“I’m free to pursue her, but to what end? Unless I rid myself of this curse, I am not free to marry her.” His words settled upon him like a dark shroud of gloom. If he didn’t find a way to get rid of the curse, Meredith would be lost to him. Bad enough that he’d break his word to Father—that would cost him his honor and integrity. Now he stood to lose his heart as well.
“Regarding the curse—I’ve some good news about the Sea Raven,” Philip said. Withdrawing the note from his waistcoat pocket, he handed it to Andrew, who scanned the few lines. “I’m planning to go to the docks this evening to supervise the unloading and transporting of the crates. We can start searching through them tomorrow.”
Andrew nodded his agreement, then passed back the note. Tucking the missive away again, Philip said, “Now, tell me about your interesting evening.”
“I spent the day and evening near the docks, interviewing crew members from the Dream Keeper. Unfortunately, I didn’t discover anything helpful. On my way home I stopped at Gentleman Jackson’s, hoping to relieve some of my frustrations brought on by my unsuccessful inquiries.”
“Knowing firsthand your pugilistic abilities, I find it incredible that your face bears such a colorful array of bruises.”
“Actually, I pounded the piss out of several dandies at the esteemed boxing emporium, suffering nary a scratch myself. It was afterwards that I received these mementos of the evening.”
Philip looked at him over the rim of his coffee cup. “Afterwards?”
“Yes. Moments after I departed Gentleman Jackson’s, I was attacked. Bastard jumped me from behind.” Reaching up, he touched the back of his head and winced. “Didn’t manage to knock me out, but hit me hard enough to get me down. He was introducing his boot to my ribs when several gentlemen happened upon us. The bastard ran off, luckily before he inflicted any serious damage.”
Unease slithered down Philip’s spine. “Did you see him?”
“No. The gentlemen who ran him off helped me back into Gentleman Jackson’s, where my injuries were tended to. Then I hired a hack and returned here.”
“Damn it, Andrew, why didn’t you tell me last night?”
“Bakari wasn’t in the foyer when I returned, so I deduced he had retired. On the chance that you were still, ah, occupied with your guest, I chose not to seek you out. There was nothing you could have done.”
“I don’t like this, Andrew. First Edward was attacked, now you, only hours after you questioned crew members.” The words of the second note echoed through his mind. The suffering begins now. “This is no coincidence. In fact—”
His words were cut off by Bakari’s appearance in the doorway. “Mr. Binsmore,” Bakari said. He withdrew, and Edward entered the room.
“Good morning, Philip, Andrew,” Edward said, heading toward the nearest chair.
Philip instantly noted his friend’s gingerly walk. “Are you all right, Edward?”
“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”
“You’re limping.”
“Am I? Well, I’m afraid I’m still sore from the attack at the warehouse the other evening.”
“Ah. Well, although I’m sorry you’re still hurting, I’m relieved you’ve suffered no further injuries since then.”
“Further injuries?” He lowered himself into the chair next to Andrew and winced. “What do you mean?”
“Andrew was accosted last night.”
Edward’s eyes widened and he turned toward Andrew. “Egad, your face is bruised! Are you all right?”
“Yes. Just sore.”
“Were you robbed?” Edward asked.
Andrew shook his head. “Perhaps that was his intent, but he was frightened off before he had the chance.”
Philip’s hands fisted with anger. “Bakari should have a look at your injuries. Both of you.”
“He’s already seen to mine,” Andrew said. “First thing this morning. Has my ribs trussed up like a goose on its way to the oven.”
“And I’m fine,” Edward added quickly. “Except for some stiffness in my back, the only thing still troubling me is this.” He raised his bandaged hand. “I unwrapped it yesterday and discovered several bits of glass still embedded in the back of my hand. I removed them, then put on a clean dressing. It’s feeling better already.”
Philip nodded. “All right. Tell me, Andrew, did your attacker leave any sort of note with you, as he did with Edward?”
“No.”
Edward’s brows shot upward. “You think the same person is responsible?”
“I’m afraid I do.”
Bakari again appeared in the doorway, his lips set in a grim line that trickled unease down Philip’s spine. “Your study,” Bakari said to Philip. “Come quickly.”
Philip, Andrew, and Edward exchanged a quick look, then all three hurried down the corridor after Bakari. Philip entered the room first. All remnants of last night’s dinner had vanished—the opulent fabrics, the plush pillows, leaving nothing behind save his memories. His gaze swiveled toward his desk, and his blood ran cold.
Striding quickly across the room, he halted alongside his mahogany desk. Sticking up from the center was the silver hilt of a knife whose blade was embedded in the polished wood and thrust through a folded piece of vellum.
“What the devil... ?” Edward murmured as he, Andrew, and Bakari joined him.
“When did you find this?” Philip asked Bakari in a sharp voice as his eyes scanned the room for anything else out of place.
“Just now.”
“You didn’t see this when you cleaned the room this morning?”
“Cleaned room last night. Started after you leave with lady.”
“What time did you finish?”
“Three.”
“And then you retired?”
Bakari nodded.
“That means this was left sometime between three a. m. and now.” Curling his fingers around the hilt of the knife, Philip pulled the blade free, then held the glinting blade up to the sunlight filtering in through the window. “It’s identical to the knife found in the warehouse after the robbery.”
“Yes,” agreed Edward. “Which means that there’s nothing remarkable about it. It’s the same sort of knife most men carry.”
Philip picked up the vellum and unfolded it. Those you hold dear are suffering. As will you.
His blood ran cold.
“What does it say?” Andrew asked.
His mind racing, Philip passed him the note. “It is the same handwriting as the other two notes.”
“Do you recognize it?” Andrew asked.
“No.”
“Which means it is someone you don’t know,” said Edward.
“Perhaps,” Philip said. “Or it could be someone I know, who is disguising his handwriting so I do not recognize it.” Those you hold dear are suffering. “First Edward, now Andrew... bloody hell, who does he plan to hurt next?” The instant the question left his lips, Philip froze. “Bloody hell, plan to hurt? Has this bastard already harmed someone else I love? I need to check on my father, Catherine, and Meredith immediately.”
The front door brass knocker sounded. They all exchanged a quick glance, then filed out of the room, Philip in the lead. Striding quickly to the foyer, Philip yanked open the door. Catherine stood on the porch. One look at her pale face tightened his gut with alarm.
The instant she stepped across the threshold, he grasped her by the shoulders. “Are you all right, Catherine?”
“Yes.” But her bottom lip trembled and a sheen filled her eyes, giving the lie to her claim.
“But something has happened,” Philip said, his insides cramping with dread.
“I’m afraid so. Did Father send you a note this morning?”
“No.” He shot a questioning look toward Bakari for confirmation, and his friend shook his head.
“He no doubt thought you’d already have departed for the warehouse. But I stopped here on my way to Father’s house, hoping you’d still be home. Father was a
ttacked on his way home from his club last night.”
Philip’s hands tightened on her shoulders, and he fought to control the dread and rage curling through him. You bastard. “How serious are his injuries?”
“His arm was broken. The doctor reset the bone, but it’s very painful. He also has an egg-sized lump on the back of his head. According to the note he sent me this morning, he’d just departed White’s when he was accosted from behind. Father recalled a sharp pain in the back of his head, then nothing else until he awoke, on a sofa in White’s, being tended to by the doctor. A gentleman leaving the club found Father lying in the street.” Her chin quivered and she blinked rapidly. “With his frail health, we’re lucky he survived at all.”
Philip’s gaze sought out Andrew’s, whose lips were pressed into a flat line. Edward and Bakari looked equally grim.
“I’m afraid there’s more,” Catherine said, regaining his attention. “Last night, an intruder entered my bedchamber.”
Everything in Philip froze, and for several seconds he couldn’t speak as full-blown fury raced through him. Before he could find his voice, she continued, “I was awakened by a noise on my balcony. At first I thought it was the wind, but then I saw a black-garbed figure entering my chamber through the French doors.”
“What did you do?” Philip asked, biting back his outrage that whoever wanted to hurt him was doing so in this way. If you want me, come after me, you cowardly bastard.
“I jumped up, grabbed the fire poker, and swung it at him for all I was worth. As it was very dark, I’m not quite sure what part of him I hit, but I believe it was his upper arm. I raised the poker to swing again, and he ran. Vaulted over the balcony to the garden and disappeared into the mews.” She rested her palm against Philip’s cheek. “Stop looking so worried. He didn’t hurt me. Truly.”
Despite the tension cramping his stomach, a ghost of a smile whispered across Philip’s lips. “Coshed him with the fire poker, did you? Good girl, Imp. You always were a spitfire.”
A shaky laugh sounded from her throat. “At that moment, perhaps, but seconds later I was shaking, and, I’m embarrassed to admit, quite weepy. I kept thinking, what if I had not awakened when I did?”
A shudder ran through her, and Philip gathered her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’ve always been the bravest girl I know. And even the bravest warriors sometimes cry after the battle is over.”
“You’re certain you weren’t hurt, Lady Bickley?” Andrew asked, his voice tight.
Catherine turned toward Andrew. “Yes. I—” Moving from Philip’s embrace, she stepped toward Andrew, her eyes filling with surprise and concern. “Good heavens, Mr. Stanton. It seems I should be asking that question of you.”
“Andrew was also attacked last evening,” Philip said. He quickly told her about the threatening notes. Just as he finished, the brass knocker again sounded. Bakari answered the door, then handed Philip a note. Breaking the seal, Philip scanned the few lines, and relief flooded him.
“It’s from Meredith, advising she plans to call upon me this morning”—he pulled out his pocket watch and consulted the time—“an hour from now. She writes that Goddard will drive her, so she is obviously safe and not alone, thank God.” Turning toward Andrew, Edward, and Bakari, he said, “I’m going to escort Catherine to our father’s townhouse to see her safely settled and to check on him. You three go to the warehouse and continue to search through the remaining crates, which will serve the dual purpose of protecting them. I’ll meet you there—after I’ve spoken to Meredith. When we’ve finished with the last crates, we’ll go to the dock to await the Sea Raven’s arrival.”
“The Sea Raven?” Edward asked.
“Yes. I received word this morning that she is scheduled to dock this evening.”
As they all quickly donned their coats, Philip said, “Andrew, you and the others use my carriage.”
“And what will you use?” Andrew asked.
“I’ll ride in Catherine’s carriage to Father’s, then hire a hack.” Grabbing his walking stick from the porcelain stand in the foyer, he stepped outside. “Be careful, and I’ll see you soon,” he said to his friends, then escorted Catherine to her waiting coach.
As their father’s townhouse was well within walking distance, the ride took only a few minutes, during which time Philip tightly clasped Catherine’s hand and inwardly thanked God that she had not been hurt. Or worse.
When they arrived at their father’s townhouse, Catherine was immediately escorted to the master bedchamber, while Philip took a moment to speak to Father’s butler. “Instruct the staff that no one other than myself is to enter this house, Evans. No one. For any reason. Nor do I want Lady Bickley or Father to leave for any reason.”
Evans’s thin face paled. “You think there’s danger about, my lord?”
“No, Evans. I know there’s danger about.” He quickly told him about the other attacks, and the intruder entering Catherine’s bedchamber.
Evans drew himself up to his full height. “Rest assured, my lord, that I’ll not allow any further harm to come to your father or sister.”
“I know, Evans. And now I’d like to see Father.” When Evans made to escort him, Philip said, “I know the way. Better for you to talk to the staff, then keep your post at the door.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Philip climbed the stairs, then turned down the corridor toward the master bedchamber. He knocked on the door, and was bade to enter by a muffled voice. Entering the room, he closed the door, then crossed the royal blue Axminster rug to the bed. Catherine sat in a wing chair next to the far side of the bed, clasping Father’s hand.
Philip’s insides tensed as he took in the white bandage encircling Father’s head, and his arm supported by a splint and heavily bandaged as well. Pain radiated from his pale, pinched face and was clearly reflected in his eyes, but he managed a wan smile.
“Good to see you, son.”
Philip grasped his hand, and fought to push back the guilt and anger stabbing him. “Good to see you as well, Father. How are you feeling?”
“A bit worse for the wear, I’m afraid, but Doctor Gibbens assures me I’ll make a full recovery.” He pursed his lips. “Damn impertinent man. Told me it was fortunate I possessed such a hard head. When I asked him if he recalled to whom he was speaking, he had the temerity to wink at me and say,‘ ’Tis fortunate you possess such a hard head, my lord.‘ Can you credit such impudence? Clearly he thinks that simply because we’ve known each other since we were lads he can take such verbal liberties. Well, I let him know that as soon as I am not laid so low I intend to give him a dressing-down and a thrashing at the chess table.”
A lump swelled Philip’s throat. Although in pain, clearly Father was attempting a bit of levity for his and Catherine’s sake, a fact which made Philip feel worse rather than better. Forcing a smile and what he hoped passed for a light tone, he said, “I’ll wager Dr. Gibbens said he would look forward to that.”
“As a matter of fact, those were his exact words.”
“Ah, yes, mind-reading. One of the talents I developed abroad. Did I not mention that?”
“No,” Father said. “And I would like to point out that I am not hardheaded.”
“Of course not,” Philip and Catherine said simultaneously.
Father winced with obvious discomfort and all remnants of Philip’s levity vanished. Clasping his father’s hand between both of his own, he briefly explained about the other attacks, concluding with, “I believe there is a connection between these attacks and my search for the missing piece of the Stone of Tears. Someone is attempting to make me suffer by hurting those close to me. Unfortunately, he has succeeded. Until now.” He looked steadily into his father’s eyes. “I will find out who is responsible and I will stop him. I give you my word, Father.”
A long look passed between them. Then Father nodded and squeezed his hand. “You’re a fine man, son. I have every faith that you will kee
p your word.”
A breath he hadn’t even realized he held whooshed past Philip’s lips—a breath that carried away a bit of the millstone weight that had hung about his heart since his mother’s death. Neither he nor Father were great communicators, a fact that had compounded the stilted awkwardness and distance between them over the years. But with those simple words his father had just uttered, he felt as if a bridge had been constructed. And he had every intention of crossing its span. He hoped his news would provide the first step.
“Father, regarding my marriage... I want you to know I am more determined than ever to solve the curse because I’ve met the woman I wish to marry—and the thought of not having her as my wife is unthinkable.”
Catherine clasped her hands over her heart, a sound of surprised delight coming from her. “Oh, Philip, I’m so happy you found someone you care for.”
Before he could tell Catherine that he more than merely cared for his future wife, Father said, “Excellent news. Clearly last night’s dinner party was a success. Knew that Miss Chilton-Grizedale would come up with the goods. Highly intelligent chit, even though the first arrangement she planned sank like a stone. So, who is the young lady you’ve chosen? Must tell you, the betting book at White’s is leaning heavily in favor of Lady Penelope.”
“Actually, it is Miss Chilton-Grizedale.”
“What about her?”
“She is the young lady I’ve chosen.”
“She is the lady you’ve chosen to select a suitable bride for you, yes?”
“No. She is the lady I’ve chosen to be my suitable bride.”
A deafening silence permeated the room. Then Catherine rose from her chair. Without a word, she moved around the bed until she stood in front of him. “I have one question,” she said softly, her concern-filled eyes searching his. “Do you love her?”
WHO WILL TAKE THIS MAN? Page 28