Lord of Sin

by Madeline Hunter

  Colin’s head tipped toward her, as if trying to scrutinize her in the dark. “Miss Cameron, do you know where those plates are?”

  “I do not. I swear it. I came here tonight on my own, hoping to find a way to discover their location. I was caught in the chamber.” She gestured to the broken window. “I did that to get in.”

  “So you knew about the plates. Since you come from a family of engravers, I am beginning to see the outlines of what transpired with these forgeries,” Colin said. “Your situation is very precarious.”

  It was not precarious. It was hopeless. Nor would it matter if Adrian Burchard had seen her. Right now, in that chamber, Walter was probably pointing his finger at Bride and her father.

  Her dread of facing Lyndale’s scorn overshadowed her disappointment in Walter, but she still cringed as she admitted the miserable facts. She wanted to believe she had not been a total fool about him. After all, he had been with her in town the day of the theft, so she had never suspected him. He must have had someone else do the actual stealing, however.

  She remembered his concern as he held her that night. She heard his vow to track the thieves and retrieve the plates. Lies, all of it.

  Dante Duclairc struck a thoughtful pose, hands on hips. “Miss Cameron, Lyndale knew we were outside that window. He wanted you to escape the chamber, but we do not know if he wanted you to escape completely. I must insist that you come with me.”

  “Come with you where?”

  “I am taking you to my house. Colin, join the others and tell them that I have taken chase after the one who got away. Let Ewan know privately what I have done. With any luck, Adrian will believe the story, for the present at least. As for you, Miss Cameron, it appears that your fate is in Lyndale’s hands.”

  Ewan stood in the dark drawing room of the Duchess of Everdon’s town house, gazing through a window into the night.

  He was alone. In the adjoining library, Adrian Burchard, consort to the duchess and investigator for the government, was preparing to question the forgers.

  They had all come here to avoid the waking city learning of the entire affair. Michael and Colin were in with Adrian, but Ewan had peeled away from the troop before the library doors closed.

  He opened the window in hopes the crisp air would clear his head, but he barely felt the cold. Nor did his thoughts achieve the slightest clarity. His mind was not really in this drawing room at all, but in another one, looking at Bride.

  Colin had whispered that Dante had her safely away, and Ewan had been grateful to hear it. That meant there was some chance he could save her.

  Ewan McLean was desperate to find a means to do so. Lord Lyndale, however, was not sure he should.

  A war waged inside him, one he never expected to experience.

  Duty, duty . . .

  Was she in it up to her neck?

  His heart recoiled at the idea. His brain lined up what he knew, about her questions regarding Walter and the forgers working in London.

  Her friend, gone over a year now. The bastard must have stolen the plates and run.

  She had not forged those plates, but she had used them. Not here, but before, in Scotland. He just knew she had. Walter would not have known they existed if she had not.

  That was not the real reason for his certainty, however. Her melancholy at the cottage and her desire for them to part, the poignancy of their lovemaking today, now made sense. Anticipating she might soon be caught, she had wanted to sever his obligations to her.

  Except he still had obligations, in ways nothing she did could change.

  The devil of it was, the Earl of Lyndale also had obligations. He wished like hell that he could laugh that notion away, but it sat like a rock in his chest, giving physical pain.

  She is a forger.

  He closed his eyes and fought a scathing anger that wanted to rip his mind to shreds. Thank God the law had been changed. If she had been discovered a year earlier, she would have been hung.

  How dare she be so careless with her life, her future? What had possessed her to take such risks?

  And what an appalling conclusion to their affair. The one time in his life when a woman had actually mattered to him, and he now faced handing her over to be transported to the ends of the earth.

  The library door opened. Colin slipped out and walked across the carpet toward the window.

  He paused at the fireplace to light two cigars, and handed one to Ewan upon joining him. “Your man and Adrian are enough to handle them now. With two pistols at the ready, I am not needed.”

  “Is Adrian contented?”

  “Not at all. They are not talking. It is clear they decided how to do it if they were caught. The dark-haired gentleman is the leader and he is sly enough to keep them quiet.”

  Thank God.

  “Aside from Twickenham, we do not even know their names at this point,” Colin said.

  I do.

  Would they maintain their silence? Once separated from the influence of his leader, would that bastard Walter keep his mouth shut?

  Ewan pictured the cocky grin on the face gazing up into Adrian’s lethal pistol.

  Probably not.

  Hell.

  Colin puffed placidly on his cigar while Ewan chewed his own. The night breeze blew the smoke away.

  “Do you know what Miss Cameron was doing there, McLean?”

  Ewan glanced over at the silhouette of Colin’s profile. The distant flame in the fireplace made little golden spots on his friend’s blond hair.

  “I think I know, yes. Do not ask me to explain.”

  “I did not intend to. Nor will Duclairc, I am sure. We will both respect your decision, whatever it is. If you prefer that the man who bolted from that room is never found, that is how it will be.”

  Ewan’s throat burned. His friends’ faith touched him all the more because he did not feel the least worthy of it right now.

  He turned his attention to the night again and collected himself. “If it were you, Colin, what would you do?”

  Colin thought during several long puffs on his cigar. “I envy you the dilemma, McLean. I envy that you care enough to be torn. If I felt like that about a woman, I think I would do whatever I could to protect her. And I would try to satisfy the government, as well, and give them what they want.”

  “I can at best offer them half a loaf. Will your brother be satisfied with that?”

  “Adrian is very good at this, very experienced. I doubt he missed much about the escaped forger and how she got away. If he has not pressed me about it, that means he is awaiting developments.”

  Ewan absorbed the implications of what Colin said. “I will owe him her life. Which means I will owe him mine.”

  Colin laughed quietly. “One more obligation. Having that title is hell, isn’t it?”

  Ewan looked down at the glowing tip of his cigar. Give them what they want. He could do that. After all, they did not really want Bride Cameron.

  Ewan entered the library during an obvious impasse.

  Michael stood guard with a pistol. Adrian Burchard stood near the fireplace, intimidating the three seated culprits with his height and barely checked anger. His own pistol rested on the mantel, in pointed warning, lest the criminals think of bolting.

  Ewan sensed a question had just been asked. It still hung in the air.

  He turned his attention on Walter and his hand involuntarily clenched into a fist.

  What had Bride seen in this cocky, husky Highlander? Walter wore a smile, as if he did not comprehend his peril.

  Only Twickenham appeared distraught at the night’s events. The third man, the dark-haired one dressed as a gentleman, projected the most placid of demeanors.

  “Your names,” Adrian demanded. His tone indicated it was not the first time for the query and that he intended to knock heads if he had to ask again.

  Walter said nothing and folded his arms.

  The gentleman, who was clearly astute enough to sense danger when it w
as present, cleared his throat. “Oratio Tomlinson.”

  “He is lying,” Ewan said. “Burchard, this gentleman is Peter Ramsey, a bookseller and print dealer from Newcastle. We met once, years ago, Ramsey, when I visited your establishment.”

  “And you would be? . . .”

  “Ewan McLean.”

  He used his name for a reason. Lights of comprehension immediately sparked in Ramsey’s eyes.

  It was not only Ewan McLean’s reputation as a collector that provoked that gleam. Ramsey would remember the name of the person who had bought the forged “I Modi” that he had put up at auction at Bonham’s. Ewan subtly nodded, to let Ramsey know that deception had been discovered, as well.

  “At least now I know with whom I am dealing. Mr. Ramsey, where are the plates?” Adrian asked.

  Ewan hoped the forgers would stand their ground.

  For one thing, and the reason the least honorable among many that lacked honor, he fully expected Adrian Burchard to use his fists if necessary, to get the information.

  If so, he would encourage him to start with Walter, who appeared too stupid to recognize how a lethal edge had risen in Adrian’s demeanor.

  “The plates,” Adrian said again. “The paper alone is enough to convict you, so have no illusions that you will escape punishment by dissembling.”

  Ramsey leaned against the back of his chair, almost nonchalant. “If we are going to be transported anyway, why should we give you the plates?”

  Sweat was streaming down Twickenham’s face. “I’d give ’em to you if I knew where they was, I swear. I never saw them or—”

  “Be quiet,” Ramsey snapped. He looked at Walter. “You, too.”

  Adrian turned his attention fully on Ramsey. “Who engraved them? You?”

  “The man who engraved them is dead. They were found among his belongings. I do not know if he ever used them himself.”

  “And the forger of the signatures?” Ewan asked. “Badly done, by the way.”

  “Yes, well, that was an unexpected complication. One of our members went and died of malaria right when all was in place to start. Finding another to take his place was risky and difficult. I have a good hand, so . . .”

  “So you did it yourself,” Ewan finished. “Careless decision.”

  Ramsey sighed. “Apparently so.”

  “A dead engraver and a dead signature forger, a papermaker right here, and no doubt the press was hired with the owner unaware of its use. It appears we have all of them, Burchard,” Ewan announced victory with confident authority.

  Walter grinned. “Och, noo, Burchard, Ah’m not sure as that is—”

  His sentence dissolved into a howl as Michael punched him on the back of his sandy head.

  “The gentleman said to be quiet,” Michael said. He looked at Adrian and shook his head. “My apologies for losing my temper, sir, but I’ve just no patience at all with his sort, being so familiar in his addresses and not obeying his betters. It makes all of us look bad.”

  Adrian ignored Walter’s anguished expression. “It appears all of you will not cooperate and disclose the location of the plates. We will hand you to the police, therefore, and let them deal with you. Perhaps some time in Newgate will make you amenable to answering my questions.”

  That sounded like an opening for the “further developments” that Colin had suggested Adrian anticipated. Ewan sidled over to Adrian. “A private word, if you will.”

  After gesturing to Michael to stay alert for trouble, Adrian followed Ewan out to the library. Colin noted their arrival, but remained near the window.

  Ewan faced Adrian in front of the fireplace. Adrian’s dark, foreign eyes appeared as deep, black pools in this light, and his long wavy hair did little to soften the countenance turned hard by the night’s events.

  This particular Burchard was more mysterious and deep than Colin, but he was from all accounts an honorable man.

  Unfortunately, at the moment it would help immensely if he were not.

  “We want the plates, correct?” Ewan said. “If the engraver is dead, and I have reason to believe he is, once the plates are destroyed there will be no further forgery from this lot.”

  “The plates must be found, yes. What makes you so sure the engraver is dead?”

  “My expertise. The same superb eye that dragged me into this investigation. I think I identified the forger’s hand and know who he was. Do not ask me for the name. I would never accuse a man who cannot defend himself on account of being underground.”

  Adrian appeared skeptical, as well he might.

  “So, we need the plates,” Ewan continued, trying to sound like a responsible lord of the realm. “The longer they refuse to disclose their location, the more chance those plates will be discovered by someone else. I say it is imperative that we get to them at once. By Zeus, man, the future solvency of Britain is at stake. Duty calls, and we mustn’t allow our delicate sense of justice to interfere.”

  Adrian shifted his weight just enough to express subdued amusement. “Your fervor is unexpected, but your points well taken.”

  “The title has done that to me. Made me serious and zealous about my responsibilities, that is.”

  “Commendable. However, you are correct, and we should not delay. It looks like we will have to beat it out of them. That blond one is all bluff, and should break quickly enough.” He turned toward the door.

  “No.” Ewan grabbed his arm. “Good heavens, we are civilized, are we not? British gentlemen. We cannot just beat it out of them.”

  Much as he wanted to see Walter bloodied, in truth he could not allow it. Who knew what Walter would blurt? “Ramsey has intimated he is willing to trade information for freedom. Allow me and your brother to speak with them alone. You will not be responsible for whatever transpires. With luck, the results will be efficient and the matter finished.”

  Adrian looked at Ewan as directly as any man ever had. His dark eyes reflected a disturbing level of comprehension. “They are not to remain in Britain.”

  “Of course. I swear that those men in there will be gone on the next packet. Furthermore, if we cannot deliver the plates to you by dawn, you can have them dragged off to Newgate.”

  Colin strolled over. “I could not help but overhear. It sounds sensible to me, Adrian. It will ensure you have the plates. The plates are the true danger.”

  “The true danger, but not the only problem. There are notes being used that will someday be identified as forgeries. Whoever holds them will be suspect, or at least out the money,” Adrian said.

  Ewan cleared his throat and thought fast. “Say, I have been considering some charitable giving now that I am the earl. Good works and all that. Suppose I set aside a sum to cover such eventualities? It is as noble a cause as any.”

  “How good of you, McLean,” Colin said.

  Adrian thought it over, then nodded. He moved, but not toward the library. Instead he walked down the length of the drawing room to another set of doors.

  “He knows absolutely everything, doesn’t he?” Ewan said.

  “I may have mentioned during a conversation a week or so ago that you had a tendre for this Scottish woman who was an engraver.”

  Ewan strode to the library. “Well, thank you, Colin. The next time you are drinking brandy with your brother and discussing my affairs, be sure to tell him that she did not make those plates.”

  “You are sure about that, I suppose.”

  “Yes.” And his heart was.

  The rest of him wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

  Within ten minutes of returning to the library, Ewan had the location of the plates. He also had the assurance that Twickenham, Ramsey, and Walter would flee Britain immediately or risk being hunted down like dogs.

  Convinced all was in order, he gestured to the library door. “Mr. Colin Burchard here will accompany you to the plates. Once he has them, he will see that you are on a boat soon.”

  Colin opened the door and left. Twickenham
was out in an instant. Ramsey took his time but eventually disappeared, too. Walter brought up the rear.

  “Not you,” Ewan said. “Not just yet.”

  Michael stepped between Walter and the door, closed it, and turned the lock. Walter pivoted in surprise.

  Ewan shed his frock coat. “You are free to defend yourself, you bastard. No one is going to shoot you or hold you down.”

  Walter looked around, amused and confused. “Whit ye want wi’ me? Ramsey planned it all, him and Bloomfield wha was to do the signatures.”

  “They planned it, but without you there would be no plan, because there would be no plates. You betrayed a helpless woman to get them, and then went looking for men who would know how to use them.”

  “Helpless? Hell. Clear ye hae ne’er met her. Stubborn coo. Had the means to a fortune tucked in her stupid trunk, but did she use it? Only in wee bits, and then she went and gave the money away.” Laughing, he shook his head in disbelief. “Stupid co—”

  Ewan’s fist connected before the insult could be repeated. It smashed into Walter’s jaw. The blond head jerked back and Walter staggered.

  Ewan swung again, bloodying Walter’s nose. “Those are for her sisters, and the danger you put them in. The rest will be for Bride. Hawthorne, be sure to stop me before I kill him.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-SIX

  A large fire warmed the drawing room, but Bride was shivering.

  The high blaze was for Mr. Duclairc’s wife, Fleur. He had built it up when she insisted on sitting with Bride.

  Fleur’s conversation about commonplace things had relieved the room of its earlier quaking silence, but Bride could not ignore that they all sat here because they were waiting for something terrible to happen.

  To her.

  She did not know what she dreaded more, gaol and transportation, or facing Lyndale.

  Perhaps she would not have to suffer the latter punishment. Maybe he would allow the last sorry chapter in their affair to be written without his presence.

  She hoped so.

  “It will be dawn soon,” Fleur said. “Once the servants have risen, I will see that a breakfast is laid out at once. You must be hungry.”