by Deb Marlowe
‘Aye, I think so.’
‘Find him, Rob.’
‘But where?’
‘Somewhere in the crowd. He should be with the brown-haired lady. Tell him what you’ve seen. Tell no one else! We don’t want to start a riot and I don’t want anyone else interfering. Tell Ashton to be careful.’ He put his hand on the banister. ‘And thank you, Rob.’
* * *
Rob watched the marquess move stealthily up the stairs. He climbed a few himself to peer upwards. His lordship stopped on the correct landing, but moved off to the right, instead of left to the lady’s room. To get a blade of his own, likely.
Just below, a footman hurried past as Rob paused, indecisive. His head wavered back and forth between the emptiness above and the crowd at the back of the house. There were hundreds of people in the house and he figured the odds were high that Ashton wouldn’t believe anything he said—if he could find him. He’d seen the look on the wife’s face and knew from where it had come. It would take too much time. He could help on his own. Resolute, he squared his shoulders, gripped his fire iron and, pressing close to the railing, began to slink up the stairs.
* * *
‘You are a wily one, aren’t you?’ Thom’s voice was just audible. ‘Twice I threw that bolster across the room and I never suspected… You split the seam and just tucked it in? Oh, my dear, I fear I have underestimated you in every way.’
Braedon eased up to Chloe’s door and pressed against the wall. There was a hard edge to Thom’s voice that he had never heard before. Suggestive and sarcastic both, the way he expressed his admiration caused Braedon to grip his blade even tighter.
‘My God, but she’s a beauty,’ Thom breathed. ‘Those jewels on the handgrip! Those alone could keep me debt-free for a decade. Ah, the gold point and the jewels there, too. It’s hard to know whether it would be better broken up or intact.’ He gave a nasty laugh. ‘Laxton is a fool twice over if he thinks I’ll be turning this over to him.’ He huffed. ‘For the trouble I’ve been through and the pittance he’s paid me over the last months?’
Soundlessly, Braedon grasped the wall for support. The Spear! It had to be Skanda’s Spear. God, had it been Thom who had frightened Chloe and stolen her notebook? Thom who had mimicked concern as he asked after Braedon’s success in the hunt? He thought further back. Yes, Thom who had shown up unannounced at Denning, just after the first whispered rumours of the Spear.
And Chloe? Chloe had the weapon? How? For how long? He clenched his teeth against the pain in his chest. This anguish felt like too much to bear.
‘What I want to know is—just how deeply did you have old Braedon fooled?’ Thom demanded. ‘Whom are you working for on the side?’
Braedon lifted his head. Yes. He wanted to know, too.
‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’ Chloe sounded indignant—and a little frightened.
‘Well, you didn’t turn it over to him, did you? I confess, I had to brace myself to come tonight—I fully expected to find him crowing over his success.’ There was a pause. ‘I doubt you accomplished this alone. So who is it?’
‘I have only Braedon’s best interest at heart,’ she said angrily. ‘You are judging me by the short rod of your own behaviour.’
‘So you were going to give it to him?’
Braedon held his breath.
Chloe held her silence.
Thom laughed. ‘Yes—just as I thought. I’ll wager you and Pisano were in cahoots.’
She didn’t answer.
‘Or perhaps you haven’t even made up your mind. But it doesn’t matter in any case, does it?’ Thom sneered. ‘The thing is mine now. Come on,’ he said roughly. ‘You are coming with me. The house is full and you will prove useful, in case Connor’s little by-blow proves to be not as smart as I suspect he is.’
Braedon crouched into position, his blade at the ready.
‘Wait,’ Thom said. ‘The bolster was a good idea.’
His ears straining to listen, Braedon’s eyes focused on the blade before him. It wasn’t his best, merely a practice sword. He started, realising it was the very one he’d been restoring the day both Mairi and Thom arrived at Denning. The day Hardwick had spoken of the sea. He wondered if that was the day she had first began to drift away from him.
‘Let’s go.’
Suddenly she was there before him, thrust first into the hall by his former friend. Braedon pressed a finger to his lips, but she could not suppress the start she gave at the sight of him so close. Her eyes widened and that was all the warning that Thom needed. He pushed her hard and she stumbled up against the opposite wall. Leading with his sword, he entered the corridor.
‘That boy disappoints me,’ Thom said with a shake of his head. ‘Almost as much as your assistant, there.’ He nodded toward Chloe, but Braedon was not naive enough to look. Sighing, Thom tossed a long, round bed pillow to the floor. It was split down the seam and amidst the stuffing he caught a glimpse of gold. ‘None of the people around you is ruthless enough.’
‘Except for you, it would seem.’ Still crouching, Braedon took a step toward the centre of the corridor, blocking the passage.
‘Not half as ruthless as the money lenders after my head, old man.’
He feinted, but Braedon didn’t flinch.
‘Oh? So that’s the reason you’ve descended to terrorising women and children? Why you’ve betrayed one of your oldest friends?’
‘Well, I am fond of my head. Attached to it, you know.’ He gave a sharp, bitter laugh. ‘And friends like you are expensive to keep.’
He slashed to the right, trying to shift Braedon out of position, but he’d trained with him for far too long to fall for such a manoeuvre.
‘It’s my fault, then?’ Braedon laced his words with sarcasm. ‘Convenient for you.’
‘No, it’s damned inconvenient, actually.’ Thom straightened and let his blade fall a bit. ‘You were a friend, but in the end, you were no different from the Royal Dukes or the rest of the blue bloods. Oh, you might invite a chap to stay for a week or two in your vast house, with servants and fine food and abundant drink, but you never consider what I’m going home to afterwards. You were one of the few who actually bothered to pay your shot for my services, but it was never enough to let more than tiny rooms in a dirty neighbourhood. Never enough to dress well or drink richly or play deep.’
His attack came fast and on his last syllable. Braedon was ready. Their blades crossed and the battle was on.
Eerie silence settled over the passageway. There was no talk now, only harsh breathing and the sound of steel scraping steel as they clashed again and again. An odd echo drifted from below—the high clink of glass and silver sounding sharp over the swell of music and laughter. The servants, setting up the midnight buffet.
It reminded Braedon that he had more to focus on than just Thom. Chloe? Where was she now? He risked a glimpse past his opponent and found her crouching against the far wall of the passage. Deliberately he retreated, just a bit. He didn’t want her hurt, but neither did he want Thom gaining access to the stairs and escape.
Thom took heart, though, from his apparent advantage. He spun, suddenly, and drew first blood, slashing a thin line in the narrow spot where Braedon’s waistcoat rode high. Damn. Braedon let loose a hiss of pain and swiftly doubled his own attack.
The fight stretched on. They were too closely matched, too well versed with each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Braedon knew that Thom was prone to resort to dirty tricks when he began to tire. He took it as a good sign when his former partner lashed out at him with a booted foot.
He avoided it easily. ‘Growing tired, old man?’ he taunted. He knew a few dirty tricks, too. The vast majority of Thom’s experience came from private matches, from training and sparring with the gentlemen of the ton. Braedon had fought o
n battlefields, amongst the slick blood and fallen bodies of comrades and enemies alike. He’d brawled for his life with men armed with rage and fear and fervour as well as weapons of steel. He lunged now, lightning quick, striking hard and fast in a move designed to confuse Thom and leave him teetering off balance.
It worked. Thom hung suspended for a long moment, leaning back over one foot. Braedon relented, waiting.
It was a mistake. With an effort nearly beyond human ability, Thom somehow righted himself and surged forwards. Braedon was too slow to get his sword back up to defend. In a fiery blaze of pain, his left arm was laid open.
He stepped back. Too far. They’d reached the stair landing. He couldn’t let Thom slip past. He had to end this quickly now. His coat grew damp from the rush of blood.
He swung, a vicious arc aimed for Thom’s retreating arm, but the older man spun away and lashed out with his foot again, this time connecting with the wound at Braedon’s waist.
He doubled over, nearly windless with the pain.
‘You’re not ruthless enough either,’ Thom said through gritted teeth. ‘It seems a damned shameful reason to die, but I know you. You’ll come for me and that damned Spear and you won’t stop. I have to have it, Braedon, or I’m as good as dead anyway.’
Braedon lifted his head. He saw the grim determination on his former friend’s face. He saw him poised at the edge of the stairs, saw his arm lift high for a killing strike.
And then he saw a small form unfold from the railing several stairs down. Another, smaller arm raised high, poised to strike a blow with a fire iron.
Somehow Braedon launched to his feet, his sword arm held low. At the same moment that the fire iron hit Thom behind the knees, he thrust up, driving the point of his sword deep in the spot between shoulder and arm. He winced at the jolt and grind of steel meeting bone.
Eyes bulging in shock, Thom contorted impossibly. He hung, oddly twisted and suspended on his toes for a long moment, before he overbalanced and went tumbling down the stairs.
Braedon sank back to one knee. Clutching his arm, he stared at Rob. ‘You scared the hell out of me,’ he said.
Chloe approached. Her eyes fixed on the still form below, she reached out and pulled the boy close. Watching her, Braedon saw the moment she recoiled and glanced down to see Thom climbing slowly to his feet. He glared upwards with a snarl of pure hatred.
Braedon pushed the pair of them back, but the fight had gone out of Thom. Limping, his sword arm hanging useless, he started down the stairs.
‘Follow after him, at a distance,’ Braedon ordered. His head had begun to spin. He couldn’t help it; he sank down to sit on the floor. ‘He’s lost and he knows it. He’s hurt. Let him go, as long as he doesn’t try to touch or talk to anyone.’
Chloe searched his face and then rose to do as he bid. Braedon waited until she had gone, and then he looked at Rob. ‘Watch over her,’ he said. And
then he slid down and back into black oblivion.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Braedon roused once, when Chloe tightened a strip of cloth around his arm. He woke again, briefly, as many hands carried him from the corridor.
The next time, he came awake gasping, sitting up to find himself in his darkened rooms. Ashton sat alone at his bedside.
‘Chloe?’ he asked.
‘She’s still here,’ the earl answered, handing him a porcelain cup. ‘Drink that. I’m sure it’s nasty, but the sawbones says you must take as much liquid as possible.’ He sat back while Braedon drank. ‘She says she’s leaving in the morning. And she’s taking the boy. She’s in a high, fine temper, old boy. Won’t even talk with Mairi.’
Braedon swung his legs over the bed. ‘She’ll talk to me.’
Understanding shone in his brother-in-law’s eyes. ‘Be careful, man. You’ve lost a lot of blood. And don’t tell your sister that I let you go.’
Braedon didn’t know why he was going, really. What was there to say? She’d had the Spear. Did it matter how long, or if she’d meant to give it to him at all? The answers felt unimportant, for the first time, because they didn’t change the outcome of this night, couldn’t save either of them from the end.
He found her folding her things into a portmanteau.
‘You’re leaving.’
She faced him, her eyes lighting with horror. ‘What, pray, are you doing out of bed?’
‘Just tell me. Just say it. You’re leaving. Leaving me?’
Her gaze turned sad and inward. ‘I’m afraid I have to.’
He sighed and leaned against the doorframe. ‘Where did you get it?’
‘Conover.’ She turned back to her packing.
‘Today? Yesterday, now, I suppose.’
She nodded.
‘Are you going to him now? Is he hiring you? Or courting you?’
‘How easily you believe the worst of me.’ She sighed. ‘But I suppose you do have cause.’
It wasn’t an answer. He hesitated a beat. ‘Are you taking it with you?’
Chloe breathed deeply and determined to take the risk. She had to try. She set down a roll of stockings and gave Braedon her biggest, most reassuring smile. ‘I love you, Braedon.’
He flinched. Visibly.
She laughed. It was an ugly, bitter reflection of the hurt inside her. ‘It’s true. I know you don’t wish to hear it, but it’s the hideous truth behind…everything. It’s the reason why I left Denning—yes, even then I was beginning to love you. It’s the reason why I agreed to help you find the damned Spear. Why I made love with you.’
He breathed deeply and shook his head.
‘I told you I was searching for myself. It’s true. I told you I don’t want to allow fear to rule my life—and I’ve finally discovered why. You taught me why. It’s because fear blinds you to love. It blinded me at least, beginning back when I taught at that school. When I was your Hardwick—’ She broke off, stifling a sob, but gathered herself after a moment. ‘I let fear cut me off from any chance at letting love grow.’
She gave him a wan smile. ‘Do you know, at first I fretted that I had wasted my time here in London with your sister? I worried that I had not found a new calling or secured a new direction for my life. But now I know that I did accomplish something big and grand and so important that it will affect all the days of my life.’
She read the question in his eyes, but he didn’t speak, didn’t ask. She told him anyway. ‘I’m here, out in the open. I’m not hiding anymore, because I discovered that I want love, Braedon. Even more amazing, I discovered that I am full of it, ready to burst. It’s like love is a great, gorgeous leafy vine inside of me—and it wants out. It wants to stretch and entwine with others to connect me to the world.’ Her voice fell as she let her eyes roam over him. ‘And the thickest, healthiest, most demanding shoot inside of me is reaching for you.’
He made an inarticulate sound.
‘I know. It can’t reach you at all. You draw your sharp swords and knives and you hack away at any attempt to make that connection.’
He looked angry now. No longer leaning on the door, he stood stiff and proud, his hands clenched at his sides. He opened his mouth as if he was going to object, but he sighed instead. His shoulders slumped and he moved to sit in the wing chair by the fire. ‘You’re right.’
She waited.
‘But you are wrong, too. I don’t waste my time fending off love, Chloe, because I don’t believe in it.’
Her eyes filled. Lips trembling, she whispered, ‘How can you say so?’
‘Perhaps I should say that I don’t believe love to be the panacea that most believe it to be. Or perhaps I should just say that love is just not for me.’ He glared at her suddenly. ‘It’s a fantasy, Chloe,’ he said harshly. ‘And a dangerous one. How can I say so? I ask you the same! How can you a
nd the rest of the world continue to perpetuate such a lie? Look around! Look at the misery around you. I refuse to believe in a fantasy that is not strong enough to keep the people who are supposed to love you from hurting you. Or turning away while it’s done.’
He propped his uninjured arm on to his knee and dropped his head into his hand. ‘Do you know why Rob is upset with me?’
She shook her head.
‘I saw him bent over the form of a sobbing little girl. I thought he was hurting her.’
She understood. ‘You thought he was like his father.’
‘Yes,’ he said harshly. ‘Connor…’ He swallowed. ‘God,’ he swore suddenly. ‘Not even Mairi knows how he died.’ He lifted his head. ‘But I’m going to tell you, because I want you to understand.’
She sank down on the bed, her heart pounding. Suddenly she was very much afraid of what she might hear.
‘There was a girl in the village. You know the sort—not bright. Slow since birth, but pretty. And docile and sweet. Connor abducted her. He took that innocent girl to a gamekeeper’s cottage in the woods and he used her horribly. It likely wasn’t the first time he’d done such a thing. But he went too far. He killed her.’
Her hand went to her mouth, though she couldn’t make a sound.
‘My father found them,’ he continued. ‘And at last he had to face what he had done. What sort of monster he had allowed Connor to become. All those years, he’d ignored Connor’s faults, because he loved him. But that night, for the first time he was ashamed of his eldest son. Sorry for what he’d wrought. And fearful for what might happen in the future, when he was gone and there was no one to check Connor.’
Braedon looked up at her with anguish in every line of his body. ‘My father shot him—killed his son, the light of his life. He blamed both deaths on squatters. But he wrote the truth in a letter to me—and a few days later he had an “accident” while cleaning his gun.’
He started to shake. Chloe flew to him and knelt at his feet. On her knees, she clasped him tightly and, crooning, ran comforting hands over his back.