“Don’t come any closer, Philip.”
Philip moved another half step. “Why not? You’re going to kill me anyway.” Another step. Then he looked over Edward’s shoulder, widened his eyes, and shook his head.
“What—?” The instant Edward swiveled around to see who or what was behind him, Philip reached for his walking stick.
Realizing he’d been duped, Edward whirled back around. Philip swung the walking stick, catching Edward across the chest. Edward’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in mad fury, but he quickly recovered, dodging Philip’s next swing. With an inhuman roar of rage, Edward rushed forward, smashing into Philip, sending him crashing against the stacked crates. The walking stick fell from his grasp.
“You bastard,” Edward heaved, trapping Philip against the wall with the full weight of his large body. Philip struggled to move, but ceased when he felt the pistol jammed directly under his ribs. One twitch of Edward’s finger would end his life. He’d heard that insanity drove men to great strength, and Edward was proving that correct. His forearm pressed against Philip’s throat, cutting off his air. Black dots began to swim in front of his face. Knowing it was now or never, he heaved himself forward, throwing Edward back several paces. He grabbed Edward’s wrists. One hand held the pistol, the other the stone. Eyes riveted on each other, they struggled fiercely.
Sweat coating his skin, muscles screaming against the strain, Philip tried to direct the pistol away from him.
“You think you’re going to win this?” Edward ground out, his face only inches from Philip’s. “Think again, you bastard. I’ll see to it that no matter what happens, you’ll not win.”
A dull thud, followed by the sound of Edward’s boot smashing down, turned Philip’s blood to ice.
“The stone is destroyed,” Edward whispered. “And so are you. I hope you rot in hell.”
The pistol fired.
The carriage had just halted outside the warehouse when the sound of a pistol shot rent the air. Heart pounding with fear and dread, Meredith grabbed Mr. Stanton’s arm. “Dear God. That came from inside the warehouse.”
“Stay here,” he said, opening the carriage door and jumping to the ground.
“I’ll do no such thing. Philip is in danger. I can help.”
He slipped a knife from his pocket. “Help? How?”
Jumping to the ground, she hefted her rock-laden reticule. “I’m armed.” She lifted her chin. “And determined. You’re not leaving me here.”
He raised his brows. “You any good with that thing?”
“Would you care for a demonstration?”
They stared at each other for several seconds, then he jerked his head in a nod. “You’ll do. Don’t make a sound, stay behind me, and for God’s sake, don’t get yourself killed.”
Clasping her hand, he led her silently forward. They’d only taken half a dozen steps when she halted and squeezed his hand. Heart pounding, she whispered, “There’s someone in the shadows.”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than Bakari stepped forward, a long, curved knife held in his fist.
“What are you doing here?” Andrew whispered.
“Same as you. Hope to save his life.”
Andrew nodded, then indicated with a jerk of his head that Bakari should bring up the rear. The warehouse door stood ajar, and they slipped in the opening. Moving silently forward, Meredith forced long, slow, deep breaths into her constricted lungs, fighting back her fright. If something had happened to Philip...
Keeping close to the shadows cast by the crates, they crept forward. She strained her ears, but heard nothing save the thumping of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. When they came to the final corner before they’d reach Philip’s crates, Mr. Stanton stopped. They listened for several seconds, but heard nothing. Then he cautiously peeked around the corner.
She heard his sharp intake of breath, then his agonized groan. “Philip... oh, God... bloody hell.”
Twenty-two
Mr. Stanton rushed around the corner. Knees shaking, heart lodged in her throat, Meredith immediately ran after him. Several yards away, obscured by the shadows, a man lay face down in a dark pool that was obviously blood. Another man crouched next to the prone body, his back to Meredith.
“Philip,” she whispered, fear icing her blood.
The crouching man stood and turned. Their eyes met, and she skidded to a halt. His hair was wildly mussed, his cravat untied, his spectacles askew, his clothes and face streaked with heaven knew what. And he was absolutely the most wonderful, beautiful sight she’d ever beheld.
“Meredith.” Philip opened his arms to her, and with a sob, she ran toward him, not stopping until he’d enveloped her in his strong embrace.
Philip caught her against him and held her tightly against his heart. She was safe. For now. But with Edward dead and the missing piece of stone shattered, how could he hope to save her from the curse?
“Are you all right?” Andrew asked quietly.
No. “Yes.”
Andrew’s gaze flicked down to the motionless figure. “Is he dead?”
Philip looked down at Edward’s body, and an emotion-filled shudder ran through him. Regret at the loss of a man he’d thought was his friend. Sorrow for the madness that had claimed him. Guilt for his unwitting part in contributing to that madness. And stark fury at the harm he’d wreaked—harm that could still cost him Meredith. “Yes.”
“What happened?” asked Meredith.
He quickly told them how he’d deduced that Edward was the man they sought, about the note he’d sent to lure Edward to the warehouse, and what had transpired once he’d arrived. He concluded with, “We struggled for the pistol, and it fired. It is only by the grace of God that the lead ball struck him and not me.”
He felt a tremor shiver through Meredith. Lifting her head, she looked up at him, her eyes huge. “I’ve never been so frightened as when I heard that pistol shot.”
The area surrounding Philip’s heart went hollow. Unless he broke the curse, she had a little more than a day to live—and her most frightening moment had been fearing he’d been hurt. Bloody hell.
She laid her hand against his face. “I know you’re hurt by Mr. Binsmore’s death. And his betrayal. You feel sorry for him, but at the same time you hate him for what he tried to do to all of us. You’re feeling guilty that he’s dead, that his wife died.”
He looked into her wide, worried eyes, and love hit him like a punch in the heart. She understood. Everything he was feeling. Without him saying a word.
Her gaze searched his. “Philip, it was his own greed that killed them both. It is not your fault. You were a victim. His greed nearly cost you your life. Please don’t feel guilty for being alive. Especially when I’m so grateful that you are all right.”
He pressed a kiss into her soft hair, then shot Andrew a meaningful look over the top of her head. “I hadn’t anticipated you—and Meredith—coming here, Andrew.”
“I thought you might need someone to watch your back.”
“As much as I appreciate that, I needed someone to watch Meredith.”
“I never took my eyes off her.”
“I meant for you to do so at my townhouse—as you well know. By coming here, either of you might have been hurt. Or worse.” His gaze swiveled to Bakari. “Same for you.”
Bakari held up his curved blade. “Have big knife. Thought you could use.”
A resigned sigh escaped Philip. “Thank you. But we obviously all need to talk about what the phrase ‘do not leave the house’ means.”
Walking over, Andrew clapped Philip on the shoulder. “My friend, if you think you are going to be able to talk this woman out of anything she’s set her mind to, you’re sadly mistaken. When I tried to, she threatened to cosh me with her reticule, in which she apparently carries an anvil.”
“Stones,” Meredith clarified. “Although an anvil is an excellent suggestion.”
“Speaking of stones...” Philip l
ooked down at the broken fragments of stone scattered on the floor, and his stomach clenched. “Andrew, will you please advise the magistrate as to what’s happened here?”
“Of course.”
“While you’re gone, Meredith and I will gather up the broken pieces of stone.” He forced a smile at Meredith. “Then all I have to do is piece it back together and do as it says to break the curse.”
They shared a long look, and he clearly read the question in her wide eyes: What if he could not do it in time?
And unfortunately, they both knew the answer.
Meredith would die.
During Andrew’s absence, Philip and Meredith painstakingly picked up the broken stone fragments, placing them in a leather pouch. Picking up sliver after sliver, Philip’s frustration, anger, and fear grew. It would take days to put the pieces back into order—and he had only a matter of hours. How could he hope—
“Philip, look at this.”
He turned to Meredith, who knelt on the rough wooden floor several feet away. In between her thumb and index finger, she held a pale spherical object, which, if it hadn’t been the size of a quail’s egg, he would have guessed was a pearl.
Moving closer to her, he asked, “Where did you find it?”
“Half hidden beneath these two pieces of the broken stone.” She held out her other palm. “It looks as if it was secreted inside the stone.”
Taking the fragments and the sphere from her, he carefully affixed them together. The two pieces of stone perfectly fitted around half of the sphere.
“It looks like a pearl,” Meredith remarked.
“Indeed it does.” Carefully placing the stone pieces in the pouch, he examined the sphere, running his fingers over its slightly uneven surface. He held it up to the light, the afternoon sunlight glowing warmly against the gentle patina. He then gently ran it across his teeth. “Unless I am very much mistaken, this is a genuine pearl.” He couldn’t hide the disbelief in his own voice.
Her eyes widened. “If so, it must be worth an enormous amount of money.”
“Yes. And the fact that it was hidden inside the stone means it must have some significance regarding the curse. Come, let us finish gathering the remaining pieces.”
A quarter hour later, just as they’d determined that there were no further fragments to be found, Andrew returned with the magistrate. As soon as Philip had answered all the man’s questions, he requested that Andrew and Bakari remain to see to the body, then he left with Meredith.
He didn’t need to consult his watch to know how much time he had left to piece the stone back together.
Not nearly enough. And he would need every second.
When they reached his townhouse, Philip tried to get Meredith to rest, especially since she’d admitted on the ride home that her head still hurt, but she adamantly refused.
“I’m praying that I’ll have a lifetime with you, during which time I promise to rest frequently.” Her bottom lip trembled, a marked contrast to the stubborn tilt of her chin. “But if I do not, I will not spend what short time we have left apart. I’m going to help you. And if I cannot help, I am, at the very least, going to remain close to you.”
Since he wanted her to remain close, he didn’t argue. He led her to his private study, where he opened all the curtains to bring extra light into the room. Before they began piecing together the fragments, Meredith said, “I’d like to write a note to Charlotte and Albert, to let them know about our betrothal and that I’m planning to remain here to help you piece together the stone. I’m not going to tell them I’ve been affected by the curse unless I have to. If we are unsuccessful by tomorrow afternoon, I would like to send for them, and Hope. I... I would need to see them, talk to them, before...” Her voice trailed off, and she averted her gaze.
He grasped her hands and squeezed them. “I understand. But when you send for them, it’s going to be to invite them to our wedding.” He waited for her to look at him, then he leaned forward and gently kissed her, allowing himself only a brief taste.
While she wrote to her friends, he composed a quick note to Catherine and his father assuring them all was well, and one to his solicitor as well. After instructing James to deliver the letters posthaste, he and Meredith set about the painstaking task of trying to arrange the dozens of pieces back together.
After several hours, the light began to wane, and Philip lit not only candles but the fire as well. He could tell that Meredith’s head was aching; indeed, his was as well, from staring at the minute bits of the ancient language, trying to fit them together. Andrew and Bakari arrived, and although they wanted to help, Philip refused them.
“I do not want you to be exposed to the curse. If I cannot break the curse, such exposure would prove fatal should either of you decide to marry in the future.”
They’d argued, but Philip stood firm. After they’d all eaten a quick meal, Philip insisted that Meredith rest. Bakari mixed her a draught, after which she curled up on the sofa in his study, Prince cuddled in her arms, and soon was asleep.
Philip labored into the night, eyes straining against the poor light, muscles cramping with fatigue. Yet little by little the words came to life, renewing his determination, as did the sight of Meredith sleeping, bathed in the glow from the fire.
As dawn bloomed, he fitted the last pieces together. It was clear that the pearl had indeed been secreted inside the missing piece, but he did not put it back in its place, instead leaving the gem on his desk. Several bits of the stone were missing, but it was mostly legible.
Heart pounding with anticipation, he dashed to his bedchamber, his stiff muscles screaming in protest. He extracted the original piece of the Stone of Tears from its hiding place in his leather satchel at the bottom of his wardrobe. Returning to his study, he set the stone beside the puzzle he’d just completed and read the ancient language:
As my betrothed betrayed me with another,
So shall the same fate befall your lover.
To the ends of the earth
From this day forth,
Ye are the cursed,
Condemned to hell’s worst.
For true love’s very breath
Is destined for death.
Grace will fall, a stumble she’ll take,
Then suffer the pain of hell’s headache.
If ye have the gift of wedded bliss,
She will die before you kiss.
Or two days after the vows are said,
Your bride, so cursed, shall be found dead.
Once your intended has been loved in word and deed
Nothing can save her from my curse’s greed.
There is but one key
To set the cursed free.
Follow the beauty to a risky feast
As she shows her lover she is not the least
And proves through sheer daring that never shall fail,
Do the same so love, not death, shall prevail.
He rubbed his hands over his face, the stubble of his beard abrading his palms. He knew the words. Now he just needed to figure out what the bloody hell they meant. He glanced at the clock.
He had less than twenty-eight hours left to find out.
Only twelve hours remained.
Striving to fight off the panic threatening to strangle him, Philip raked his hands through his hair. With Meredith’s help, he’d spent the entire day going through his journals, searching for a clue as to what the curse meant, but without success. For Andrew’s and Bakari’s safety, Philip refused to reveal the exact words he’d pieced together, but sent them off to the museum to search through the documents there regarding anything to do with pearls, a feast, or the price of true love. He’d suggested that Meredith write another note to Charlotte, asking that she, Albert, and Hope come to the townhouse so she could break the news to them and prepare them for the worst, but she’d refused.
“Not yet. To do that makes it seem as if I’ve given up hope, and I haven’t. I have every intention of being your
bride.”
Forcing his gaze from hers lest she see the fear curling through him, he continued to pore over his journals. He swallowed his mounting dread, which increased with each passing minute. Another minute without an answer. Another minute lost. He refused to look at the clock, but each time the mantel clock struck the quarter hour, his mind registered that he was swiftly running out of time. He pulled another journal toward him, simultaneously praying and cursing. Damn it! The answer had to be somewhere. Had to. Had to. Had to find it. Please...
“I don’t think we’ve paid enough attention to this,” Meredith said. He looked up. The enormous pearl rested in her palm. “Given its size and age, this single gem is no doubt worth thousands of pounds.”
Philip adjusted his spectacles, giving her his full attention. “I agree.”
“It’s the sort of gem that would be worn by someone very important. A queen, perhaps.”
“Yes, a queen such as Nefertiti or Cleopatra... both of whom were great beauties...” A memory tickled the back of his mind, mingling with the final lines of the stone’s message.
“What is it?” Meredith asked.
“I’m not certain, but you’ve sparked an idea.” Rising, he walked to the bookcase in the corner, then crouched to run his finger over the leather-bound spines on the bottom shelf. “There’s a story I recall reading years ago—” He found the volume he sought and slid it out. “Give me a moment.”
Bringing the volume to his desk, he flipped through the pages until he found the entry he sought. As he read the words, his heart began to pound and his hands to shake.
“I think I’ve found something,” he said.
She leaned over his shoulder. “What book is that?”
“It is one of my earliest journals, consisting of notes I took years ago when I had the opportunity to read Pliny the Elder’s Natural History. When you mentioned the pearl, and a queen wearing it, coupled with the last lines of the stone, it somehow struck me as familiar.”
WHO WILL TAKE THIS MAN? Page 35