by C. J. Archer
Quin grunted.
"You're clearly experienced in hand to hand combat."
"I've been involved in many fights." He turned away to look out the window, even though there was little to see in the dimly lit streets.
Jacob appealed to me, but I merely shrugged. I was in no mood to coax answers out of Quin. Not even the answer to one burning question—was he after the book for his own reasons? My body hummed with the excitement of the evening and I felt too restless even to sit still for the journey home.
"Do you think Emily will still be awake?" I said as we drove around St. James' Park.
"Yes," Jacob said heavily.
"Miss Langley too," Tommy said, equally as heavily.
"What shall we tell them?"
"Nothing." I glanced at each of them, trying to assess how they'd fared in their fights. "Is anybody injured?"
Jacob shook his head while Tommy showed me a rent in his sleeve. Dried blood crusted around a small flesh wound. It wasn't too deep and could be easily hidden from Sylvia or Emily.
"We'll tell them everything went well and we got what we needed." The last thing I wanted was Emily forbidding me to go anywhere ever again. She had taken my side against Jacob so far, but if she found out what had transpired at The Brickmaker's Arms I suspected she would want to keep me protected as much as he did.
"I don't want to lie to my wife," Jacob said.
"Then let me do it."
We arrived back at the house. The windows were ablaze with light when the rest of the street was shrouded in shadows.
"Someone's here," Quin announced.
Jacob couldn't get to the window fast enough. He shoved Quin out of the way then growled low in his throat. "Alwyn."
We climbed out of the cabin and that's when I saw what he'd seen. The escutcheon painted on the side of the other coach contained both a thistle and an eagle. The de Mordaunt crest. It would seem those elements had remained with the family through the centuries.
"Stay back with Tommy," Jacob said to me. "Quin, with me."
He and Quin approached the coach parked on the other side of the road. It wasn't so far away that I began to feel ill, but I wanted to hear what Alwyn said so I faked symptoms of fever. Tommy crossed the road with me.
"Coward," Jacob spat through the window. I couldn't see Alwyn, and I suspected he wouldn't show his face. He knew how well Quin could fight now and wouldn't risk his wrath. Anger vibrated off Quin in waves.
"You put on a poor show," Alwyn told him.
"I fulfilled my end of the bargain." Quin kept his voice low, but the threat in it was unmistakable. "Tell me the name of the priest or I'll tear you apart."
I could hear Alwyn's nervous swallow from where I stood. "Why do you think I'm here? To congratulate you on such a spectacular failure?"
Jacob grunted. "If you think that was a failure then you weren't watching the same fight I was. Tell us, Alwyn. That was the agreement."
"Of course, of course. The priest's name is Father William. He's from the Catholic church of St. Etheldreda in Ely Place."
"How did he know about the book we seek?" Quin asked.
"I don't know if he did. He came to my man of business, a week or two ago, and asked if I'd be interested in selling off some books that have been in my family for generations. Very humble fellow, apparently. I agreed, since I have no need of them and he offered a nice sum at a time when my creditors were becoming insistent. He mentioned no specific book as far as I am aware."
"Did he say anything else?"
"How should I know? The entire transaction was done through my man. I never saw the fellow. Now, if you don't mind, I must seek out another den that will satisfy my thirst for blood sports and gambling. Don't think Bains will let me back in, and I'm not as good at disguises as your little lass."
Jacob and Quin turned to me then had to jump back away from the wheels as Alwyn thumped the cabin roof and the coach lurched forward.
I quickly headed back across the street and up the front steps to the house. Both Emily and Sylvia met us at the door. They must have sent the servants to bed as none were about.
"Well?" Emily said, clasping Jacob's arm, her eyes bright with excitement. "How was it?"
"Entertaining," he said without inflection.
She turned to me. "Cara?"
"Oh yes, very entertaining."
Sylvia put her hands on her hips and eyed each of the men. "You look more disheveled than when you left, and Quin is half undressed. Again."
Emily's eyes narrowed as she too took in the appearance of each man. "Jacob, have you been fighting?"
He gave her an innocent look. "Why do you say that?"
"Don't answer me with a question."
"We got our answer from Alwyn," I told her. "That's the important thing. It turns out the book may have been sold with some others, but he did give us the name of the priest who bought the collection."
"That's promising." Sylvia seemed to have moved on from the topic of the fights, but Emily continued to watch her husband from beneath lowered lashes. I suspected he would have to answer a few questions in private.
"We'll seek out the priest tomorrow," Quin said. "It's late. Cara must retire for the evening."
"But I wanted to find out more about prize fights," Sylvia protested. "How many people were in attendance? What were the fighters like? Was it particularly bloody?"
"I'll tell you tomorrow." I yawned for good measure. Hopefully she would have forgotten all about it by then. I could probably distract her with talk of the ball.
I didn't think Jacob would get off so lightly, however. Emily continued to watch him through hooded eyes as we left. Not that I expected her to become angry with him, as she had supported my desire to attend, but I suspected he would tell her everything after all. Honesty was an important part of their marriage.
I sighed. At least that made one honest man that I knew. Quin was being positively mysterious. Being mysterious and handsome were turning out not to be the alluring combination I'd originally thought.
Once again I waited for Sylvia and Tommy to fall asleep before I got up and sat on the edge of Quin's bed. He was already sitting, apparently expecting me.
"I want the truth this time, Quin," I whispered. "Do you want the book so that I can be cured? Or are you after it for your own reasons?"
CHAPTER 11
Quin became very still. "Those are two different questions. Answering aye to one does not mean answering nay to the other."
"Then answer them separately," I hissed.
In the darkness, I could just make out his head shaking. "Don't, Cara."
I threw up my hands. "Is that all you have to say?"
His dark eyes glistened like polished jet as he stared back at me. I began to cry. It was silly, but I couldn't help it. The combination of excitement and fear from our adventure, and my frustration with Quin, played havoc with my emotions. And at the back of my mind was the even more palpable fear that I would not be cured.
"Cara." The combination of his accent and leonine voice sent a thrill through me. He scooted down the bed and touched my cheek. His thumb wiped away tears I'd hoped he couldn't see. "Don't cry." He pressed his lips to my forehead and didn't draw them away for several beats of my heart.
"Stop it," I mumbled. "Stop being so nice."
He tucked my hair behind my ear and drew back. "I don't tell you everything because not knowing keeps you from being afraid. Do you understand?"
"No." I swiped at my tears with the back of my hand. "I want to trust you, Quin. Tell me I can."
He hesitated and my stomach plunged. "I told you," he finally said. "I have done bad things in my life. You're right not to trust me. But I won't allow any harm to come to you, Cara."
"How can you say that and then tell me I shouldn't trust you?"
"Because…I…" He muttered something under his breath in a language I didn't understand.
"Quin?"
"You must have faith in your own fe
elings, Cara. You know in your heart what the truth is. I know you do."
He was talking in riddles. "What does that mean?"
He shook his head and twisted away to lie down. A small grunt of pain escaped his lips.
"Your injuries," I said, reaching for him without thinking. I touched his chest and felt my way down to where the other fighter had bruised him. "Does it hurt?"
"More than I remember."
That almost encouraged a smile from me, despite my heavy heart. "You don't feel pain when you fight the demons?"
"I do while I'm here, but it vanishes as soon as I return to the other realm and heal. My visits here are usually too brief for me to feel pain for long." He sucked air between his teeth as my fingers pressed into the bruised area.
"Sorry," I said. "I'm checking for broken ribs."
"And punishing me for my secrecy."
"You're behaving like a child."
He huffed out a breath and remained silent as I continued my assessment. I gentled my touch and ran my hand over the ridges of hard muscle and warm flesh. My fingers roamed up his chest, through the scattered hairs, to his shoulders. I traced a strap of corded muscle and found a small moon-shaped scar. It reminded me of the larger scars on his back and I opened my mouth to ask him how he'd gotten them, but shut it again. He wouldn't tell me.
"Cara," he murmured thickly. "We must not."
But I wanted to. Despite his secrets and continued warnings that he couldn't be trusted, I wanted to explore his body further. I wanted to kiss him as we'd kissed outside Myer's house. I wanted to go on a scandalous adventure with him.
But he was right. We couldn't. For one thing, if we were discovered, it would shame Emily and Jacob. For another, it could ruin my life. Nothing could come of Quin and me. He didn't belong here. Besides, I was supposed to find a gentleman and settle down; I wanted to, although with one of my choosing. Lying with Quin would take away my best bargaining chip—my virginity—and limit my choices. I was no fool.
I pulled back and returned to my bed. I crawled under the covers where Sylvia's warmth provided little comfort. On the other side of the screen, Quin's deep sigh echoed mine.
I shut my eyes but didn't fall asleep for a long time.
***
I knew something was wrong with Quin before we reached Ely Place. He wouldn't sit still in the coach, either fidgeting with his tie or trying to find a comfortable position for his long legs. He didn't meet my gaze. When the coach finally pulled to a stop outside St. Etheldreda's Catholic Church, I could stand it no longer.
"Quin, what's wrong?"
"Nothing." His sullenness implied otherwise.
The footman opened the door and we alighted onto the pavement outside the ancient stone building. Nestled between rather plain modern terraces, it looked out of place but welcoming. I gazed up at the large stained glass window and was about to ask Quin if the building had been there in his lifetime when I heard his sharp intake of breath.
"Are you all right?"
He looked pale and hot, and his shoulders slumped as if he were caving in on himself. "Come, Cara. We must do this quickly." He walked off without waiting for me.
"Why? Quin, what's happening to you?"
"Nothing." But even as he said it, he groaned and clutched at his stomach.
I rested my hand on his back and tried to look at his face again, but he forged on, albeit more slowly. A passing gentleman eyed us with curiosity but did not stop to offer his help. Another crossed the street to avoid us, and a hansom cab pulled up a little way behind our coach, but no one got out. I registered all of this activity yet hardly took any notice. Quin's sickly pallor had me too worried to care what others thought of our odd behavior.
"If you don't feel well, we can come back another time," I told him.
"I'm not coming back." He stopped and squeezed his eyes shut. His mouth twisted into a hard grimace.
"Quin!" I directed him to rest against the church's low stone fence, but he shook me off. "Quin, this is madness. You're in no state to talk to Father William."
He bent forward and sucked in great gasps of air. I caught his hat before it fell to the ground and rubbed his back, but it was a useless gesture. His body began to tremble as if he'd been overtaken by a fever. But he couldn't have caught an illness so quickly; he'd been perfectly fine a moment ago. It was only as he'd gotten out of the coach and approached the church that he'd shown symptoms.
His illness wasn't a medical condition; it was a supernatural one.
I didn't know how to cure that sort of sickness. The only thing I could do was take him home. I was about to signal the footman to help me get Quin back in the coach when a man dressed in priest's robes emerged from the church. Beside him, the ghostly form of another, younger man lingered. He too was dressed in priestly robes, but his were caked in blood at his chest.
"May I help you?" asked the living priest, approaching. "Is he all right?"
"My friend has a stomach ache," I said, trying to ignore the dead priest as he approached Quin. "I'm going to take him home."
"No," Quin growled. He straightened, but it seemed to take considerable effort. His skin was as white as a porcelain doll's and his eyes were glassy orbs. He still trembled.
I took his hand and he gripped it in return, as if the contact helped. He rallied a little, even casting a small smile at the priest.
"Are you Father William?" I asked.
"I am. Father William Lockhart." The man had a friendly face and deep laughter lines radiated from the corners of his warm brown eyes. "Would you like to come inside and sit down, sir?"
"Christ, no." Quin glanced at Father William. "Apologies. No, thank you. This is close enough."
The ghost frowned and squatted in front of Quin. He rubbed his jaw, causing it to shift into an awkward position. It must have been broken during his death. I tried not to look at him, but it was difficult not to as he suddenly gasped and scurried back from Quin. He crossed himself, twice.
I couldn't speak to him and alert him that I was a medium for fear of upsetting Father William. While many people despised mediums, either through fear or distrust, I'd found the clergy were the worst. Ever since one particular Catholic priest in Melbourne had called me a demonic creature, I'd been sure to hide my talent from them. I wasn't about to risk Father William dissociating himself from us before he could help.
"Perhaps if you wouldn't mind getting a glass of water for Mr. St. Clair," I said to the priest. "We would be most grateful."
"Of course, of course. I'll be right back." For an elderly man, he moved rather swiftly into the church. The ghost remained, albeit at a wary distance.
"Good morning," I said gently to him.
Despite my politeness, he lost his balance in his shock and fell against the church wall.
"Who's there?" Quin asked me.
"A ghost. A priest, I think. I'm a medium," I told the spirit. "My name is Cara Moreau."
"Father Ignatius," he said with a nod of greeting that had his jaw swinging like an unhinged sign in the breeze. "You should not be here."
"We need to speak to Father William," I said. "It's very important, but my friend cannot seem to enter the church without feeling ill."
"Cara," Quin snapped. He looked as if he were about to say something further, but he doubled over again as another wave of pain gripped him.
I removed my glove and rested my cool hand on the back of his neck. He was so hot, and had begun to shake again. I didn't think we could wait for Father William to return. Quin needed to get away from the church now.
"Do you know anything about his illness that can help us?" I asked the spirit.
Quin groaned again and reached for me. I clasped his hands in mine and squatted before him. "Can you stand?" I asked him gently. "We have to get you away from here."
He shook his head. "A few more moments."
The spirit edged back toward the church door, crossing himself the entire time. "The devil is in him." He pointe
d a shaky finger at me. "You are the devil's whore for cavorting with him."
"I am not cavorting. Oh, never mind. If you're not going to help then leave us in peace."
"You should not be here." It wasn't clear if he was speaking to me or Quin. Either way, Quin couldn't hear him. "You belong there. Go!" He made a shooing gesture at Quin. "Go back, Devil."
I stood and marched over to Father Ignatius's ghost. He wasn't much taller than me, and was just as slender with a rather boyish face. "He is not the devil," I snapped. "He is an otherworldly warrior and has battled demons in this realm to keep it safe. He deserves your thanks, not your accusations."
The priest switched his narrow, beady focus to me. "If that is so then he should certainly not be here. Warriors are never let off their leash. Never." He blinked out of existence.
I stared at the space where he'd been, unable to focus on anything except Quin's groaning behind me. The spirit's words were a confusing mess in my head. I couldn't sift through them, let alone determine what he meant.
"Cara." Quin's appeal was laced with pain.
I turned back to him and my stomach dove. His face was twisted, a picture of torture, and his lips had turned blue. He shook violently, but did not take his eyes off me.
I took his face in my hands and searched his clouded, pain-filled eyes. But what I saw wasn't the devil described by the priest. I saw a frightened and vulnerable man who was not used to either emotion.
"If he doesn't return soon, we'll send Jacob here," I said. "You have to leave." I helped him to his feet just as Father William returned carrying a cup of water.
"Here," he said, handing it to Quin. He rested one hand on Quin's shoulder as he drank greedily. "There, now. Can I help you get him back into the coach, miss?"
"No, thank you." I signaled for the footman, who'd been watching and waiting by the coach's door, to come and assist Quin. "We're here to ask you something, Father. We had word from Lord Alwyn that you purchased some books from him recently."
The footman steered Quin away from me toward the coach, but Quin shook him off and waited to hear Father William's answer.
The priest nodded. "As a matter of fact, yes, I did. Some old books that had belonged to his family for centuries. He had them transported from his Derbyshire estate a few days ago."