by Gaelen Foley
“Go on,” he ordered. “Write him a nice little love letter telling him to meet you tonight…”
Lily missed the rest of Edward’s cold words as she gazed at the sharp letter opener tucked away in the cubbyhole of the desk directly in her line of sight.
For a second, she wondered if she could stab him with it, fight her way out of here. But that was absurd.
In her fantasies, maybe, the little girlhood dreams she had spun at the garden folly, but in real life, she was no warrior. Not like Derek. She had her wits, he had his sword, and between the two of them, that would have to be enough.
“Tell him to come to the mews behind Mrs. Clearwell’s house. We don’t want to arouse our fine warrior’s suspicions.”
“Oh, Edward, please,” she breathed, and looked up to search his face in guarded pleading.
“Do it!” he roared at her, bringing his fist down on the paper before her.
She jumped. Handling the pen like a foreign object, clumsily dipping it into the ink with trembling fingers, she began to write, her tears spilling onto the page.
For she realized now that after the angry way they had parted, Derek was going to walk into that dark alley tonight and think she had betrayed him.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
“It really is the most curious thing,” Charles was saying to Derek, who leaned against the opposite wall, arms folded across his chest, his brow furrowed in thought.
He had come to the solicitor’s tidy Whitehall office directly, even before traveling on homeward to the Althorpe. He had a bit of a headache from his excesses outside of Town and was in need of a heavy meal, but this had been too important to delay.
“Why such a respected and dignified peer as Lord Sinclair should have made a payment from his accounts to an infamous scoundrel like Phillip Kane, well, it quite baffles the understanding. I know not what it signifies, but I had a feeling you would want the details, such as they are.”
“Oh, yes, Charles. You were quite right to send for me.”
“Here you have it.” Charles glanced at his notes. “Five thousand pounds, dated almost exactly two years ago.”
“Hm. Five thousand pounds is no trifling sum.” He took a swig of water from his canteen, still a bit dry-mouthed after his excursion to all those pubs. “So, what do we know of this Phillip Kane fellow?”
“Ah, his name was quite familiar to those of us in legal circles, for he was constantly running afoul of the constabulary, getting into all sorts of trouble. Somehow he always delivered a fine cock-and-bull tale to explain his latest mischief, and he’d tell it with a smile. Half the time, his smooth talking worked, too, even on the magistrates. He had a charming air. Good-looking fellow, flamboyant, with the manners of a gentleman—but thoroughly dissipated. An adventurer, always on the make with some new scheme. Pity he didn’t deign to turn his talents to honest measures, but he seemed to feel the world had wronged him.”
“How?”
“Well, he was rumored to be the bastard son of some high-ranking aristocrat, by an opera girl,” Charles said with a grimace of distaste. “He grew up around the theater world and learned all of its vices at an early age.”
“An actor?”
Charles shrugged. “I never heard of him taking to the stage himself, but whatever skills he picked up among their breed seemed to serve him best with the ladies and at the gaming tables. He had a reputation as a womanizer, but mainly he was known as a cardsharp. It seemed to me quite plausible that Lord Sinclair could have paid him to settle a gaming debt.”
Derek shook his head. “Lord Sinclair doesn’t touch the cards. They would’ve never appointed him to the committee if he had any history as a gambler. All that money under his care…” He paused. “Of course, His Lordship could have paid Kane off on behalf of a younger male relative, a son or nephew who might’ve been stung by this sharper’s gift with the cards and the dice.”
“Ah, that could be.” Charles nodded, pursing his lips. “Do you wish me to look into it, Major?”
Derek waved off the offer. “I’ll do it. I think it’ll be extremely enlightening to have a little chat with Lord Sinclair about his dealings with this man. I’d also like to talk to Phillip Kane, if you know where he can be found.”
“The boneyard, I’m afraid.”
“He’s dead?” Derek asked in surprise.
“Quite.” Charles handed him a newspaper clipping that proved to be an obituary. “It was all a bit of a mystery, actually. To be sure, Phillip Kane made a great many enemies in his short, colorful life. Whatever he had done this time, or whomever he’d crossed, it was enough to inspire him to flee to France. Apparently at Calais it was not long before he resumed his usual mode of life, but the French must not have enjoyed being abused by his various talents any more than our gambling set here in London did, for within a few weeks, his landlady found him dead in his rooms. Poisoned.”
Derek raised a brow. “Poison? Hmm, a woman’s weapon. Revenge perhaps from some heartbroken former conquest?”
“Certainly I could believe that, but there were plenty of people who would’ve wished him dead.” Charles shrugged. “I remember the case well, for those of us in the legal world rather knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, only a question of when and how. One of the newspapers had sniffed out a copy of the local prefect’s report, and as I recall, nothing was taken from Kane’s rooms. No sign of a struggle. The most popular theories in circulation were that it was either a former lover or a suicide.”
“No note to justify the latter?”
“No. Eventually, when a few months passed and nothing was ever found—and with no one who seemed inclined to lament the scoundrel’s passing—the case faded into obscurity.” Charles sighed. “Well, if Kane had had the courtesy to be murdered in England, it would have been easier to pursue, but his dying abroad, well, there was also the slight complication that solving it would have required our English and French justice officials to work together, and neither side was inclined to be too friendly about sharing information.”
“How convenient for whoever killed him,” Derek said softly. Then he paused. “When did they discover his corpse? How long ago did this happen?”
Charles glanced at the papers. “More than a year now. Fourteen months, to be exact.”
Derek nodded, mulling it over. “Very well. Excellent work, Mr. Beecham. Perhaps Lord Sinclair can shed further light on the matter. I shall pay a call on him on my way home.”
“Is there anything else I can do for you now, Major?”
Derek smiled. “Just keep looking over those books as much as the Bank will allow it. Let me know if you find anything else.”
Charles smiled and gave him a slight salute.
Derek paused on the way out, with a sudden last question. “Did the London rumor mill ever posit what ‘high-ranking aristocrat’ might have fathered Phillip Kane?”
“There was an active theory about, one I heard whispered at the Temple Bar.”
“I had no idea you lawyers were such gossips.”
Charles laughed. “Apparently an earl had quietly paid Kane’s legal debts after one of his arrests.”
“Who was it?” Derek asked, fascinated. “Surely it wasn’t Lord Sinclair?”
“No, but now that you mention it, it was another member of your committee. Or ex-member, I should say. Lord Fallow.”
Derek stared at him. Lord Fallow, their host the night of the garden concert where he had walked down to the river beside Lily.
Lord Fallow—Ed Lundy’s loyal patron.
“I thought…Lord Fallow had no son,” Derek said slowly. Somewhere along the way, he had heard that the lack of a son was partly why the noble lord had taken the lowborn Lundy under his wing.
“Yes, well, according to the world, he did not,” Charles replied. “His Lordship certainly never acknowledged Phillip Kane as his own. Of course, with the way Kane conducted himself, I’m not sure I would, either,” he muttered. “I wou
ldn’t place too much faith in the veracity of this claim, though, Major. ’Twas only a rumor, one that Kane may easily have started himself just to cause trouble. This was the same man who claimed that Her Royal Highness, Princess Charlotte, God rest her soul, had winked at him once when the royal chariot passed him on Pall Mall.”
Derek’s lips twisted at the outlandish tale.
Charles frowned. “Of course, if it were true…” His words trailed off as he eased down into his seat behind his desk, frowning.
“If it were true,” Derek said, “then Phillip Kane would’ve had a very strong reason to hate Edward Lundy.”
Charles murmured his agreement.
Mystified, Derek nodded at him and then walked out of the office, pondering it all the way to Lord Sinclair’s.
When he reached the earl’s home, a post-boy ran over, offering to hold his horse’s bridle for a shilling. Derek accepted his services, warned him about the horse’s temperamental nature, then strode up to the earl’s front door and banged the brass knocker.
When the butler appeared, he was no more pleased to see Derek than he had been last time and informed him that the earl was not at home.
With one eye on the butler and the other on the boy doing his best to keep the black stallion under control, Derek shrugged off his hopes of a visit for the moment and decided it could wait. He left his calling card instead, eager to get home at last after the strain of his revelries away from Town.
Returning to his horse, he tossed the boy the promised shilling and mounted up again. But as he rode away, he felt the hair on his nape bristle up with the instinctual perception of eyes on his back. Suddenly, he could feel somebody watching him.
He glanced back casually at Sinclair’s house and spotted movement in the upper window. Just before the curtain swung back into place, he glimpsed a portly figure staring out the window.
Looking ahead again, he scowled. Lying bastard. Sinclair’s at home, he just didn’t want to see me. Of course, it was no surprise. He was not exactly the chairman’s favorite person.
No matter. He would track the earl down later someplace where he could not run for cover, then he’d ask his questions. Preferably after a meal, a bath, and at least a few hours of sleep.
When Derek brought his black stallion into the stable at the Althorpe and handed him over to the grooms, he found the two lads grinning from ear to ear.
“Your lady friend came, Major.”
“She took the mare.”
“Lily?” he exclaimed. “I mean—Miss Balfour?”
“Aye, that’s ’er.”
“She told us to tell you thanks, she did.”
“Thanks?” he echoed. Well! He had told her he intended to give her the horse, and after her displeasure with him due to finding him half drunk at that tavern last night, it seemed she was quite content to collect her present, thank you very much and au revoir. “Did she, she say anything else? Like…if she might be coming back at all?”
“No, sir.”
“Just—thanks.”
He sighed, then scratched his scruffy cheek, in need of a shave. “If she happens to bring the horse back, would one of you lads be so good as to come and let me know?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Thanks.” Upon returning to his apartment, he gave Aadi and the other servants a similar order. Then he went into his chamber and crashed down onto his bed. He was asleep in minutes.
Without dreams.
A knock at his chamber door some time later roused him. Derek blinked his way back to consciousness, certain he’d only just closed his eyes.
When he raised up a bit, he saw his brother poking his head in the door, waving his mail with a rare grin. “Special delivery for the major.”
Derek shot upward. “Colonel Montrose?”
“Better,” Gabriel replied. He walked in and tossed the letter onto Derek’s stomach.
He picked it up at once and tore it open, silent as his gaze scanned the few lines. “It’s from Lily.”
“I know. What’s it say? You’re forgiven? She hates you?”
“It doesn’t say,” he answered, rather wide-eyed with the sudden wake-up after such a deep sleep. “She wants to see me.”
“That could be very good. Or very bad.” Gabriel laughed wickedly, gave him a knowing look, and then withdrew, leaving his “little brother” to agonize privately over what the maddening lady might have to say.
Ten P.M, her missive ordered him. Derek scowled. You mean I have to wait?
When the appointed hour of their secret rendezvous arrived at last, Derek looked into the pitch-black mouth of the alleyway ahead and took an instant dislike to the place.
He wasn’t sure why he was seized with such a strong gut reaction to their designated meeting point, but when you served in combat long enough…
Something didn’t feel right.
His first thought was for Lily’s safety. Damn it, what was she thinking, a young lady alone, loitering out here after dark? Even genteel Mayfair had its footpads. And worse.
If anyone dared hurt her…
“Lily?” He swept the inky gloom with a slow, careful glance, and only then got down off his horse, his movements cautious, watchful.
He could not see her. But he thought he heard some small noise ahead.
Bloody hell.
Either he was being insanely overprotective, or there was more than one person in that alley.
Overprotective.
That had to be it. This wasn’t India.
This was civilized London, and all the world was not a war, a battle. Only in his head.
Nevertheless, his hand passed in a habitual caress across the hilt of his sword. Pistol at the ready, on the other hip. He glanced at his horse, consulting the animal’s keener senses; the black stallion’s ears swiveled and his nostrils flared.
With measured paces, he walked his horse forward. The slow clopping of the tall black’s hoofs over the uneven cobbles of the narrow lane reverberated off the brick walls of the stables and carriage houses crowding in on both sides.
The alleyway was thick with shadows, but the sky above was silken black, an invisible cloud cover casting a filmy veil over the crescent moon and blocking out the stars.
Gleaming green eyes in the gloom heralded the presence of a cat. A gray tabby went gliding by in furtive fashion, low to the ground and hugging the wall as it prowled for mice.
Ahead, a single rusty lantern, feebly beaming, hung from the corner of the carriage house. Lily suddenly stepped into view, her blond hair shining in its pool of light, a dark woolen cloak wrapped around her.
Derek’s pulse climbed. In spite of himself, a smile broke across his face at the sight of her.
Thank God.
“There you are,” he called softly in greeting, leaving his horse at the hitching post. But he looped the reins only loosely around it—just in case they had to ride out of here in a hurry. “I’ve been thinking just now about wringing your neck. You had me worried, girl.”
She did not smile at his jest. Her expression was somber, her elegant face stark and pale beneath the lantern’s golden orb. She glanced around uneasily, clutching the cloak around her shoulders.
“Are you all right?” he asked in concern, drawing off his riding gauntlets as he walked toward her.
“Derek!” she screamed a split-second before blinding pain exploded through his skull.
He pitched forward, caught himself hard on his hands and knees. Dark battle-honed instincts roared to life. Still stunned by the blow to the back of his head, he reached for his sword, but three men were piling on him, shoving him down onto the ground on his stomach and wrenching his arms up behind his back.
He thrashed ferociously.
“Greetings from India, Major,” some rough voice mocked him. He heard a puff of breath as a powdery dust of ground chili peppers was blown into his eyes.
Blinded, his eyes on fire, he yelled her name in agony, but couldn’t see the next punch comin
g. A fist from the darkness slammed into his jaw, wrenching his head to the side. He felt around for his weapon until somebody stepped on his hand. He belted out a curse as the boot heel ground down on his knuckles.
“Lily! Answer me!” he shouted.
“Derek!”
“Take my horse and go!”
“Oh, she’ll be stayin’ with me, mate.”
“Lundy?” His chest heaved. He shook his head, struggling to see.
In the background, he could hear Lily screaming. “Leave him alone! You said you wouldn’t hurt him!”
“Lily!” he called, thrashing again.
“Don’t fight them, Derek! Please don’t fight!”
Her words seemed strange. They brought his situation into focus. An ambush. Lundy. He’d been lured by the perfect bait into a trap.
He had just one question. “Why?”
“As if you need to ask, you two-faced bastard.”
“I don’t understand,” Derek ground out.
“Don’t you? You never should’ve involved her in our business, Knight. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
“So, it was you who took the money all along.”
“Let me tell you something, you cocky bastard,” Lundy growled. Derek could not see him. His eyes were two fiery holes in his head. But the nabob’s voice was very near and low, and his next words stunned Derek nearly as much as the blow to the head. “Lord Sinclair told me it was all right to borrow against the fund. Just to borrow!” Lundy vowed. “It’s not like I was stealin’! I’ve already got the means to put the money back. It’s just a matter o’ waitin’ now, but you couldn’t be patient, could you? Not you! Typical hotheaded cavalry officer! You think you’re so much better than me. Well, you go back and you fight your little war, and you remember all the while that Lily’s going to be with me. In my bed. Taking everything I give her.”
“If you hurt her, Lundy, so help me God”
“Don’t you threaten me.”
Derek wrenched out a low cry, curling around the blow when Lundy kicked him in the stomach.
Again, he was unable to see any of it coming. God damn it. “Lily!” he screamed out, maddened by the need to hear her voice and know she was safe.