arrested either. Well, she had wanted to know what side he played on. Now she knew. She pushed away the hurt; she had no time for it now. Anger was all she could afford.

  She leaned over Wheaton in the chair, a burst of self-confidence coming from some unknown source. “How dare you speak of justice when you are the epitome of engorged arrogance?”

  His white cheeks reddened. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You toy with others without regard for the faith entrusted to you by your country.” She edged closer, wanting him to feel her wrath. “Does His Majesty know how you trample on the rights of your fellow Englishmen to feather your own nest?”

  “I am claiming what is rightfully mine, earned, by the way, in service to my country!” Spittle flew from his lips, and she felt a small sense of satisfaction that she was able to rouse him so easily. Perhaps he was not the impervious archfiend he appeared.

  “What utter nonsense. You are a travesty of an Englishman,” she retorted, her voice laced with scorn.

  His face turned a fascinating shade of purple, and he seemed to shake from head to toe, his fat lips quivering. He raised his fisted hand to her, but the menace was lost as it shook wildly. Swallowing hard, he blew out a long breath. Seeming to get a hold on his emotions, he shook his head, suddenly smiling. “I did not realize how disquieting it would be to speak with you face-to-face. I must admit, you have more mettle to you than I expected from Diedra’s daughter.”

  He knew her mother? She turned and stepped away from the mantel, trying to hide her shock.

  “Oh, yes, your mother and I were quite close growing up.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a white linen square. He patted it across his beaded brow. “In Bloomsbury our houses stacked up side by side. We could not have been closer.”

  She did not like the insinuation in his tone. “What does that have to do with why you are abusing your office?”

  He leaned forward angrily. “I am not abusing anything, you randy-faced chit! I am doing what should have been done years ago. If only your bloody father had not been knighted.” Crazed violence shone in his steely eyes. “If only the dratted bastard had never been born!” His hatred was palpable; it rippled off him in waves.

  She realized that she had unconsciously edged backwards into the flanking bookcase. She forced herself to step forward and attempted to regain that swell of confidence. “If he had never been born, then this country, no, the world would have been a much poorer place. He was a peacemaker,” she declared proudly.

  “He was a thief!”

  “He would not have stolen to save his own skin!”

  “He pilfered my life!” He shoved his big bulk up on shaky legs and stomped to the mantel, leaning hard against the marble. “He stole my wife. My knighthood. My treasure.” He wiped his hand across his eyes. “My Diedra.” He blew out a shuddering breath. “You look so much like her, it’s uncanny.”

  Silence enveloped the eerie chamber.

  She peeked toward the entry, wondering how hard it would be to make it out the back door. The colonel seemed too ungainly to follow a twenty-two-year-old racing for her life.

  “But you are Amherst’s bloody babe, and whether you know it or not, you have what’s mine.” He turned, hatred glittering brightly in his eyes as he stepped menacingly toward her. “I had hoped throwing the truth in his face would have brought me some redress. But the only satisfaction I got was from putting a bullet in his gut. I trust you won’t push me so far.”

  Shock pierced her heart at his cold-blooded confession.

  “Step away from Evelyn, Colonel!” Justin stood in the threshold, the pistol pointed at Wheaton unwavering in his grip. Relief and distrust warred inside her. He was her adversary, yet there he stood, acting as if he were her champion.

  “So the boy finally grows to be a man.” Wheaton held up his meaty hands in surrender. Still, he sidestepped closer to her.

  “Don’t make me shoot, Colonel!” With Justin’s eyes trained on his former superior, he called over his shoulder, “In the drawing room, Mr. Clontz!”

  Evelyn slid along the bookcase, away from Wheaton, and stood by Justin’s side.

  “Did he hurt you, Evelyn?”

  She shook her head, relieved but uncertain. “Angel? Sully?” It was too much to hope.

  “I wanted to find you first.” His mouth was pressed into a firm line.

  “I hate to disappoint, but I cannot stay to blow the gab.” The colonel stepped toward the bookcase.

  “Sit down in the seat by the fire, Wheaton,” Justin ordered.

  Wheaton jumped in the opposite direction, grabbing one of the volumes from its shelf. A section of the bookcase slid open with a hiss. The colonel stepped through, amazingly fast for a man of his age and stature.

  A boom exploded near Evelyn’s ear. She opened her eyes, and smoke wove through the chamber. Her ears were ringing from the report, and the sharp scent of gunpowder filled her nostrils.

  Justin raced to the concealed exit. “Bloody hell!” He ducked his head and charged through.

  “Justin!” With her heart in her throat she ran after him, into the darkest pitch. Something crashed into her head with a horrible crack. Pain pummeled her skull, stars shimmered in her eyes, and then all went black.

  Chapter 28

  Voices whispered in the darkness, but Evelyn had no wish to leave the safety of her comfortable cocoon. She inched deeper into her slumber, ignoring the world that pressed against the invisible wall of her cozy sanctuary. To her chagrin, her senses slowly rose to wakefulness anyhow.

  The sharp scents of spirit of turpentine and camphor teased her nose, making her cognizant of the fact that someone had been diligently cleaning against bedbugs. She shifted slightly under the soft blanket; how she loved a firm wool mattress. The silky smooth sheets under her palms brought understanding that this was a fancy establishment indeed. Her brow furrowed. Was she indebted to Angel even more for yet another night in an expensive inn?

  But what were whispering strangers doing in her leased room? And why did her head ache as if a seaman had used it to crack open a drum?

  “My
lord, she wakes!”

  Heavens, did he have to bellow? Her head pounded horrifically and her ears rang. This was not fancy hostelry. She was in a luxurious bedchamber with strange servants scrambling about. She heard soft footfalls on thick carpeting and felt a presence standing near.

  Excitement bubbled in her middle, blended with no small sense of relief. She’d know that woodsy, masculine scent anywhere. Still, her warm feelings were tinged with fury. Justin had betrayed her, had he not? Or had he saved her? Her muddled brain was having trouble discerning between fact and wishful thinking.

  She pried open her eyes. Her vision was filled with the familiar features of the handsome man who was at the center of her confusion. Swallowing, she took her fill of his striking good looks; the dimpled chin, pursed smooth lips, sharp, high cheekbones, and smoky gray-green eyes. A thin fuzz of golden hair blanketed his chin, and black circles shadowed his worried eyes. The way he watched her apprehensively, as if fearful of her reaction to him, brought to the fore the mishmash of her emotions.

  She cleared her throat. “Ah, what happened?”

  He spoke quietly in his succinct, cultured voice. “The colonel had traps set. The first one trounced me.” He raised his leg and showed her the ivory bandage that had been out of view. “And you, regrettably, succumbed to the second.”

  The confrontation in the drawing room rushed back to her. Justin had shot at his superior, had placed himself on the line, to help her. Why would he do such a thing if he had been the one who had arranged her capture? She recalled the colonel’s words, “…the very cooperative vicar.” So Justin had been true all along. The certainty hit home, and deep in her heart a little voice gave a cry of joy.

  She raised her hand to her throbbing head. “What hit me, an anvil?”

  “A useless cannonball.”

  “So that’s the explosion resounding in my head.” She shifted up slowly. “Obviously he found a use for it.”

  “A bloody nasty use,” Justin mumbled under his breath as he gently helped her sit up. Even through the fog of her pain she was aware of his masculine strength and the power of his attraction. He called to every feminine instinct within her.

  Clearing his throat, he offered, “You gave us quite a scare. You’ve been unconscious for some time.”

  She quibbled, “I was due for a holiday.”

  “Not one from life, I presume,” he replied somberly.

  Motioning to a hovering servant, Justin accepted a steaming mug and passed it to her. Herbs floated in the warm greenish-yellow liquid. Evelyn sniffed. Chamomile, mint, lemon, among other things.

  “I cannot afford to be beef-brained,” she said as she handed back the cup. “There’s too much left to do.”

  “But you’re in pain,” Justin countered.

  “Nothing I can’t handle.” Straightening her shoulders, she repressed a wince. “We need to find Angel and Sully.”

  He grimaced. “I’ve searched every safe house in London, without finding a trace of either of them.”

  “On that?” She pointed to his injured foot.

  “It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he echoed back grimly.

  She let out a long breath. So Justin was The Real Scratch. She could not quite face her combustion of emotions, so she pushed them aside for examination later. Sully and Angel came first. “Then we will just have to search the entire country. Whatever it takes to find them.”

  “Oh, I hope we don’t have to travel by coach,” came a familiar lilting Spanish accent from the doorway. “My back is aching from that nasty trip from Wellington’s camp.”

  “Señor Arolas!” Evelyn exclaimed, but razor-sharp pain pierced her temple from her own loud voice. She lifted her hand to her throbbing head but smiled through the ache. “Here come the Titans!”

  “Don’t think I can save the world, Evelyn. I was little enough help to your father.” The elegant older gentleman sauntered into the room, a scowl marring his handsome features. He was an older version of Angel, but with curly silver hair instead of black and at least two stones heavier than his son. Still, he had that same darkly attractive countenance and catlike grace, which made Evelyn miss Angel even more.

  “I came as fast as I could.”

  “How did you know, Señor?” she asked.

  “I contacted him.” Justin hobbled forward with his hand extended. “Señor Arolas, I’m so glad you could come. We’re in the Briers and need all the help we can get.”

  The men shook hands. “So Wheaton has Angel?”

  Justin blinked. “How did you—?”

  The older gentleman shrugged. “I have my sources. And I can tell you this, Angel is not involved in any French plot.”

  “I’ve come to the inevitable conclusion that the French conspiracy is nothing more than a subterfuge to give Wheaton access to Evelyn, Sully, and whatever it is he’s after.”

  “The scalawag does not appear to worry overmuch about the authorities,” Evelyn pointed out. “Why did he even bother with the ruse?”

  “The old double shuffle,” Justin replied. “With everyone loyal chasing the wrong target, he pursues his own with impunity.” His gaze turned bitter. “I can’t believe what a cat’s-paw I’ve been!”

  “You thought you were saving your country,” she commented. “Besides, if you hadn’t been involved, Wheaton would have had my hide by now.”

  Señor Arolas rubbed his chin. “So you were the infiltrator, my lord?”

  “Yes.”

  “A logical plan, given the family connection and your role with the Foreign Office.”

  “How do you know so much about me?” Justin questioned.

  “I asked a friend.”

  The scope of Señor Arolas’s influence hit home; the only friend with that kind of knowledge could be Wellington himself.

  Silence enveloped the elegant chamber. A servant slipped a chair behind each man, and they sat by Evelyn’s bedside.

  “So what happened to the plan?” Señor Arolas adjusted his legs before him. Even in this odd situation, Evelyn had to admire the fine cut of his elegant clothes and his graceful manner. The men in the Arolas family had incredible flair.

  Justin’s style was quite different, but somehow equally appealing. Wincing, he adjusted his injured foot. “The trap worked. Wheaton captured Sully but apparently did not get what he wanted. So he went after Evelyn.”

  “And got my son.” Señor Arolas scowled. “So what does the fiend want?”

  “I don’t know,” Justin admitted.

  “Vengeance,” Evelyn whispered. “He killed my father.” The coldness in her voice surprised even her.

  Señor Arolas’s features darkened. “Now he’s got a double debt to pay for abducting my son.”

  “He believes that Father stole from him.”

  “Stole what?”

  She bit her lip, trying to remember what the knave had said. “His wife, my mother. Ah, his knighthood and…some sort of treasure.”

  “What kind of treasure?” Justin leaned forward eagerly.

  She slowly shook her head.

  “So he was the one,” Señor Arolas spoke softly.

  That really got her attention. “What are you talking about, Señor?”

  Arolas cleared his throat. “Your father had confided in me, and, well, at this point, you are old enough to learn the truth without it devastating you.”

  She swallowed. “What is it?”

  “A diplomat’s life can be difficult, especially on one’s family.” Guilt flashed through his cocoa brown eyes. “We do it for our country and, let’s be honest, for ourselves. But it means sacrifice.” He shrugged. “Phillip knew Diedra was not happy; still, he was distraught when she confessed to having had an affair.” He watched her closely, surmising, “You don’t seem surprised.”

  “I’ve always suspected she had been untrue to Father. Even at a young age, one hears things not meant for tender ears. Odd as it may sound, part of me had felt glad she’d found some happiness in her life,
the rest of me could never forgive her for causing my father so much pain.” Her lips curled in disgust. “I’m just appalled that she chose to flout her marriage vows with such a loathsome villain.”

  “Apparently they had been childhood friends and had almost married,” Señor Arolas explained. “Evidently Wheaton pursued her for years after she wed, intent on winning her back. I don’t know exactly when the affair occurred, but she ended it, too overwhelmed by guilt.”

  “Probably regained her sanity,” Evelyn retorted.

  Justin shook his head. “If she ended the affair years ago and your father was knighted many years back, then why did Wheaton kill your father now? And why is he coming after you?”

  “Even though you have a splendidly diabolical intellect,” Evelyn commented dryly, “you cannot try to decipher the mind of a madman.” His eyes locked with hers, and she suddenly realized what she’d said. Her cheeks heated as a sense of horror overwhelmed her. She prayed he could not believe that she’d ever compare him to his disturbed brother!

  His lips slowly lifted into a grin that flooded his eyes with radiance. The affection she saw in his gaze made her hollow stomach flip over, and caused her to long to melt in the embers of his smoldering greenish-gray eyes.

  Señor Arolas coughed into his hand, breaking the spell. “So, ah, I understand that Angel was captured at a church. What exactly were you doing at a church at five o’clock in the morning?”

  “Evelyn and I were about to be married,” Justin supplied, watching her carefully.

  Señor Arolas sputtered, “You must be jesting! Evelyn’s sworn since she was eight years old that she’d never marry.”

  She blinked as insight flashed through her mind. “I remember Mother and Father having a terrible row when we were in Italy. Mother had just returned from an excursion to London. I must’ve been about eight years old.” She felt as if a veil had been lifted from her eyes. A mourning veil. “That certainly explains a lot.”