by Cheryl Holt
“You should head to town,” Raven said. “If this is bungled, you shouldn’t be attached to it.”
“I have to be here.”
“Why don’t you let me deal with it on my own?”
“No.”
There was no more debate. They hobbled their horses, then Raven cut the ropes lashing Judah to the saddle. He slid to the ground, and with his wrists still bound, there was no way for him to break his fall. His landing was painful, and he moaned in agony, but his misery garnered no sympathy from them.
Sebastian watched dispassionately as Raven yanked him to his feet. They marched him into the trees, and he struggled to escape, but Raven’s grip was too tight.
They stopped under a huge oak, and Raven told him, “I’m going to untie your gag. When I do, keep your mouth shut.”
As Raven tore it away, Judah hollered, “Help!”
Raven hit him so hard he flew through the air, then collapsed in a heap. He coughed blood and whimpered.
“He never was any good at listening,” Raven said to Sebastian.
He picked Judah up yet again and dragged him over to the tree. Judah was off balance, swaying, and Raven had to press a palm to his chest so he remained upright.
Sebastian stepped in so they were toe to toe and asked, “Is there anything you’d like to say to me?”
“Prick,” Judah muttered.
“Mind your manners,” Raven warned, and he clocked Judah on the head as he inquired, “How did you persuade Miss Ophelia to accompany you?”
“She wanted to come. She begged me.” Judah sounded as if he was bragging.
Raven hit him again, and he slumped down.
“We intend to kill you,” Raven said. “You understand that, don’t you?”
“You can’t kill me,” Judah blustered, but it seemed to have just dawned on him that his life might be in jeopardy.
What had he thought was their goal? Had he supposed they’d walked into the woods for a casual chat?
“Why can’t we kill you?” Raven asked.
“This is…is…England,” Judah stammered. “We’re not in Africa. You can’t murder a fellow here. There are laws preventing it.”
Raven glanced at Sebastian. “Will you be upset if we break a few laws?”
“No.”
Raven continued. “Focus, Judah. We’re about to kill you. What would you like to say to Sebastian before I slit your throat?”
“Let me back on the expedition team,” Judah absurdly said. “We’ll forget all about this little…ah…incident. I’ll never tell a soul what happened between Ophelia and me. We’ll carry on as if it never occurred.”
“Are you mad?” Sebastian asked.
“It was cruel of you to cut me loose!” Judah insisted. “I was a valued crew member. I was always loyal.”
Raven snorted. “You are so deluded. How were you able to hide your insanity for so many years?”
“I was loyal!” Judah vehemently repeated.
Sebastian said, “I wonder what Nathan would think about that comment.”
“Bugger Nathan,” Judah crudely stated. “I made one tiny mistake with regard to him, and I’ve been chastised ever since. Am I to be condemned by all of you forever?”
“No,” Sebastian said. “I’m done condemning you.”
He nodded to Raven, and Raven extracted the knife on his belt. Judah saw it, and he finally exhibited real alarm.
“Have you any last words?” Raven asked him.
“Sebastian, please!” Judah beseeched. “You can’t want it to end like this! Not after everything we’ve meant to each other.”
“You left Nathan for dead,” Sebastian caustically said, “and you tried your best to ruin my sister. You almost succeeded on both counts so that’s two strikes against you. I can’t constantly worry over who you might harm next.”
“Don’t pretend Nathan is a martyr,” Judah raged, “and your sister begged to marry me. How many times must I say it?”
“No more times.”
Sebastian nodded to Raven again, and Raven told Judah, “You’re really awful at choosing your last words.”
He thrust his blade into Judah’s belly and pulled it up into his heart. He was very efficient, very subdued. He twisted the blade for good measure, then he withdrew it and stepped away. Judah dropped like a stone, and he was gasping for air, blood pumping from his chest as the final beats pushed it through his veins.
It was over quickly, but they dawdled for several minutes to be sure. Raven riffled in Judah’s pockets to retrieve his purse and timepiece. After his body was discovered, it would look as if he’d been robbed in the forest by brigands.
There was a stream nearby. Raven rinsed off his knife and washed his hands, then he stood and asked, “Are we finished?”
“Yes, we’re finished.”
“Shall I dig a grave?”
“No, the buzzards can have him. I’m fine with that.”
“He’ll be found, likely sooner rather than later.”
Sebastian shrugged. “This place is deserted. It should be a few days.”
They walked away without peering back, and Raven said, “Don’t you dare fret about this. You always feel bad when you shouldn’t. We abandoned Nathan because of him! If you start softening toward him, remember that fact.”
“I will.”
“And he destroyed your sister. Even though we rescued her prior to any genuine damage being inflicted, gossip will leak out. He wrecked her future. For that transgression alone, this was the appropriate conclusion.”
“You’re correct,” Sebastian said.
“I wasn’t about to deliver him to the courts. It might have been months—or even years—before he was hanged, and I couldn’t stomach the prospect of him loafing in a jail cell and boasting about his exploits. This is Sinclair justice.”
“You don’t have to convince me, Raven.”
“Good.”
They reached their horses and mounted them, and as Sebastian yanked on the reins to proceed to London, Raven didn’t turn with him.
“We should part ways for awhile,” Raven said.
“We don’t have to. Who would miss him? Who would search?”
“We were the only ones who might have, but he burned that bridge.”
“He was such a fool.”
“A dangerous fool.” Raven shook his head with disgust. “You’re not planning another expedition to Africa, are you?”
“Probably not.”
“I’m tired of loitering and waiting for something to happen. I have to move on with my life.”
“It’s a wise decision.”
“Will you ever travel to Africa again?”
“I don’t think so,” Sebastian said. “I think I’m getting married instead.”
Raven laughed. “You? Married? Who’s the lucky girl? Not Miss Gordon.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Sebastian could see the question in Raven’s eyes, and he waved it away. “If I need to contact you, where will you be?”
“I’ll be out on the coast. I’m ready to take care of my old family business.”
“I hope it resolves as you’ve always dreamed. You’ve been angry about it forever. Don’t lose your temper. Don’t murder anybody.”
“Don’t you mean, don’t murder anybody else?”
Sebastian chuckled. “Yes, that’s what I mean.”
Raven spat in the dirt. “He deserved it.”
“Yes, he did,” Sebastian agreed.
Raven stuck out his hand, and Sebastian clasped hold. A paltry handshake wasn’t a sufficient farewell though, so he leaned across and hugged the man.
“Keep in touch,” Sebastian advised him as he drew away. “The instant you have an address, inform me of what it is.”
“I will, and if you ever need help, call on me first. I’ll come right away.”
“I know I can count on you.”
Raven gave a jaunty salute. “You better not sit here moping.”
“You shouldn’t feel guilty either.”
“I never do.”
“Liar!”
Raven kicked his horse into a trot, and as he raced away, he glanced back. “Get going! Don’t make me tell you twice.”
Sebastian saluted too, watching until he rounded a bend, then he rode off in the other direction. Home to London—and all the drama he’d find there.
He was distraught over events, worn down by Judah’s grisly ending. Sarah was at Hero’s Haven, and she would cure what ailed him. Sarah would fix what was wrong. When he was with her, life was nearly perfect.
He galloped away, eager to be with her as fast as he could.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sarah stood at the gate to the Selby estate. It was the one spot she never thought she’d see. Her true father had been Matthew Blake, Viscount Blake. The current earl, Nathan Blake, was her half-brother.
From the day she’d learned of her connection to him, she’d been intrigued. On a dozen different occasions, she’d nearly traveled to Selby to introduce herself, but she’d always refrained. What would have been the point?
If she’d visited and he’d been awful to her, if he’d been dismissive or had refused to meet with her, she’d have been crushed.
And for all intents and purposes, she wasn’t a Blake. She was Sarah Robertson, beloved, adopted daughter of Ruth and Thomas Robertson. In the world where she’d previously resided—a world of discarded children and philandering fathers—it would have been pretentious to brag about Viscount Blake, so she’d convinced herself that her link to the Blake family didn’t matter.
But she was sure, when she was small, she’d lived with Nathan Blake, and they’d been very happy. Might he remember that period too? He was three years older than she was. Might he recall that he’d once had a little sister? If nothing else, might he be able to tell her what had happened when she was three? How had she ended up in an orphanage?
Normally, she wouldn’t have bothered him. Normally, she’d have solved her own problems, but she was out of options and out of the energy to keep fighting. Even despite her wave of unrelenting tragedies, she might have stayed away were it not for Noah and Pet. She was terribly afraid for them, and she desperately needed help from a powerful person who wouldn’t be scared to intervene.
Nathan Blake was an aristocrat, and he’d been Sebastian Sinclair’s dearest friend. Mr. Sinclair had described him as trustworthy, brave, and loyal. She was counting on that description to be accurate, to at least provide an opening where she could ask his advice.
The cruel witch, Gertrude Sinclair, had promised Sarah—if she wrote a farewell letter to Mr. Sinclair—that she’d return the children to Sarah. That horrible afternoon, she’d been so disconcerted that she hadn’t been thinking clearly. If she had been, she’d have realized Mrs. Sinclair was lying, and she was being tricked.
Mrs. Sinclair’s driver had simply delivered her to London and dropped her at her orphanage. She’d pleaded with him to take her to the children, but he’d claimed he had no information as to their whereabouts.
He’d leaned toward her and had said, “Forget about them, Miss Robertson. You’ll never find them. Mrs. Sinclair has a way of making all of them vanish.”
Then he’d raced away, leaving her standing alone in the street.
Ever since, she’d frantically dithered over what he’d meant.
It seemed as if other of Sir Sidney’s bastards might have approached Mrs. Sinclair, and she’d made them disappear too. How was it managed? Were they conveyed to public orphanages where they would be swallowed into the sea of abandoned urchins? Were they arrested for vagrancy and transported to the penal colonies? Were they murdered, their bodies buried out in the woods?
Mrs. Sinclair was so vicious that Sarah wouldn’t rule out any dire possibility.
Was Sebastian Sinclair aware of his mother’s mischief? He must have been or why would he have penned that pathetic note to her?
As she’d been whisked away from the Haven, her first instinct had been to talk to him, to ask how he could have hurt her so deeply, and wasn’t that the silliest notion ever?
He’d gone to Scotland so he could buy his bride a house for her wedding gift. Would Sarah have dawdled in the woods at Hero’s Haven, foraging for roots and berries to prevent starvation while she waited for him? Then what?
She was a proud woman, and there was no reason to talk to him. From the minute he’d started flirting with her, she’d wondered why he was, and his mother had been very blunt about it: He was Sir Sidney’s son, a chip off the old block, and he trifled with foolish maidens for sport.
She’d spent several days in London, having prevailed on a tavern owner who had a business next to the orphanage. For a few nights, she’d slept on the floor in his kitchen as she’d struggled to drum up some allies to assist her, but it had been futile.
When the proprietor had suggested she could be hired for an illicit job in the upstairs rooms, she’d decided to depart and had begun walking out of the city. After she was in the countryside, she’d hitched rides with various teamsters.
And now? She was at Selby’s gate.
She marched down the lane, reminding herself that she was an optimist who assumed kindness and a good heart would take her very far in life. If Lord Selby was away, or if he declined to speak with her, she’d inquire about her friend, Nell Drummond.
Earlier in the summer, Nell had visited the estate with her friend, Susan Middleton, as Susan had prepared to marry Lord Selby’s cousin.
Prior to Sarah fleeing London, she’d once again passed by the Middletons’ home, but it was still shuttered, so she had no idea what had happened to any of them. Would Susan be at Selby? Might Nell be with her?
She burst out of the trees, and the mansion loomed into view. It was four stories high, with hundreds of windows. On one end, there were turrets, as if the original portion of the building might have been a castle.
A huge lawn swept up to the manor, the curved driveway constructed of expensive brick. There were orchards laden with fruit, pastures with horses frolicking. Servants strolled about, seeing to their chores.
It was like a scene out of a storybook, and she could only ponder how two children—sired by the same parent—had wound up living such disparate lives.
Though her knees were a bit weak—from hunger, she suspected, not from fear—she went straight to the main entrance. Her condition was so bedraggled that she probably should have scooted around to the servant’s door, but she was Viscount Blake’s lost daughter, and she wouldn’t slink in like a mongrel dog.
Before she could knock, a footman emerged and bowed.
“May I help you?” he asked.
She flashed her best smile, praying she wouldn’t be tossed out immediately. “I hope so. I realize I’m being very impertinent, but I’ve traveled such a long distance, and I should like to request an audience with Lord Selby. Might he be available?”
The boy was very sweet. He glanced at her unkempt clothes, but his polite demeanor didn’t alter. “Who may I tell him is calling?”
She would have replied, but was distracted by a dapper older man appearing down the hall. He proceeded directly toward them.
The footman said to him, “Mr. Dobbs, this young lady would like to speak with the Earl.”
Mr. Dobbs studied her, his astute gaze roaming over her person, and when it settled on her face, he blanched. “My goodness,” he murmured. “You look exactly like him—except your hair is blond and his is dark. I’d recognize you anywhere.”
He stunned her by clasping her hand, and he patted it so gently that tears sprung to her eyes.
“I am Lord Selby’s butler,” he said. “Please tell me your name so I can announce you. I can’t wait to observe his expression!”
He was almost excited to meet her, as if she’d been expected, and she was completely flummoxed by his effusive greeting.
“I am…ah…Sarah Roberts
on. Sarah Blake Robertson.”
“Of course you are,” Mr. Dobbs agreed. “Come with me, my dear.”
He led her off, and her confusion spiraled. “Is the Earl at home?”
“Yes, and when I present you to him, he is going to absolutely faint.”
“Ah…really?”
Then, from up on the stairs, a woman called, “Sarah Robertson, is that you? Where on earth have you been?”
Sarah and Mr. Dobbs stopped, and Sarah peered up to where Nell Drummond was leaned over the railing on the landing.
“Oh, Nell,” she said, “am I glad to see you!”
“Not half as glad as I am to see you!”
Nell dashed down, and Mr. Dobbs stepped away, watching like an indulgent uncle as they fell into each other’s arms. They hugged as tightly as they could, which was odd. They hadn’t previously had that sort of fond acquaintance, but Sarah was simply so overwhelmed. Nell felt like a lifeline to all that was sane and good in the world.
Nell drew away and assessed Sarah’s scruffy state. She scowled and asked, “What has happened to you? You’re positively deteriorated!”
“I’ve been having the very worst time.”
“That’s obvious, and I’m so relieved you’re here. We’ve been searching for you everywhere.”
“You have?”
At the admission, Sarah was astonished. While she’d been forlorn and fretting, her friend had been hunting for her? It was the nicest news she’d ever received.
“Lady Selby”—Mr. Dobbs seemed to be addressing Nell—“you won’t believe who she is.”
“I know who she is, Dobbs,” Nell responded. “She used to own the orphanage where his sister was taken all those years ago.”
“No,” Mr. Dobbs said, “look at her. Look hard. She’s Sarah Blake Robertson. Can’t you tell?”
Nell gaped at Sarah as if she’d suddenly grown a second head.
“You’re Sarah Blake?” Nell’s tone was accusatory.
“Yes.”
“You never told me!”
Sarah’s cheeks flushed. “I’ve never been eager to share my past.”
“Well, here’s a bit of information that will astound you,” Nell said. “I married Nathan, so that makes me your sister-in-law.”