by Sari Robins
Gliding across the room, she leaned up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Don’t look so glum, darling.” She kissed him lightly on the lips. “Perhaps it’s good news.”
Smiling determinedly, she swept toward the door. Justin had to marvel at her. No matter what got her down, she was always ready to find the light at the end of the tunnel. She never let herself be overburdened…. Again, that pesky thought nagged at his consciousness, nimbly slipping away before revealing itself. He rubbed his temple, impatient for it to come, yet unable to press his weary mind further.
He straightened his aching shoulders and fairly stumbled toward the door.
The bald little man was shaking with apparent anxiety as Evelyn strode into the drawing room. In an instant Evelyn took in his disheveled brown coat with a long tear at the elbow, his drooping left stocking just below his knee britches, his scuffed brown leather shoes, and his skewed gold-rimmed spectacles. As usual, he appeared ready to jump like a frightened rabbit.
“What happened to you, Mr. Tuttle?”
“I did it, Miss Amherst,” he stated proudly. Only then did she note the squared shoulders, the confidence gleaming from behind his smudged eyeglasses, and the quirk of his grinning, reedy lips.
“What did you do, Mr. Tuttle?”
“I found the letter that pig Marlboro was keeping from you.”
“Say again?”
He hobbled toward her, and the sagging stocking slipped down to his ankle, exposing a milky white calf with a long red slash of blood. “I knew Marlboro was holding out on you, even though he got the go-ahead to release your father’s estate. I confronted the bugger, but he brushed me off. So tonight I broke into the office and found it.” His hand shook as he reached into his coat and pulled out a thick beige paper.
“What is that?” Justin limped into the room. He looked so weary that Evelyn was tempted to make him get off his aching leg and into bed, but she knew he’d get little sleep there. If anything needed to be done, Justin would be the first to volunteer. His bravery knew no bounds, and she could not have treasured him more for it. Her heart warmed, thanking the heavens for his safe return. She just prayed she could keep him alive and well until the end of this vile treachery.
Her thoughts were suddenly diverted by the sight of her name scratched boldly across the parchment. She rushed forward. “That’s Father’s handwriting.”
The man blinked up at Justin from behind his spectacles and thrust the paper behind his back. “Ah, can I assume, my lord, that you’ve altered your position regarding Miss Amherst’s rights?” The poor soul was no match for the marquis physically or in social standing, yet he stood tall, bravely challenging Justin for her.
Justin nodded curtly. “Miss Amherst is under my protection. My only concern is that she receive everything due to her.”
Mr. Tuttle seemed to consider this for a moment, a gleam of sweat shining across his bald brow. “I must admit I was surprised to learn that Miss Amherst was residing here, and then when I heard about her funds being released, well…”
She stepped forward. “Lord Barclay is on my side, Mr. Tuttle, and I am thankful to be able to include you in the ranks of my champions as well.”
He pushed his spectacles up the ridge of his narrow nose and positively preened. “’Twas nothing, Miss Amherst. Just as you’d said, an injustice needed to be righted. I was just doing my part.” He pulled the letter from behind his back and handed it to her.
She noted that the paper was still closed with her father’s impressive seal securing the back. She slowly took the crinkled parchment and held it to her chest, bowing to the man. “I am grateful to you, Mr. Tuttle, for risking so much for me.”
“It was well hidden. It took me hours to find, and by then the night watchman was roused. He called his dog and I had to run for it. Had a nasty scrape with some bushes, but it was worth it. I’d just love to see the look on Marlboro’s face when he hears that his precious cache was compromised.”
She smiled warmly. “You play the hero well, Mr. Tuttle.”
His pale cheeks tinged pink as he tried to suppress his grin. “’Twas nothing, miss.”
“Any word from my father is precious to me.”
Justin nodded. “I also thank you, Mr. Tuttle. Your efforts will be rewarded, and Marlboro’s deceit will be repaid as well.”
The little man looked fit to burst. “Ah, thank you, my lord, Miss Amherst.”
Evelyn slid her fingers under the paper and broke open the familiar seal. “Why would Marlboro keep it from me and yet not open it?”
Mr. Tuttle patted his shiny forehead with a yellowed handkerchief. “I’d venture he was covering all corners in case the, ah”—he eyed Justin curiously—“authorities changed their mind regarding you.”
Justin seemed ready to chastise the little man, but instead only nodded. “My regard for Miss Amherst is not fickle, Mr. Tuttle. I had been under mistaken notions that have since been rectified. No one will interfere with Miss Amherst’s affairs again.”
Evelyn hastily sent him an affectionate smile but could barely contain her anxiety as she quickly scanned the cherished scrawl of the long letter.
My dearest Evelyn,
If you are reading this missive, it means I am dead. I suppose it’s too much to hope that I went peacefully in my sleep, but alas, that is not the death of a soldier. And no matter the terminology, diplomat, emissary, spy, I lived my life as a soldier on behalf of my country and would likely die as such.
Justin stepped close and rested his strong, comforting hand on her shoulder. She pressed her hand to his, glad for his nearness and support. She read aloud, feeling he had the right to know. “‘In passing, I pray that I not only left you in considerable financial well-being, but also gave you some semblance of guidance for your life hereafter. There are few people in this world I regard as highly as you. Thus, it is with great sadness, and yet hope, that I pass on to you a burden I have carried these many years.’”
The hand on her should squeezed. “Burden! Of course!”
She looked up.
Justin’s incredible eyes sparkled with excitement. “The necklace is in the memorial. It’s not a memorial to your mother, but to you!”
Her brow furrowed, unease filtering through her. “But why would he leave a memorial to me?”
“Read on and I bet we’ll have our answers.”
She raised the paper once more and then lowered it. “Teardrops, gods…” Exhilaration filtered through her; they might actually be able to save Sully and Angel! Salvation was within reach. “In ancient Greece, diamonds were considered teardrops of the gods. You’re right, Justin! There were hints and snippets of it in Father’s journal. It must be there! We can get the necklace and trade it for their lives! Heavens, we might actually win!”
Justin beamed down at her. “As if you had any doubt. You can climb mountains if you set your mind to it, Evelyn. I’ve come to know that.”
She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him close, so blessedly thankful she could help her friends.
He wrapped his strong arms around her and kissed her forehead. “It’ll all be over soon, darling.” There was a catch to his voice.
Mr. Tuttle coughed. “Ahem. I hate to intrude, but after all of this chicanery, I’d suggest we read the rest of the letter and find out why your father went to such pains to hide the thing—before uncorking any champagne, that is.”
She blew out a long breath and nodded, reluctantly pushing out of Justin’s embrace. “Always the voice of reason, Mr. Tuttle.”
Sighing, she raised the parchment and read, “‘Thus, it is with great sadness, and yet hope, that I pass on to you a burden I have carried these long years. It seems like ages ago when the sultan of Kanibar gifted to me an ancient and magnificent necklace of the finest diamonds in gratitude for saving his firstborn from a terrible death. It was reputed to have legendary qualities, magic, some said, to turn a spurned heart, to garner friendship, and other such nonsens
e, in which I placed little credence. Still, its history and reputation gave it significant value, and I was grateful.’”
Justin coiled his arm around her waist. Her heart warmed, and she smiled to herself, continuing, “‘I had the mythical necklace with me in Paris on the ill-fated night when I happened upon a young Frenchman, an officer in the army who had recently been released from arrest but who was still out of favor with his government. Although he was poorly clad, ill-fed, and in disfavor, a brilliance shined from his owl-gray eyes, evidencing a brightness of intellect, of magnetism rarely seen, but found in great men. I was charmed.’”
The arm around her waist tensed into iron. Justin murmured, “A charismatic officer with owl-gray eyes can only be Napoleon.”
She swallowed but read on, “‘Over many a brandy, we spoke long into the dark night, and it was sometime near dawn when I showed him the magnificent necklace. It was an action I have grown to regret. Since then I never again showed the precious jewels to a living soul. I try to console myself by saying, who could have known that a starved officer would soon crown himself emperor and try to dominate Europe? But I, of all people, a man in the profession of assessing character, should have recognized the mad thirst for domination that lay within him.’”
“There were few who could have predicted how powerful Napoleon was to become,” Justin commented grimly.
“‘It was just two years after that fateful night in 1795 when Bonaparte contacted me about the necklace. The man has hounded me since. As rumors of Josephine’s infidelity circulated, he grew more insistent, but it soon became a crazed quest for supremacy, to harness the necklace’s supposed power or possibly to use it for desperately needed funds. I do not know, nor do I care. All I know is that the necklace must never come to be in his hands. He is our sworn enemy and we cannot allow anything to benefit his cause.’”
She took a shaky breath. “‘It is with you that I entrust this great responsibility, and I have all the faith of a proud, loving father that you will protect it as did I, until the mad Corsican is finally defeated. You will find it at your mother’s former residence, according to the ancient Greeks. All my love to you always, Evelyn, and may the Lord grace your days.’”
Her throat had swollen shut, and hot tears slid down her cheeks. A great weight settled on her chest, and she felt as if she might not draw breath. Justin enveloped her in his brawny arms and hugged her close, else she might not have been able to stand. She could not quite sort out the implications of her father’s monumental trust, his enormous faith in her, and the heavy burden he had placed upon her. She could not rationally face the conflict between needing to do what she must to save her friends and following her father’s last wishes.
“We will first get Sully and Arolas back, then I’ll cut off Helderby’s or anyone else’s hands before they take that bloody necklace,” Justin growled.
From within his embrace, a small bubble of laughter erupted from her choked throat.
He looked down at her, concern marring his handsome features. “What is it, Evelyn?”
She sniffed, shaking her head. “Wheaton, Napoleon, Helderby, all these praetorian men after a piece of woman’s jewelry. It’s almost comical.”
“Typical, actually,” huffed Mr. Tuttle.
Perplexed, she peered at him from within Justin’s arms.
The little man pushed his gold spectacles up his thin nose. “Men are always after something. The necklace could have been anything, just something to reach for, to give them an antidote.”
“To what?” Justin asked.
“That unsettling feeling in your gut when you think you might just not be good enough after all. To make someone feel complete…” His voice trailed off.
Heavy silence enveloped the chamber.
“My father trusted me to keep the necklace safe. How can I do that once I’ve given it to Helderby?”
Justin squeezed her arms. “I will kill Helderby and every man who gets within reach of the thing.”
She lovingly brushed her hand through his short hair. “I appreciate your sentiment, Justin, no matter how impractical.”
“Give this Helderby fellow an imitation.”
She turned to look at the amazing Mr. Tuttle.
“Excellent notion,” intoned Justin. “He’s never seen it—no one has if it’s been buried all these years. Leave the necklace in its safe hiding place for now.”
“But where will we get an exquisite jeweled necklace this late in the game?” she asked. “We cannot trust Helderby to keep Sully and Angel unharmed for the time it will take to find something.”
“The Barclay jewels will do nicely, I think.”
She blinked. The enormity of Justin’s offer staggered her. “Your aunt said that they’ve been in your family for hundreds of years. That they are worth a king’s ransom.”
He shrugged, not meeting her eye. “They’re not worth more than your safety, or that of your friends.”
Resolution was within reach, but everything came at a price, it seemed. “But they are for your bride,” she whispered. “Every Barclay bride has worn them for generations.”
Finally his stormy eyes met hers, and the torment she saw within them twisted her heart. “We might as well put them to some use, as I will not marry if it’s not to you.”
The world stopped, and Evelyn was caught up in swirling mists of gray-green tempests. It would be so easy to give in and fly with the flow of those storm clouds. But to fall was madness beyond imagining.
Mr. Tuttle rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Well, it’s settled then. Let’s find this Helderby chap and set up the exchange.”
Justin stepped away, leaving her feeling bereft. “I’ll contact Devane.”
Evelyn felt the sudden urge to toss her father’s letter into the fire. She didn’t want Justin betting his future on her. The diamonds seemed integral to his family life, to his marriage. He deserved a family who loved him, a woman who was not harnessed to her past, expecting betrayal at every corner.
The image of gorgeous young urchins with wheat-colored locks and greenish-gray eyes racing with puppies at their heels flashed through her mind, but she pushed it away, the pain too fierce for her to manage. She could never make herself so vulnerable to another. It would give him too much power to hurt her.
“Is there any other necklace we might use besides the Barclay bridal gems?”
“It’s our best course, Evelyn,” he stated coolly as he headed toward the door. “At this point, our only one.”
Staring at the empty threshold, she slowly nodded. She would accept his sacrifice, but she would repay him. No matter what happened, she would find a way to make amends. Just so long as it did not involve a minister, a license, and a trip down an aisle.
Chapter 32
Just as the blood ran through his veins, the pain flowed with Sully’s every waking moment, as natural as his every breath. He welcomed each piercing ache, as it reminded him afresh of the debt he owed his captors—the brutish Helderby, the pretty marquis, and the conniving Wheaton. Sully did not care about the others. They were nameless muscles working toward their next payload. But Sully cared quite a lot about “the Traitorous Three.” Nurturing the fires of his hatred warmed the pain, making it almost pleasurable to imagine decimating his enemies with similar grief, tenfold.
In the shadowed darkness of his cell, by the light of the flickering moon through the slit of a window, he continued to needle at the binding at his wrists, the dried blood having hardened the knots to stone. After what must have been days toiling over the bands, he had felt that smidgen of “give” that heralded burgeoning escape. That tiny yield had provided him with more hope than a charging cavalry. For he didn’t want rescue, he wanted sweet retribution by his own hand.
He pushed away the worry about Evelyn, over the fact that his captors had not been to see him in what had to have been almost forty-eight hours. That did not bode well for his value to them, nor for his plans for revenge. Not that th
e pretty marquis was one to dirty his hands and deign to visit his captive. No, he was more intent on mauling defenseless young ladies. Sully’s simmering anger steeped, and he willed the fury into his fumbling fingers, knowing that soon his hands would be encircling the throat of that very same peer of the realm who had stolen Evelyn’s kisses.
The only times he felt his spirits falter were when the memories flashed through his mind; Evelyn’s tenth birthday, when she was too ill with fever to enjoy the festivities but insisted that everyone celebrate without her. Her beaming grin while learning to ride her first pony. The triumph lighting her sky blue eyes the first time she beat him at chess, though in truth he had let her win.
He wondered if she had identified the mythical necklace Helderby and Wheaton were after. He had certainly never seen or known of it. It hurt his pride that his dear friend Phillip hadn’t seen fit to share the secret. But if Phillip had kept the necklace hidden, it must’ve been for good reason. Sully trusted that it was so and prayed that Evelyn did right by her father and kept it safe. For Sully was not ready to let the Traitorous Three win in this dastardly game. He would give them each a slow and painful death first.
Helderby could barely contain his excitement as he ambled down the dusty corridor of the Largo safe house sheltering his “guests.” The jeweled necklace was about to be his, all damn his. No bloody sharing with any damned dying colonel; he couldn’t believe he’d put up with the bugger as long as he had, but he congratulated himself on overcoming the bastard. He was his own man. Takin’ care a business was his profession, and he was damned good at it and about to be a might richer for it as well.
His only regret was that he’d not had a go at the Amherst hellcat. She was a tasty morsel. Perhaps after he’d got his hands on the prize she’d be more interested in coming along for the ride. And for once he wouldn’t even have to pay for the poke. The thought lifted his spirits and his cock, and he almost cackled with glee.