With a heavy thrust, Sophie slammed her heel into Jack’s instep. With a grunt of pain, his arms loosened their hold.
“She has a gun!” Sophie screamed.
“What the bluidy hell—” Henry whipped around. Shocked comprehension fell over his features.
“She’s right.” Rebecca’s soft-spoken voice dripped malice. “And I do know how to use it.”
A shot exploded.
“Why?” Clutching his upper chest, Henry staggered backward. His legs crumpled, and he sank to the ground.
Blood pounded in Sophie’s head. The world tilted, and for a moment, she thought she’d faint. Only the need to help the Scot kept her thoughts focused, kept her upright. She fought Jack’s hold, but he restrained her in the hard vise of his arms.
“Stop struggling, ye little—”
The coach door opened. Jack went still.
“That will be quite enough.”
A woman stood in the entry. Dark brown hair framed a face Sophie might’ve described as angelic if not for her hardened jade eyes.
Dear God! Lady Ellicott.
Sophie had covered the woman’s Winter Charitable Ball for the Herald. After her marriage to Lord Ellicott, the celebrated actress had taken to the role of Society Matriarch as if she’d been born to play the part. The former Lillian Bartlett had devoted hundreds of hours to the benefit of the less fortunate. Surely, she was not allied with this criminal.
“Aye,” Jack said with a grunt.
“Please, join me,” Lady Ellicott extended her gloved hand. “I promise you won’t be hurt. Not if you cooperate.”
Once again, the ground beneath Sophie tilted. The world had gone topsy-turvy.
“I will explain everything, Miss Atherton,” Lady Ellicott said, the faintest of smiles pulling at her lips. “That’s right. I know who you are. Miss Beddingham has proven herself invaluable, time and again.”
“She’s been spying for you—why?”
Lady Ellicott crooked her finger. “I’ve no intention of dirtying my feet on his soil. So come inside the coach. We may be able to reach an agreement. A woman with your talents could be a great asset to our organization.”
“Very well.” Sophie swallowed against her apprehension and stepped inside the coach.
Lady Ellicott gestured to the sable-haired man who sat with his legs stretched out before him. “I believe you have already made Mr. McNaughton’s acquaintance.”
Adam McNaughton’s gaze washed over her, as surly as he’d been during Trask’s gatherings. Sophie’s stomach knotted. Bile rose to the back of her throat.
“You thought you had me fooled,” he said. “But I was wise to you.”
Sophie’s recollection disputed that statement. The bastard had been eager for her to dole out any crumb of communication from his deceased twin, but she held her tongue. “I suspected as much,” she said to preserve the pretense of civility.
“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Lady Ellicott said. “I meant what I said… You will not be harmed, if you cooperate. Do you understand?”
Sophie nodded. “Do you intend to tell me what this is all about?”
“In due time, dear.” Fine lines creased around her mouth. “In due time.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Gavin sat in his father’s study, occupying the same burgundy leather chair the old goat had favored. Reviewing a collection of prints the old man had commissioned many years earlier, he admired the scenes of native wildlife and plants, beauty in its most primitive form. Why hadn’t he ever paid attention to that aspect of his father’s character? When they were together, why had their focus gravitated to the differences that separated them rather than the common ground they shared?
He turned a page in the album. Frozen, he stared down at the sepia image. His sire had been young in the portrait. My God, how had he never noticed how much he resembled his father? The same nose…Roman, his mother had called it. The same hair, down to the unruly wave that defied his efforts to tame it. Eyes so similar, other than the hard glint in his father’s gaze. Even their builds had been alike. How could a son who looked so much like his father be so utterly unalike?
Of course, his father had faced a very different reality during his youth. He’d had to scrap and claw for every shilling. Even after he’d made his fortune, Society’s elite had been only too eager to take his money for some cause or another, but regarded him as little better than the ruffians he’d left behind in Whitechapel. Was it any wonder he’d expected his son to share his passion for the business that had put luxury within their reach?
Another image drew his attention, a pen and ink sketch of father and son. Was that him, seated at his sire’s knee? His father had looked happy then. And proud. Of his son. Of the life he’d provided for his children.
Deep within, Gavin’s heart ached with an unfamiliar pain, a loss he’d never known to feel.
A sudden scream from the direction of the gardens ripped Gavin back to the present. Sophie! Bloody hell, what had happened? He secured his revolver in the shoulder holster he wore beneath his jacket and bolted from the room, nearly crashing into Bertram and his brother rushing down the corridor.
“So, ye heard it, too. Sophie’s in a fix.” Bertram ground out the words. Long gun in hand, he moved with surprising agility toward the door. Fitzhugh matched him, step for step.
A gunshot’s roar reverberated through him, chilling him to the bone. Bertram turned to him.
“Ye’re goin’ t’need a weapon. Those bastards aren’t here to negotiate.”
“A slug from my Webley would cut down Goliath,” he said. “Where the bloody hell is Henry?”
Bertram was the first to open the entry door. “God above, I’ve found the answer to yer question. And a horrible one it is.”
Gavin ran to the portal.
Henry lay facedown, unconscious. From the distance, Gavin couldn’t detect a rise and fall of his chest, couldn’t tell if the young Scot still breathed.
His hand clenched and unclenched. He wanted to pummel something. Anything.
“Wait.” Bertram placed a hand on Gavin’s shoulder. “This could be a trap. We’ll cover ye.”
The brothers took their positions behind sturdy posts, prepared to counterfire. Keeping low to the ground, Gavin ran to Henry’s side.
The Scot moaned. Blood seeped onto the ground beneath his body. The wound appeared to have passed through his upper chest and out his back, sparing his vital organs.
Gavin heaved a sigh of relief, and the tension digging into his gut eased.
“Stanwyck! Get down!” A rifle shot punctuated Bertram’s command. Gavin dropped to his belly. Lying prone, he shifted his gaze to take in the grove behind him. A man lay on his back, limbs sprawled.
“He’s not goin’ to be trouble now,” Bertram muttered, inching closer.
Gavin crouched beside Henry. From this position, he could see the unmoving bastard’s face. Jack. A dark stain spread over his torso and trickled from the corner of his mouth.
“It’s the one from the bridge.” Bertram made his way to the man’s body. “He’s dead. He left me no choice. He had a gun—”
Henry’s lids lifted. “What the bluidy hell—?”
Gavin supported his head. “You’ve been wounded. Where are the women?”
“The lass…shot me.”
Impossible. Surely, the man was delirious.
“Sophie?”
“No,” Henry managed in a weak breath. “Rebecca.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.” Henry dragged in air, his face white with pain. “Pulled the trigger. Tried to kill me. Sophie…warned me.”
“Where are they now?”
“Don’t…know.”
God above, they’d had a Judas in their midst. How much intelligence had the woman passed on to the bastards who’d come after Sophie?
And where was Sophie? What had they done to her?
“A coach,” Henry whispered. “Black. With a crest
.”
Hellfire and damnation, likely the same carriage he’d spotted the night the blighters had come after Sophie. Talons clawed at his insides. He had to find her.
Fitzhugh came forward, weapon at the ready. “There’s no sign of anyone lurking about. But I spotted something…over there…by that tree,” Fitzhugh said, his voice grim. “I’ll cover ye, Bertram.”
With stealthy steps, Bertram approached the massive oak. He waved his brother closer.
“Thank God it’s not our Sophie,” Bertram announced, his relief palpable. His expression solemn, he turned to Gavin. “It’s Miss Beddingham. Someone’s broken her neck.”
“The bastards,” Gavin bit off between his teeth.
Bertram came to his side. “If I might make a suggestion—if we can move Henry into the house, Fitzhugh can see to his care while we start a search for Sophie.”
“Excellent idea,” Gavin agreed.
The three men carried Henry into the house and up the stairs to his chamber. Seeing his friend’s weakened state, Gavin fought against the waves of anger and misery bombarding him. This was his fault. His responsibility. He’d been so confident he could protect Sophie, convinced this place would afford a safe haven. Instead, they’d been betrayed, and now, Henry and Sophie were paying the price.
“Bluidy hell, Stanwyck, there’s no call to play a dirge yet. I’m not pounding…on death’s door.” Propped against the headboard, Henry had regained a bit of his strength.
“The bullet’s through and through,” Fitzhugh said with an air of authority, the product of years in the medical corps of the Queen’s Army. “If ye trust me, I can patch it up. It’ll hold ye until we can get ye to a proper physician.”
“I’d be in yer debt.” Henry sank back against the pillow. He cocked his head toward Gavin. “Go after her. Now.”
Gavin ground his teeth in frustration. “They could’ve taken her back to London. God only knows where they’ve gone.”
Bertram charged into the chamber, his lanky body quaking with agitation. “She’s not in London. We have to go after her.”
“How do you know this?” Gavin said. He needed to keep a cool head. But it was damned near impossible when every instinct demanded he leave these four walls and find her.
“The bastards are here. On the grounds.” He handed Gavin a folded leaf of paper. “Whoever killed Miss Beddingham placed this in her hand.”
We propose an exchange. Your life for the woman. Come alone to the bell tower. The choice is yours.
God above, the killers had taken her to the tower in the old chapel, a centuries’ old place of worship. What would possess the evil curs to conduct their dirty business on holy ground?
Think, Gavin! He needed weapons. What would be most effective for one against many?
Bertram stepped forward. “I’ll come with ye. Fitzhugh will stay with Henry.”
“I cannot take that chance, neither with your safety nor Sophie’s life,” Gavin said.
Bertram shook his head. “Ye cannot do this alone. I’ll let ye go in on your own, but bloody hell, you’ll need backup.”
“Very well,” Gavin agreed. “You can serve as a lookout. At the least, keep the jackals from adding reinforcements.”
Fitzhugh pressed a sheathed dagger into Gavin’s hand. “Take this. The sgian dubh is a fine weapon. Strap it to yer leg, beneath your trousers. I would not be caught without mine. It’s a stealthy defense, one the curs aren’t likely to suspect.”
“Good enough,” he agreed, quickly securing the dagger to his left calf with a leather strap.
He studied the message. Had Miss Beddingham penned the very note her killer used to lure him in? Quite fitting.
He went to Henry’s chamber. The young Scot remained pale, but his eyes had regained a bit of their spirit. Evidently, Fitzhugh’s whiskey elixir had taken an edge off his pain.
“I will return with a physician. In the meantime, I trust you’re in good hands with Fitzhugh.”
“Watch your back, Stanwyck.” Henry shifted against the pillow, letting out a groan. “And…kill the bastards.”
Chapter Thirty
The barrel of McNaughton’s revolver brushed Sophie’s flesh in a cruel threat. She held herself rigid, refusing to give in to her fear, but an instinctive flinch betrayed her. His eyes gleamed, excited at the prospect of her terror.
He’d backed her to the very edge of the stronghold’s tower. In her peripheral vision, she glimpsed the countryside beneath the turret. Steadying her breath, she pressed her palms against the sturdy brick parapet. Her mind raced, desperately seeking some means of defense. She could not let McNaughton force her over the edge. She’d have no chance of surviving such a brutal fall.
“Are you quite certain you won’t accept my proposition?” Lady Ellicott feigned a frown. “With Rebecca gone, I need someone with connections to keep me informed, to do little…favors…from time to time. The arrangement could prove exceedingly lucrative for you.” Amazing, how reasonable the woman sounded even though, clearly, she was mad.
“Rebecca is dead… You had her killed. Not the most promising of arrangements, I’d say,” Sophie argued.
“She could not be trusted. Far too emotional, what with her moping about over that man. If she’d been motivated by the money, we could have retained our confidence in Rebecca, but the element of spite in her character was too strong. It was only a matter of time before she talked, if only to wound Campbell.”
“I will not agree to a deal with the devil.”
Lady Ellicott gave a little shrug. “Very well. I could spare you all of this unpleasantness. You wouldn’t even need to be here when we kill Stanwyck.”
“You do not have to kill him. He is not your enemy.”
“I cannot risk Stanwyck revealing what he’s learned. He is a threat to our plans, and as such, he’s left me no choice.” She sighed. “Miss Atherton, you have no idea who the enemy is in our world. There are forces you would never comprehend. Trask possessed a remarkable mystical talent. Such a tragedy he chose to squander it on parlor tricks and greed.”
“You attended his gatherings. You were there…with McNaughton and the men he killed.”
“Clever girl.” Lady Ellicott seemed genuinely pleased. “I do believe you would be an asset to us. I do hope you will reconsider before Mr. McNaughton loses patience. In any case, you are correct. I was impressed with his medium, the one who pretended to be Russian. As if anyone would believe her atrocious accent.”
“You are Beatrice…Beatrice Hathcock.” The pieces of the puzzle were forming a whole.
“Yes. I certainly could not attend Trask’s sittings without employing an alias. You recognize the significance of the name, don’t you?”
“You played that character on the stage.”
“Indeed. That role was my finest performance. I do miss the nights onstage, those glorious years before I married Alistair. Now that was indeed a deal with the devil. My youth and my beauty, bartered to a clod of a man who’d been born to a title. But it will all be worth it in the end. Soon, with my help, Lord Ellicott will be the most powerful man in Britain. I will manipulate that power, and the dolt won’t even realize what is happening.”
“Did you kill those men? And Trask?”
“No.” She smiled. “Mr. McNaughton had that pleasure. Other than the one fellow—I truly regretted he had to be eliminated. McNaughton’s associates drugged him insensible and tossed him into the Thames.”
A rider on horseback approached from the east. Not Gavin, she silently prayed. Let him leave and go far from this place. She had known the danger going into this mission. She would endure her fate, without the pain of Gavin’s death to compound her own misery.
The steed galloped at a breakneck pace. And then, the hoofbeats stopped.
The thud of boots on the stairs announced the rider’s approach.
“It appears Professor Stanwyck has decided to join us. How very remarkable. I’d never taken him for a man who’d ris
k his neck for a woman.”
Shock washed over her. Had Lady Ellicott been one of Gavin’s paramours? The thought of him lying with this blackhearted woman sliced into her soul like a dull blade.
Steadying her breath, Sophie stripped the emotion from her voice. “You are acquainted with the man?”
“We were close…at one time.” Lady Ellicott’s eyes narrowed. “So, you’ve reformed him, have you?”
Bitterness laced Lady Ellicott’s tone. Did she suspect Gavin harbored feelings for Sophie? Would that make her all the more dangerous?
Sophie met her razor-sharp gaze. “I assure you I’ve done no such thing. If the man is here, he seeks revenge.”
McNaughton moved to the door. Lady Ellicott admonished him to stand down.
“That is no way to greet our guest. There will be time for that later.”
Gavin stepped through the portal. His eyes locked with Sophie’s for the briefest of moments. An unreadable emotion blazed within the sapphire depths. He had not come for revenge.
He’d come for her.
Misery pierced her heart. He’d put himself in danger. If only he’d stayed away.
He turned his attention to Lady Ellicott. Recognition flared in his eyes. His gaze dropped to the gun in her hand, then rose to the placid mask of her face.
“My God, it’s you.” Derision shaded his tone.
A venomous smile pulled at Lady Ellicott’s mouth. “I must say, this is a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t entirely certain you’d accept my proposition.”
Confusion flickered over his features. “What is the meaning of this?”
“I think that is rather apparent.” Lady Ellicott leveled her revolver at his chest. “Now, I’ll ask you to cast aside your pistol. Surely you did not come unarmed.”
Gavin removed the Webley from its holster and placed it on the ground. McNaughton secured it at his side.
“I’ve done my part,” Gavin said. “Now, let her go.”
“So gallant. Highly unusual in this day and age.” Lady Ellicott’s mouth thinned. “But then again, she did save your life…after my brother-in-law dosed you with my little concoction. I suppose it’s only fair.”
When a Lady Dares (Her Majesty’s Most Secret Service) Page 29